1 
 
 M 
 
THE 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER TALES 
 
 BY JAMES HALL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " LEGENDS OP THE WEST." 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 KEY AND BIDDLE, NO. 6 MINOR STREET 
 
 A. WALDIK, PRINTER. 
 
 1833. 
 
ENTERED, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1833, by HARRI- 
 SON HALL, proprietor, in the clerk's otfece of the district for the eastern dis- 
 trict of Pennsylvania. 
 
s 
 
 " 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The flattering reception of the " Legends of the 
 West," has induced the publisher of that little vo- 
 lume to venture upon another by the same author. 
 He is the more encouraged in this enterprise, by a 
 belief that the American public is beginning to 
 awaken from the apathy with which our native 
 writers have heretofore been regarded, and that 
 our countrymen are now willing to bestow upon 
 native genius, some of the patronage which has 
 been lavished with indiscriminate profusion upon 
 undeserving foreigners. 
 
 A number of the tales in this volume have already 
 been published, but some of them appeared several 
 years ago, and are now forgotten : and while a few 
 have had the advantage of extensive circulation in 
 popular periodicals, others have not been thus 
 favoured. It is thought therefore, that they will be 
 sufficiently novel to most readers, and desirable to 
 the friends of the author, to warrant the collection 
 of them in a volume. It will be seen that they are 
 strictly American. Should the work sustain in the 
 opinion of the public, the character claimed for it, 
 the publisher will have attained his object, and the 
 author stand excused for permitting himself to be 
 again placed at the bar of criticism as a writer of 
 fiction. 
 
 Philada. 1833. 
 
 M 4734 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I. The Soldier's Bride ; ..... 13 
 
 II. Cousin Lucy and the Village Teacher. . '. . . . . 57 
 
 III. Empty Pockets 81 
 
 IV. The Captain's Lady .''*'.' ..... 91 
 
 V. The Philadelphia Dun . ... . - 105 
 
 VI. The Bearer of Despatches. . . . . .''..' . .117 
 
 VII. The Village Musician. . . . . . ... . .132 
 
 VIII. Fashionable Watering-places. . '* . '. --. : ' . .159 
 
 IX. The Useful Man. ...... i' " - -175 
 
 X. The Dentist ,*;.-. . . . 190 
 
 XI. The Bachelor's Elysium. . . . .? V V . - 209 
 
 XII. Pete Featherton .' . :: . . . . .234 
 
 XIII. The Billiard Table. . . . . . . * , . . .253 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 " Oh ! love! love i laddie, 
 
 Love's like a dizziness, 
 It winna let a puir boddy 
 Gang about his business." 
 
 A few years ago, that part of the state of New 
 York which lies along the main route from the 
 Hudson to the western lakes, presented an agree- 
 able, but eccentric, diversity of scenic beauty, 
 combining the wildest traits of nature with the 
 cheerful indications of enlightened civility and rural 
 comfort. The desert smiled : but it smiled in its 
 native beauty. The foot of science had not yet 
 wandered thither ; nor had the ample coffers of a 
 state been opened, to diffuse, with unexampled 
 munificence, over a widely spread domain the 
 blessings of industry and commerce. The beautiful 
 villages scattered throughout this extensive region, 
 exhibited a neatness, taste, and order, which would 
 have been honourable to older communities. Be- 
 tween these little towns lay extensive tracts of 
 wilderness, still tenanted by the deer, and enlivened 
 by the notes of the feathered tribes. Farms, newly 
 2 
 
14 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 opened, were thinly dispersed at convenient dis- 
 tances. The traveller, as he held his solitary way 
 among the shadows of the forest, acknowledged the 
 sovereignty of the sylvan deities, whose sway seemed 
 undisputed ; but from these silent shades he emerged 
 at once into the light and life of civilised society. 
 Such were the effects produced by an industrious 
 and somewhat refined population, thrown among 
 the romantic lakes, the fertile vallies, and the bound- 
 less forests of the West. 
 
 The war of 1812, while it exposed the feeble 
 settlements of the frontier .to the danger of hostile 
 incursions, produced life and bustle, where, before, 
 all had been silence and repose. Multitudes of men 
 penetrated the quiet recesses of the forest, and 
 pitched their tents by the peaceful waters, whose 
 murmurs had heretofore mingled harmoniously with 
 the songs of the native melodists. The drum, the 
 trumpet, and the fife the clash of arms, and the 
 heavy reverberations of artillery the rumbling of 
 wheels, and the voices of men all that is discord- 
 ant, and all that is inspiring, in the sounds of war, 
 burst upon the repose of the wilderness. In these 
 regions, however, such terrific indications lasted 
 but for a moment, the gust of war, like the sum- 
 mer cloud sporting its forked lightnings as it swept 
 along, rolled onward, to develop all its awful splen- 
 dour, and destructive energy, on the distant field of 
 battle. 
 
 In the spring of the year 1814, a company of 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 15 
 
 American soldiers, destined for the shores of lake 
 Erie, marched through this sequestered country. 
 Upon a delightful evening, late in the month of May, 
 they arrived at one of those pretty villages to which 
 I have alluded, upon the borders of a small lake. 
 This little band consisted of about ninety newly 
 enlisted men, commanded by a single officer, whose 
 youthful appearance indicated that his military 
 career had as yet been brief. The vicinity of a 
 comfortable hamlet, and the signs of civility and 
 plenty, were peculiarly grateful to the weary sol- 
 diers, who had toiled on their march from the dawn, 
 until near the close of an unusually sultry day. If 
 not " tired of war's alarms," they were oppressed 
 with its fatigues. Emerging from the bosom of the 
 monotonous forest, whose loneliness and silence had 
 become tiresome, they halted on a small eminence, 
 and gazed upon the scene before them. There 
 were groups of cottages embowered in shrubbery, 
 and a few edifices of higher pretensions, but less 
 picturesque ; and there was the village church, 
 white as the driven snow, pure and spotless as the 
 purpose to which it was devoted with its pointed 
 spire directing the soul to another world. The beams 
 of the evening sun glittered over the blue waters 
 of the lake, and the surrounding objects threw 
 their long shadows upon its tranquil mirror. The 
 lake itself, buried among the hills and woods, in- 
 dented with bays and promontories, was so beauti- 
 fully romantic, that even the rugged soldiers seemed 
 
16 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 to inhale refreshment as they passed along its 
 delightful shores. 
 
 Their own appearance was far less imposing. 
 Fatigued with toil, covered with sweat and dust, 
 their clothes soiled, their shoes worn with travel 
 they seemed to bend beneath the weight of their 
 knapsacks, as they stood leaning upon their arms. 
 Upon such occasions, however, the military rule 
 is to put the best foot foremost particularly if 
 there be any fair ladies in the case and the officer 
 prepared to march through the village with all 
 convenient eclat. 
 
 An unpractised observer would have smiled to 
 see how much importance was given to the arrange- 
 ment of a little band of jaded recruits, previous to 
 their exhibition in a secluded hamlet. But what 
 soldier triumphs not in the conquest of a female 
 heart? where is the martial spirit that is not 
 elated with the smile of beauty ? Churlish indeed 
 would be the leader, who should fail in the observ- 
 ance of a customary homage to the fair, even of a 
 village. Not so our officer he determined that 
 every heart in the hamlet should beat to the music 
 of his drum and cheerily issued his orders. The 
 stragglers are called in, and the ranks closed. The 
 systematic order of parade takes place of the loose- 
 ness of the march. The soldier, whose weary 
 limbs seemed incapable of further exertion, now 
 appears to inhale new life ; his nerves are braced, 
 his form erected, and his arms grasped with vigour. 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 17 
 
 The drum strikes up a lively march the little fifer 
 sends forth his shrillest notes the word is given, 
 and the body moves forward with a firm and rapid 
 step* The piercing sounds, wafted over the lake, 
 announce the approach of the military strangers. 
 The villager quits his work to stare the enraptured 
 children rush to join the cavalcade the ladies 
 forsake the tea-table, and fly to the windows to ad- 
 mire " the handsome fellows" and the soldier is 
 rewarded for his momentary exertion ; conscious 
 that he has excited a vivid interest which will not 
 be forgotten at least within the next twenty-four 
 hours. In the rear comes the baggage-wagon loaded, 
 followed, and preceded, by men, women, and chil- 
 dren the sick, the weary, and the lame. But 
 even these are not without their pride. The poor 
 soldier with his knapsack at his back his child on 
 one arm, and his wife leaning upon the other, feels 
 himself as much 
 
 his country's stay, 
 
 In the day and hour of danger," I 
 
 as the stoutest comrade in the ranks. 
 
 The young officer led his command proudly 
 through the village, and selected a retired spot on 
 the margin of the lake for his encampment 
 Arrived at the welcome place of rest, a new scene 
 of bustle ensues. The officer marks off the ground 
 for his camp, and surrounds it by a line of sentinels. 
 The pleas of fatigue are not allowed to interfere 
 with the established rules of discipline, and all are 
 2* 
 
18 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 actively engaged in erecting the frail tenements of 
 canvass, which are to protect them during the 
 night. The wagons discharge their multifarious 
 burthens, and each reclaims his own. The tents 
 are pitched in a regular line, with technical accu- 
 racy. Parties are despatched to procure water, 
 and wood, and straw. The fires are kindled in the 
 rear of the encampment ; the business of cooking 
 commences, and cheerfulness reigns throughout. 
 The sly jest, the loud laugh, and the martial song, 
 resound. Satisfied with the present enjoyment, 
 the careless soldiers soon forgot their past fatigues, 
 and took little thought of the toils that awaited them. 
 There was one who regarded this scene with 
 intense interest. Mr. Pendleton, the commanding 
 officer, was a young gentleman of sense and feeling. 
 Ardent, romantic, and ambitious, the path of life 
 Was bright before him. The world to him was, as 
 yet, a world of novelty ; he gazed with delight upon 
 nature and -on man, and dreamed of still greater 
 Enjoyments to be gathered in the bright career im- 
 printed upon his young and glowing fancy. He 
 had thrown his limbs on the grass, and reclining at 
 full length, watched the unruffled still waters of the 
 lake, and the sun-beams trembling among the tops 
 of the tall trees. As he dwelt upon the quiet land- 
 scape, contrasting it with the tumult and the dan- 
 gers which beset the path of ambition, certain hopes 
 arose unconsciously in his bosom, picturing the 
 scenes of bliss and repose that might reward a youth 
 
19 
 
 of toil and peril. In his fancy he beheld a fairy 
 lake, like the one before him, a cottage embowered 
 with roses and honey-suckles, and a pair of soft 
 blue eyes, beaming love and gladness over all. 
 Then turning to observe the careless mortals who 
 acknowledged his command, a sense of the respon- 
 sibility of his station recalled his fleeting ideas. 
 
 The encampment was now surrounded by the 
 villagers, who had eagerly collected to behold a 
 spectacle, which, in our peaceful country, is hap- 
 pily of rare occurrence. The old and young of 
 either sex were there, decked in the flaunting hues 
 of rustic finery ; and there were belles and beaux, 
 and all the beauty and fashion of the hamlet. 
 
 "Good day, Mr. Corporal," said the village 
 blacksmith to a non-commissioned officer, who was 
 leading out a watering party. The corporal con- 
 sidered himself on detachment, and being fond of 
 the dignity of a separate command, returned the 
 salutation with an air of awkward condescension. 
 
 " Bound for Canada, eh ! corporal ?" continued 
 the blacksmith, " Well, that's your sort but where 
 do you strike first? Quebec or Montreal ?" 
 
 "Can't tell ; we hav'n't determined yet." 
 
 " Close as a vice, eh ! that's the way with you 
 military men well, well, keep your own counsel, 
 only mind you hammer the rust off them are British." 
 
 u Let us alone for that," said the corporal, " we 
 shall give a good account of them before long." 
 
 "That's your sort, corporal, strike* while the 
 
20 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 iron's hot give me you yet. You're none of them 
 tories and fellows that won't fight ; but I say, Mr. 
 Corporal, can't you jisl give us a small idee, a bit 
 of a hint like, where you are going?" 
 
 " Can't indeed don't know, 'till we take a peep 
 at the red coats but you'll hear of us somewhere 
 along the lakes." 
 
 " Ah ! that's your sort, corporal ! Kingston, York, 
 Fort George. I see you know how to hit the right 
 nail on the head I guess I know what's what ! 
 Now my advice to you is " 
 
 " After we dispose of them there small places," 
 said the corporal, " we shall take Quebec." 
 
 " Right, right," said the sable politician, " that's 
 jist my way knock off all my small jobs first, and 
 keep the heavy ones to the last ; but I say, corpo- 
 ral, don't let them outwit you, as they did old 
 Hull." 
 
 " They'll not catch old birds with chafF; we shall 
 be wideawake, and duly sober " "And 'live as a 
 coal, eh ! well, that's your sort, jist my way, I'm 
 always " 
 
 Here the corporal marched off with his party, to 
 the infinite chagrin of the loquacious smith, who, 
 turning to an old woman who had put on her spec- 
 tacles to see the soldiers, and had listened, with 
 ears and mouth open, to the preceding dialogue 
 
 "You see how it is, Mrs. Chatterglib," said he, 
 " we pay these fellows our money, and can't get a 
 word out of them; they've no more gratitude than 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 21 
 
 a bellows-handle but they're fine looking young 
 fellows, howsomever." 
 
 " Nice young men, indeed !" said the old woman, 
 " more r s the pity poor souls, they'll all be mur- 
 dered !" 
 
 " Oh, bless you, no ! they'll bear as much ham- 
 mering as my anvil, and never mind it." 
 
 The villagers had nearly all retired, when Mr. 
 Pendleton observed a young female lingering 
 beyond the line of sentinels ; and believing that 
 neither solitude nor silence is ever voluntarily 
 chosen by the fair sex, he thought that it would be 
 a praiseworthy act of gallantry, to relieve her from 
 both by his presence and conversation. Approach- 
 ing with that easy air of familiarity which soldiers 
 feel at liberty to assume towards rustic beauties, 
 he discovered her to be a beautiful blue eyed girl 
 of sixteen, whose neat person and agreeable fea- 
 tures at once conciliated kindness. She wore a 
 plain dress of domestic cotton, and the office of a 
 bonnet was performed by one of those homely 
 combinations of pasteboard and muslin, commonly 
 called a sun-bonnet, which shelters head, face, neck, 
 and shoulders, from sunbeams and admiring glances 
 unless a lady happens to have a very pretty face, 
 in which case it is commonly thrown back. The 
 garb of the fair stranger was coarse and plain, but 
 there was an air of unstudied neatness throughout 
 the whole economy of her person, that added a 
 charm to her beauty, which mere finery could not 
 
22 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 have given. She leaned against a small tree, resting 
 her innocent and unsophisticated face on her hand 
 in an attitude of -deep abstraction, and gazing at 
 the camp with that earnestness of curiosity, which 
 is excited in inexperienced minds by the first sight 
 of an unusually interesting object. Hers was not 
 that idle glance attracted by gaudy, colours, which 
 the poet meant when he said 
 
 " the sex loves wicked fellows," 
 
 but the childish wonder of an artless heart, throb- 
 bing with delight at the actual presence of a spec- 
 tacle which had mingled in her dreams, and warmed 
 her fancy. The unexpected approach of the young 
 officer covered her face with blushes, but an instant 
 restored her to self-possession, and she replied to 
 his salutation with a frankness which taught him to 
 respect her confiding simplicity. Pendleton became 
 interested, and entered upon the business of enter- 
 taining the lovely stranger, with a singleness of 
 purpose that soon banished restraint ; and ere the 
 young enthusiasts had time to reflect that they were 
 strangers, they were unconsciously strolling around 
 the camp in easy conversation. 
 
 The youthful maiden gazed with delight upon all 
 she saw. The tents were wonderful ! the uniforms 
 beautiful! the drum delightful! and the soldiers, 
 sweet fellows, were, no doubt, every man of them 
 an Adonis in the eyes of the romantic girl. Sweet 
 are the dreams of youth, when fancy gilds with her 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 23 
 
 brightest hues all that is graceful, and veils every 
 deformity under an imaginary charm ! Such were 
 the visions of the pretty rustic as she beheld, for 
 the first time, a display, however humble, of " the 
 pomp, pride, and circumstance of glorious war," 
 a display against which no female heart has ever 
 yet been proof. Every sentinel was, in her eyes, 
 a knightly hero, glowing with patriotism, and cou- 
 rage, and honour; and their commander, of course, 
 a very Washington. Her eye rested, with an 
 admiration truly feminine, upon the gaudy orna- 
 ments of the young chieftain ; the glittering epaulet, 
 the gilded sword-knot, and the scarlet sash, were 
 gayer arid richer toys than her unpractised eye had 
 been accustomed to behold ; but they assumed a 
 nobler value in her estimation, as the undisputed 
 insignia of rank and merit, and as she gazed upon 
 that young officer, her admiration was mingled 
 with a softer sensation, which thrilled every nerve 
 and artery with a new and undefinable delight. 
 The officer marked the delirium of the sensitive 
 girl, but was not coxcomb enough to be vain of the 
 homage which he was conscious he owed to his 
 profession, his dress, and his command, and shared 
 with the humblest comrade in the ranks ; and which 
 even his little bandy-legged bugler, who was breath- 
 ing forth his choicest holiday notes in an adjacent 
 thicket, had contributed to inspire. His own emo- 
 tions were of a varied, but not unpleasant character. 
 Here was a young and beautiful girl, evidently of 
 
24 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 the humblest parentage, venturing to indulge her 
 curiosity by visiting a camp, with no other pro- 
 tector than her own innocence. Her entire 
 ignorance of the impropriety of the step she had 
 taken, was in itself interesting so artless ! so fear- 
 less ! She seemed really to believe, in downright 
 earnest, that men were her fellow creatures and 
 brethren, and not wicked knaves lying in wait to 
 devour helpless women ; and that the plumed war- 
 riors of the nation were bound to be good soldiers 
 to a lady, as well as to a lord. But what struck 
 him most, was the native intelligence, vivacity, and 
 romantic turn of mind, which gave energy and ease 
 to the language and manners of a peasant girl, who 
 had received nothing from the hand of art. She 
 said little, but her soft eye was lighted up with 
 intelligence, and there was eloquence in every 
 expression of her delighted features. That she was 
 uneducated, and unaccustomed to society, was very 
 evident ; but her manners were neither bashful nor 
 vulgar neither polished nor forward, they had a 
 certain natural ease, which was the result of inno- 
 cence and self-respect. Perhaps the excited feel- 
 ings of that evening, banishing ordinary associations, 
 and giving a higher tone to the spirit, added an air 
 of elevation to manners naturally chaste and simple. 
 Be all this as it may, a handsomer or happier couple 
 than this, has seldom been seen on the green sward ; 
 and never did two hearts mingle more artlessly 
 together. 
 
25 
 
 Passing at length in the rear of the camp, they 
 came in front of the guard-tent, near which a pri- 
 soner, in chains, lay extended on the ground guarded 
 by a sentinel. The maiden gazed a moment upon 
 the unfortunate man, and then, in a tone of horror, 
 exclaimed, " Oh William ! William ! it is he ! it is 
 he !" The prisoner, whose eyes bad been cast to 
 the ground as his officer approached, raised them 
 on hearing this exclamation, and displayed a youth- 
 ful countenance, pale with disease, and deeply 
 marked with grief and shame. An expression of 
 anguish sat upon his face ; his eyes were sunk, his 
 dark locks, long and tangled, hung over his wo- 
 worn features, his person was clad in miserable 
 rags and his whole appearance was haggard, and 
 forlorn. Without moving from his reclining pos- 
 ture, he extended one hand to the weeping girl, and 
 with the other shaded his pallid features. The 
 maiden had dropped on one knee beside him, and 
 as the tear rolled down her cheek, she seemed like 
 virtue bending to intercede for crime. For a few 
 minutes both were silent ; and the officer, respecting 
 the sacredness of their feelings, ordered the sentinel 
 to remove a short distance, and was himself re- 
 tiring when he was overtaken by the distracted girl. 
 In a few words she had learned the crime and the 
 fate of the hapless youth. He had forfeited his life 
 by desertion ! " Save him ! Pardon him !" she ex* 
 claimed in frantic accents, as she threw herself at 
 the feet of the officer, " Oh ! pardon him for mercy's 
 3 
 
26 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 sake, for the sake of his poor old mother !" It 
 was some time before Pendleton could command 
 himself sufficiently to attempt a reply, while the 
 agitated girl continued to reiterate with all the 
 heart-rending energy of grief. " Oh ! do do par- 
 don him, pardon my brother!" At last he suc- 
 ceeded in explaining to her, that he possessed no 
 discretionary power over the fate of the unhappy 
 youth, who must be tried by a court-martial, and if 
 convicted could only be rescued from death, by the 
 mercy of the commanding general. 
 
 "Then," said the girl, with the calmness of de- 
 termined resolution, " I will go to him !" 
 
 " Impossible !" said Pendleton, " the head-quar- 
 ters of the army are at Buffalo the distance is 
 more than a hundred miles too far for an unpro- 
 tected girl to venture." 
 
 "What have I to fear?" 
 
 "Every thing fatigue, danger, insult evils 
 which you are too young, too innocent, to dream 
 of too weak to repel." 
 
 " An orphan girl, seeking to save a brother's life, 
 and to rescue the gray hairs of an aged widow from 
 sorrow, will find support; heaven will protect 
 me!" 
 
 " It cannot be it must not be," said Pendleton, 
 u you have neither strength to endure the toils of 
 the journey, nor courage to surmount the difficul- 
 ties which would beset your path." 
 
 M Oh, I can endure a great deal, for those I love." 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 27 
 
 " Your love must be great, and your faith strong, 
 if they could bear your spirit up through all the 
 perils of a lonesome road, and a licentious camp. 
 Let me beseech you not to think of such an adven- 
 ture." 
 
 " Ah ! sir," replied the ardent girl, " if you knew 
 the pious mother of that young man if you could 
 hear the fervent prayers which she puts up daily 
 and almost hourly for her only son, the darling and 
 stay of her old age, you would not think any peril 
 too great that could bring her peace and comfort. 
 Oh ! 1 will do any thing risk any thing to soothe 
 the bitterness of her affliction !" 
 
 " After all," continued the officer, "your success 
 will be doubtful. It is uncertain when a court- 
 martial will sit ; it may be in a few days, or it may 
 not be for many months ; the general will not inter- 
 pose his authority until the evidence has been ex- 
 amined, and at last he may not grant your peti- 
 tion." 
 
 " Oh, he must grant it, he surely will if he is a 
 merciful man, if he is a father, he cannot refuse it." 
 
 14 He is a father, and a merciful man, and I think 
 he will pardon your brother ; but he is a soldier, 
 true to his duty, and rigid in his discipline, and 
 may think it improper to do so. You must remain 
 with your mother to comfort her ; trust to me the 
 care of your brother's interest ; I will be his advo- 
 cate, and, if possible, procure his pardon." 
 
28 . THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 "Will you promise that? 1 ' demanded the girl 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I promise it most solemnly." 
 
 " Thank you thank you ; I knew you could not 
 be so hard-hearted as to see my brother perish." 
 
 Pendleton smiled as he repressed the obvious 
 compliment, which would have told her how little 
 generosity it required to become the advocate of 
 one who was dear to her. But he took her hand 
 and pressed it, as she added, 
 
 " As you hope for mercy, remember your pro- 
 mise." 
 
 "1 will both remember, and perform it reli- 
 giously." 
 
 " Then I will trust you," said she, " farewell !" 
 
 She returned to the forlorn youth, and after a 
 few minutes' conversation, retired. Pendleton would 
 hape accompanied her home, as the evening shades 
 were now closing in, but bounding away with the 
 fleetness of a deer, she was soon lost in the sur- 
 rounding shades. 
 
 Long before the first gray streak illumined the 
 horizon on the following morning, our little camp 
 was awakened by the inspiring notes of the reveille. 
 Every soldier has felt the charm of this inspiring 
 music. Whether it be that the tunes adapted to 
 this purpose are remarkably sweet, or that the hour, 
 when all else is still, is peculiarly propitious, or 
 that hearts soothed by sleep, and minds unoccu- 
 pied by thought, are more open to the reception of 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 29 
 
 agreeable sensations, it is certain that he who has 
 once heard the melodious strains which usher in 
 the military day, never forgets their delightful im- 
 pression. Now the gladsome notes floated over 
 the quiet waters, and the cheerful echoes enlivened 
 the surrounding shores. The events of the pre- 
 ceding evening, had added another link to the chain 
 of romantic associations in the mind of Pendleton; 
 and as he stood with his arms folded, leaning against 
 a tree, upon the spot where he had parted with the 
 fair stranger, he felt his heart softened by new and 
 peculiar emotions. 
 
 Another interesting feature in this scene was the 
 assembling of the troops, to the morning roll-call. 
 As the music played they were seen creeping un- 
 willingly from their tents, a various group, some 
 half-clad, and some in uniform. Gradually disposing 
 themselves, they formed a line in front of the en- 
 campment, the non-commissioned officers passing 
 about, or posted at intervals, with lights, which shed 
 a glare over this little band, while every surround- 
 ing object was involved in gloom. As the music 
 ceased, the officer advanced to superintend the 
 calling of the roll ; a deep silence prevailed during 
 the performance of this duty, and at its conclusion 
 the orderly sergeant announced that the men were 
 " all present." Then the camp fires were kindled, 
 and the morning meal was despatched while day- 
 light yet lingered beyond the distant hills. 
 
 Orders were now given to prepare for the march. 
 3* 
 
30 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 The musicians, traversing the encampment with a 
 rapid step, cheerily played " the general ;" a merry 
 march to which a yankee poet has adapted the 
 homely strain, 
 
 * Don't you hear the gen'ral say, 
 Strike your tents and march away ; 
 All the way to Hackensack, 
 Each with knapsack at his back?" 
 
 Activity and bustle now prevailed. The soldiers 
 were seen packing their knapsacks and loading the 
 wagons. Then the pins which distend the tents, 
 and confine them to the ground, are drawn up, the 
 tent-poles are supported by the hands of men sta- 
 tioned in the front and rear, the music concludes 
 with a long ruffle, and as the last stroke falls upon 
 the drum, every tent sinks at the same instant, and 
 the whole encampment disappears. The tents and 
 camp equipage are loaded in the wagons, and the 
 soldiers, now in full uniform, parade with arms. 
 The column is formed, a lively march strikes up, 
 and the party moves off cheerfully, to commence 
 the toils of a new day. 
 
 Arrived at the head-quarters of the army, Pen- 
 dleton did not forget his promise. William Ben- 
 son was soon brought before a court-martial, ar- 
 raigned for desertion, and pleaded guilty. In vain 
 Pendleton advised and entreated him to recall the 
 honest confession in vain the president of the 
 court humanely admonished him that by this plea 
 he abandoned all defence, and sealed his own doom. 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 31 
 
 Sullen and silent, he noticed their arguments no 
 further than to repeat the fatal plea. But his gene- 
 rous officer did not abandon him to his fate. Pre- 
 senting himself before the commanding general, he 
 proved by incontestible evidence that the unhappy 
 youth was a minor, who had been entrapped at an 
 unguarded moment, by the devices of an artful re- 
 cruiting sergeant ; and then frankly related the man- 
 ner in which he had become interested in his fate. 
 This eloquent appeal came home to the bosom of 
 the brave commander in chief, who not only par- 
 doned the culprit, but directed his immediate dis- 
 charge from the service. 
 
 Language is too feeble to describe the change 
 produced on the unhappy youth by this intelligence. 
 He had wholly resigned himself to despair ; grief 
 and shame had worn him down to a mere skeleton, 
 and the almost certain decree, which doomed him 
 to an ignominious death, had plunged him into a sul- 
 len apathy. To part with life was painful, but its 
 possession had become a burthen; and he had viewed 
 all the proceedings against him with stupid indiffer- 
 ence. The rapidity with which his fate was hurrying 
 to a crisis, left no time for that gradual process by 
 which the mind is inured to guilt, and hardened 
 against punishment and shame. With a heart still 
 tenderly awake to the ardent emotions of generous 
 youth, and glowing with the lively hopes and fears 
 of that sanguine age, the rapid transition from inno- 
 cence to sin, from sin to death, filled his imagina- 
 
32 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 tion with horror; and his mind dwelled upon vivid 
 images of pain until it became stupified with an- 
 guish. He had nothing to sustain him in his 
 affliction neither the soldier's pride, nor the Chris- 
 tian's fortitude. He could not feel the former, for 
 he had deserted his country; nor the latter, for he 
 had forsaken his God. His young heart clung to 
 the world whose pleasures it had just begun to 
 taste but the world seemed all to have abandoned 
 or condemned him. Of the friends of his youth, 
 not one was here the lips that used to pray for 
 him seemed silent -few pitied and none consoled 
 him ; he was surrounded by those whose profession 
 taught them to consider his crime unpardonable, 
 and himself a degraded poltroon, part traitor and 
 part coward, whose very presence was pollution. 
 He had no consolation in his own reflections, for 
 these pictured the agony of a widowed mother, 
 whom he had abandoned the vices of a brief but 
 wicked life the pangs of a public and shameful exe- 
 cution. 
 
 But when the news came that the forfeit of his 
 crime was paid, that he was no longer a disgraced, 
 forsaken man, no longer a condemned malefactor, 
 but was freed at once from guilt, and bondage, and 
 death, his heart leaped with joy, his whole frame 
 swelled with gladness, and all his benumbed facul- 
 ties sprung at once into vigour. The world was 
 again bright and glowing his crimes and his mis- 
 fortunes were forgotten his latent virtues came 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 33 
 
 into action and the fountains of joy were opened in 
 his bosom, pouring streams of bliss around his new- 
 ly awakened senses. Gratitude was not the least 
 vivid of his pleasurable sensations. He refused to 
 quit his benefactor ; and having sent the glad tidings 
 of his release to his aged parent, remained with 
 Pendletdn as a volunteer, determined to wipe the 
 stains from his character on the tield of battle. 
 
 He fought by the side of his young commander 
 on the field of Chippewa. The battle took place 
 on the margin of the Niagara river, on an extensive 
 plain, which had once been covered with fine 
 farms, but now, forsaken by its inhabitants, and de- 
 solated by war, it exhibited only a barren waste. 
 The river at that place begins to acquire some of 
 that terrific velocity, with which it rushes over the 
 awful precipice three miles below, creating one of 
 the greatest natural curiosities in existence; the 
 noise of the cataract is he.ard, and the column of 
 foam distinctly seen from the battle ground. On 
 the other side the field is bounded by a thick forest, 
 but the plain itself presented a level smooth surface, 
 unbroken by ravines, and without a tree or bush to 
 intercept the view, or an obstacle to impede the 
 movements of the hostile bodies, or to afford to 
 either party an advantage. From this plain the 
 American camp was separated by a small creek. 
 In the full glare of a summer sun, on the morning 
 of the fifth of July, the British troops were seen ad- 
 vancing towards our camp, across the destined tield 
 
34 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 of strife, their waving plumes, their scarlet uniforms, 
 and gilded ornaments, exhibiting a gay and gorge- 
 ous appearance their martial music, their firm and 
 rapid step, indicating elastic hopes and high cou- 
 rage. The Americans, inferior in number, were 
 hastily put in motion to meet the advancing foe ; 
 they crossed a small rude bridge, the only outlet 
 from the camp under a heavy fire of the enemy's 
 artillery ; and moved steadily to the spot selected 
 for the hot engagement. The scene at this moment 
 was beautiful and imposing. The British line, 
 glowing with golden and crimson hues, was stretch- 
 ed across the plain, flanked by pieces of brass ord- 
 nance, whose rapid discharge spread death over the 
 field, and filled the air with thunder; while the 
 clouds of smoke enveloping each extremity of the 
 line, left the centre only exposed to the eye, and ex- 
 tending off to the river on the one hand, and the 
 forest on the other, filled the whole back ground of 
 the landscape. The Americans were advancing in 
 column. They were new recruits, now led for the 
 first time into action, and except a few of the offi- 
 cers, none of all that heroic band had ever before 
 seen the banner of a foe. But they moved steadily 
 to their ground, unbroken by the galling fire : and 
 platoon after platoon wheeled into line with the 
 same graceful accuracy of movement which marks 
 the evolutions of the holiday parade, until the whole 
 column was deployed into one extended front; the 
 officers carefully dressing the line with technical 
 
33 
 
 skill, and the whole brigade evincing by its deep si- 
 lence, and the faithful precision of its movements, 
 the subordination of strict discipline, and the steady 
 coolness of determined courage. Now the musket- 
 ry of the enemy began to rattle, pouring bullets 
 thick as hail upon our ranks* Still not a trigger 
 was drawn, not a voice was heard on our side, save 
 the quick peremptory tones of command. General 
 Scott rode along the line, cheering and restraining 
 his troops : then passing from flank to flank to see 
 that all was as he wished, he wheeled his steed into 
 the rear of the troops and gave the command to 
 " fire I" A voice was immediately heard in the 
 British ranks, supposed to be that of their com- 
 mander, exclaiming, " charge the d d Yankees ! 
 charge the d d Buffalo militia ! charge ! charge !" 
 The American general ordered his men to " support 
 arms !" The British rushed forward with bayonets 
 charged; but they were struck with amazement 
 when they beheld those whom their commander had 
 tauntingly called militia, standing motionless as sta- 
 tues : their muskets erect, their arms folded across 
 their breasts, gazing calmly at the hostile ranks ad- 
 vancing furiously with levelled bayonets ! It was a 
 refinement of discipline rafely exhibited, and here 
 altogether unexpected. The Americans stood un- 
 til the enemy approached within a few paces: un- 
 til the foemen could see the fire flashing from each 
 other's eyes and each could read the expression 
 of his adversary's -face ; then, deliberately, as the 
 
36 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 word was given, the Americans levelled their pieces, 
 and fired, and the whole line of the enemy 
 seemed annihilated ! Many were killed, many 
 wounded, and some, rushing madly forward with a 
 powerful momentum, fell over their prostrate com- 
 panions, or were thrown down by the weight of suc- 
 ceeding combatants. In one instant the ground 
 lately occupied by that gallant line, was covered 
 with flying Britons ; in another, a second line had 
 advanced to sustain the contest, while the broken 
 fragments of the first were rallied behind it. The 
 " Buffalo militia " were now the assailants, advan- 
 cing with charged bayonets. Then it was that the 
 young American chiefs, who led that gallant host, 
 displayed the skill of veterans, and the names of 
 Scott, Jessup, Leavenworth, M'Niel, and Hindman, 
 were given to their country to adorn the proudest 
 page of its history. Five-and-thirty minutes de- 
 cided the contest, and the retiring foe was pursued, 
 and driven to his fortress. None who saw, will for- 
 get the terrific beauty of that scene the noble ap- 
 pearance of the troops the dreadful precision of 
 every movement the awful fury of the battle its 
 fatal severity its brief continuance its triumph- 
 ant close ! 
 
 As the victors returned from the pursuit of the 
 retreating enemy, a scene of intense interest was 
 presented. They traversed the field which a few 
 minutes before had sparkled with the proud equip- 
 age of war. There had been gallant men and gay 
 
37 
 
 uniforms and waving banners ; and there had been 
 drums, and trumpets, and the wild notes of the 
 bugle, stirring the soul to action. There had been 
 nodding plumes and beating hearts, and eyes that 
 gleamed with valour and ambition. There too had 
 been impetuous chiefs emulous of fame, dashing 
 their fiery steeds along the hostile ranks ; and there 
 had been all the spirit-stirring sounds and sights, 
 that fill the eye, and the ear, and the heart of the 
 young warrior, giving more than the poet's fire to 
 his entranced imagination. What a change had a 
 few brief moments produced ! Now the field was 
 strewn with ghastly heaps of bloody and disfigured 
 forms ; with the wounded, the mutilated, and the 
 dying. The ear was filled with strange, and melan- 
 choly, and terrific sounds ; the shouts of victory had 
 given place to groans of anguish, the complaints of 
 the vanquished, the prayers or the imprecations of 
 the dying. Here was one who called on heaven to 
 protect his children ; another raved of a bereaved 
 wife ; a third tenderly aspirated some beloved name, 
 consecrated only by that tie ; while others depre- 
 cated their own sufferings, or pleacfed piteously for 
 the pardon of their sins. Here were those who 
 prayed ardently for death, and some who implored 
 a few moments more of life. Complaints of bodily 
 pain, and confessions of unrepented crime burst 
 from the souls of many in heart-rending accents ; 
 while some, as they gazed upon the fast flowing 
 crimson torrent, wasted the brief remains of breath 
 4 
 
38 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 in moralising upon the shortness of life, and man's 
 careless prodigality of existence. Many gallant 
 spirits there were, on that ensanguined plain, who 
 prayed silently ; and some who dared not pray, and 
 yet scorned to murmur. Their compressed lips 
 bespoke their firmness ; their eyes wandered wildly 
 and wistfully over the bright scene that was fading 
 before them, and they grasped fervently .the hands 
 of those who mournfully bade them farewell. Last 
 of all were seen those, in whom the soldier's en- 
 thusiasm overpowered every other sensation, who 
 smiled at pain, and welcomed victory even in death. 
 The actors in this scene seem to have multiplied ; 
 for those who had occupied but a small space, 
 when marshalled in compact bodies, were now 
 scattered widely over the plain. At one spot was 
 a group of men, at another a heap of mutilated bo- 
 dies ; all around were broken carriages, and the 
 carcasses of men and horses. The distinctions of 
 rank and country had ceased with many. The 
 British grenadier and the American rifleman slept 
 in death together ; the limbs of the common sentinel 
 were thrown across the body of his officer. The 
 soldier, slightly hurt, supported his desperately 
 wounded enemy ; the dying Englishman reclined 
 his head upon the lap of the bleeding American ; 
 and the American threw his exhausted frame into 
 the arms of the vanquished Briton. Every one de- 
 manded help from the nearest hand, or afforded it 
 where it seemed most necessary. The sullen pride 
 
39 
 
 of the vanquished , and the ready courtesy of the 
 victors, alone distinguished their deportment- 
 
 " What wonderful infatuation ! What a paradox 
 in human nature!" exclaimed Pendleton, as he 
 surveyed this scene. " Strange, that men with 
 common feelings, with humane and generous pro- 
 pensities, without any personal animosity, should be 
 arrayed in deadly hostility ! Equally strange, that 
 in a, moment they should forget their enmity, in the 
 kindly interchange of friendship and benevolence! 
 Such are the effects of national ambition, such the 
 fatal consequences of war !" 
 
 Proud as our young soldier felt of his own exer- 
 tions he viewed the field of battle with the most 
 painful emotions. His were the generous sensa- 
 tions of a noble mind, which could not gaze un- 
 moved at human misery; time could never have 
 familiarized his heart to these bloody scenes of 
 death. 
 
 But it was his fate to witness again, and again, 
 the awful splendour of the battle. He was present 
 on that eventful night, when the thunders of war 
 mingled with the roar of the mighty cataract. The 
 battle was long doubtful, and bloody. The Ameri- 
 cans, opposed to superior numbers, fought with 
 desperate perseverance ; leader after leader was 
 carried wounded from the field, or fell at his post ; 
 and our little army, triumphant at last, purchased 
 victory with the loss of half its force. 
 
 Pendleton shared the glory of the siege at Fort 
 
40 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 Erie, when the brave garrisons repelled for many 
 weeks the unceasing assaults of a potent army ; 
 when every day was employed in warfare, and the 
 repose of every night broken by the roar of artil- 
 lery. He witnessed the horrors of that night, when 
 the foe, with imprecations of vengeance and vows 
 of extermination, rushed upon our ramparts, deter- 
 mined to destroy or perish. He saw the effects of 
 that tremendous explosion which filled the air with 
 fragments of human forms, with lightning glare 
 illuming the lake, the ramparts, the forest, and the 
 plain : and in short he. shared the dangers and the 
 honour of the brilliant campaign of 1814, in which 
 four successful battles were fought with a foe of 
 superior force, and not a single reverse experienced. 
 Our young soldier had now seen the world, and 
 he had gained distinction. At the conclusion of the 
 war he resigned his commission, and returned to 
 his friends, bearing with him a severe wound, the 
 witness of his services. He was received with open 
 arms. Banquets were made in honour of his ar- 
 rival. The gentlemen were prodigal of their wel- 
 come and their wine ; the ladies were equally 
 generous in tea and compliments. Many a lovely 
 cheek glowed in his presence. True, the church 
 bells did not ring no splendid sword solicited his 
 acceptance nor did any public body notice the 
 prowess of a subaltern ; but in that little circle 
 dearer to him than all the world, his laurels bloom- 
 ed as freshly as those which decked his general's 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 41 
 
 brow ; and the young ladies who had paraded the 
 streets for weeks to catch a glimpse of Brown or 
 Scott, were satisfied with having seen Captain Pen- 
 dleton, who, though not so celebrated, was younger 
 and handsomer, and withal, had fought as desper- 
 ately as either of those distinguished chieftains. 
 Invited, flattered, and admired, the heart of the 
 young soldier swelled with pleasure, and he felt 
 that he had not lived in vain. 
 
 But this could not last for ever. It soon became 
 necessary for Pendleton to choose another profes- 
 sion ; for happily, in our country, few men are will- 
 ing, and still fewer are able, to live in idleness. He 
 chose the law ; but it was long before his military 
 habits could be changed for the labourof severe study, 
 and the quiet of civil pursuits. The martial life is 
 full of interest : its changes are numerous and ab- 
 rupt ; it affords many pleasures, it excites proud and 
 lofty emotions ; it enlivens, ennobles, and awakens 
 the soul with generous feelings and novel associa- 
 tions ; its honours, its dangers, its hardships, its pri- 
 vations, arouse the highest energies of manhood, 
 and elevate the mind with the consciousness of 
 meritorious achievement. Even its hours of repose 
 are filled with engagements that refine, and hopes 
 that elevate. It has little to do with what we call 
 the business of life; the affections are not blunted, 
 nor the mind degraded, with the selfish views, the 
 servile employments, the sordid speculations, of 
 worldly men. The heart and the imagination enter 
 
42 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 into all the occupations of the soldier. It is a 
 career full of interest to the young mind ; and they 
 who have entered into the magic circle of its en- 
 chantments, imbibed its ardour, felt its vicissitudes, 
 and achieved its laurels, return with an almost in- 
 vincible reluctance to the sober pursuits of common 
 life. Pendleton felt continually the absence of 
 those inspiring emotions, those high hopes, and gay 
 dreams, that had kept his soul continually soaring 
 above mortality. His delicacy shrunk from the 
 collision of grovelling ideas and gross employments ; 
 and his thoughts often revelled in visions of " the 
 plumed troop and the big wars." Among these 
 day -dreams, the adventure of the peasant girl was 
 not forgotten. It was a green spot upon his memo- 
 ry a delightful subject of reflection. The beauty, 
 the innocence, the courage of that lovely maiden, 
 were deeply imprinted on his heart, and he often 
 wished she had been born in a higher station. 
 
 Three years had now rolled away since the oc- 
 currence of the events described in the commence- 
 ment of this tale. Pendleton's wound, which had 
 but lately healed, and his confinement at a seden- 
 tary occupation, had produced a delicate state of 
 health, which rendered his studies irksome and in- 
 jurious ; and he resolved to try the fashionable 
 remedy for all complaints, fresh air and exercise. 
 His dissipated senses had scarcely recovered from 
 the exhilarating effects of the scenes and feelings 
 which I have described, and his mind became 
 
43 
 
 again filled with romantic reflections, as he pro- 
 ceeded on his journey. Blackstone and Coke 
 were in his head ; but his heart was occupied with 
 banners and bugles, and lakes and hills, and blue 
 eyes and rosy lips. With these sensations he re- 
 traced his former steps. His eye wandered with 
 new delight over the precipitous shores of the 
 Hudson, he participated in the amusements of 
 Ballston and Saratoga, arid lingered with mournful 
 pleasure along the banks of the Ontario. He revi- 
 sited the scenes of warlike contention, and the 
 graves of his former companions. He gazed with 
 fresh emotion on the stupendous cataract, and 
 strolled over the dilapidated ramparts of Fort Erie, 
 mingling with the gay and fashionable tourists who 
 now lounged in safety over the spots which he had 
 seen peopled with a military array. He beheld 
 industrious husbandmen, smiling cottages, and rich 
 harvests, where he had seen a depopulated waste, 
 and desolating armies. The change from smoking 
 ruins, and deserted fields, to the delightful scenes 
 of rural industry, was too enchanting not to pro- 
 duce a deep impression, and he turned his steps 
 homeward with chastened feelings, and a mind 
 glowing with virtuous resolutions. Convinced that 
 true glory may be attained in the bosom of a 
 peaceful community, and that true happiness exists 
 only in the domestic circle, he resolved to seek 
 tranquillity in the practice of usefulness and virtue. 
 Why was it that Pendleton, during a few days 
 
44 
 
 that he spent in New York, at the commencement 
 of his tour, had eagerly solicited his friends to pro- 
 cure him letters to persons residing at B al- 
 though he took no other letters, and in his wander- 
 ings rather avoided than sought society ? Why, hav- 
 ing procured these important credentials, did he take 
 a different route, loitering at various points of inte- 
 rest, and only touching at B on his return? 
 And why did he then keep those letters in his poc- 
 ket, and shrink from society more sedulously than 
 before ? " The young gentleman was in love," says 
 a fair reader. Perhaps so, but remember, ma- 
 dam, I do not assert it. As a faithful historian, I 
 am bound only to relate facts, leaving it to philoso- 
 phers and young ladies, who are versed in such 
 matters, to reconcile these seeming contradictions. 
 B was the same village in whose vicinity Pen- 
 dleton had met the blue-eyed sister of William 
 Benson. Established at the inn, he wandered 
 about the neighbourhood, without any settled pur- 
 pose, and with feelings which were, perhaps, im- 
 perfectly developed to himself. The villagers 
 wondered who this silent stranger could be, who 
 did nothing but draw pictures, and play on the 
 flute, and stroll over the hills. Some thought he 
 was an engineer, sent to trace the route of the new 
 canal ; others believed him to be a British spy, and 
 a few insisted that he was an emissary, employed 
 in some mighty political conspiracy. Their curio- 
 sity and suspicion became troublesome, and it was 
 
45 
 
 to quiet these, that Pendleton one day presented a 
 letter of introduction to Mr. Sandford, an opulent 
 gentleman in the neighbourhood, who accidentally 
 dined, on some public occasion, at the inn where 
 he lodged. Mr. Sandford received him with great 
 cordiality, kindly reproached him for having so 
 long concealed himself, and insisted on Pcndleton's 
 becoming his guest, during the remainder of his 
 stay in that country. This our young officer de* 
 clined, but accepted an invitation to dinner on the 
 ensuing day. 
 
 One of Pendleton's amusements had been to row 
 a light skiff over the beautiful lake which I have 
 described, fts waters were clear as crystal, and 
 the smooth sheet, though narrow, was several miles 
 in length shaded with forests, and encircled with 
 hills, which sometimes pushed their bold promon- 
 tories far into the limpid tide, and then receding, 
 allowed the water to extend its bays deep into the 
 forest. Pendleton became enamoured of these 
 solitudes, where he roved unseen and undisturbed ; 
 and every day saw his little bark gliding over the 
 glassy surface. Sometimes he caught fish and 
 threw them back into the water, and often, in the 
 secluded recess of a bay or inlet, he played upon 
 his flute, and listened to its echoes. There was 
 one spot which particularly attracted his attention. 
 It was a place where the towering hill seemed to 
 have been reft asunder by some convulsion of na- 
 ture, opening a deep gulf through which the 
 
46 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 waters flowed into an irregular basin surrounded 
 with rocks, and overhung with precipices. Trees 
 and bushes springing from the crevices covered the 
 rocks with verdure, partly concealing their abrupt 
 projections, and casting on the silent water below 
 a deep shade. 
 
 One afternoon Pendleton drew out his pencil, 
 and attempted to sketch the features of this lonely 
 spot. He sat in his boat, which was moored near 
 the entrance of the recess, and was looking ear- 
 nestly on the precipice opposite to him, when a 
 female form issued from behind a projecting rock, 
 and stood for a moment on the verge. Soon as 
 her eye fell on the enraptured artist, whose gaze 
 was rivetted ardently upon her, she fled. Pendle- 
 ton remained immoveable with surprise, his fasci- 
 nated glance fixed upon the spot from which the 
 apparition had disappeared ; for in that fleeting 
 vision he recognised the long lost, long cherished 
 form of Benson's sister ! He soon recovered his 
 self-possession, and pursued the lovely fugitive, but 
 after diligently exploring the rocks and bushes for 
 hours, returned without having found the least 
 trace of a footstep. Pendleton began to inquire 
 seriously whether his fancy had not deceived him. 
 The features of that lovely girl were deeply en- 
 graven on his heart ; her form was often present in 
 his sleeping and his waking dreams, and now, when 
 his imagination was heated in the attempt to por- 
 tray a wild landscape, and the " poet's eye in a fine 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 47 
 
 frenzy rolling" over an enchanted scene, the imagi- 
 nary image of one fondly recollected might indeed 
 have intruded into the picture. Such was Pendle- 
 ton's conclusion as he resumed his oars and returned 
 homeward over the silent waters. 
 
 This incident occurred a few days previous to 
 his introduction to Mr. Sandford, and might have 
 strengthened the desire he now felt to mingle in 
 society. More than once he had remarked the 
 romantic beauty of Mr. Sandford's residence on the 
 shore of the lake. The house was small, but ele- 
 gant, surrounded by a lawn, which extended to the 
 water's edge, shaded with tall trees, and embowered 
 in shrubbery. The gardens and all the grounds dis- 
 played a refined taste. Once or twice, when his 
 little voyages had been delayed until a later hour 
 than ordinary in the enjoyment of a moonlight scene, 
 he had poised his oars to listen to the tones of a 
 piano, and the dulcet strains of a female voice, is- 
 suing from that lonely dwelling. All these circum- 
 stances were so much in unison with the feelings of 
 Pendleton, that he went to Mr. Sandford's, elated 
 with pleasing anticipation. This will be the more 
 readily believed when it is added that the mansion 
 of Sandford was near to that fairy alcove where 
 he had seen the apparition of the fair rustic. 
 
 His reception was quite as agreeable as he had 
 expected. The house, the furniture, and the library, 
 with every appearance of opulence, afforded evi- 
 dence also of taste and liberality; Sandford was 
 
48 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 sensible and polite, and his fair daughter was a 
 beautiful and accomplished woman. The beauty 
 of this interesting female formed but a small part of 
 her loveliness ; her manners were engaging, her 
 voice musical, her conversation sensible and easy 
 but when she sung there was a fascination in the 
 soft fire of her eye. a melody in her voice, a feeling 
 gracefulness in her expression, which added new 
 charms to the poet's happiest thought. Pendleton 
 gazed upon the bright vision with a pleasure so in- 
 tense that it became almost painful. It was not 
 alone because this lovely woman was young, and 
 fair, and blooming that her voice was music, and 
 her eye poetry, and her step grace, nor because 
 she was surrounded by roses and honeysuckles, and 
 all "the blest charms of nature" nor yet, that his 
 own heart was softened into the proper mood to 
 receive the tender impression : all these things con- 
 spired to entrance the senses of our hero but there 
 was a cause paramount to all these which fixed his 
 enchanted gaze, and made his heart palpitate with 
 tremulous delight. In this accomplished woman he 
 discovered a striking likeness to the peasant girl 
 whose image he had so long treasured in his bosom ! 
 Perplexed with a coincidence so wonderful, he re- 
 turned to his lodgings that night, with a heart bur- 
 thened with anxious thought. 
 
 Scarcely a day now passed which did not find 
 our hero at the house of Mr. Sandford, and his visits 
 seemed to be as acceptable as they were frequent. 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 49 
 
 Louisa's smiles continued as bright, and Sandford's 
 welcome as cordial as at first. Young hearts soon 
 mingle together ; youth has none of that repulsive 
 coldness which makes confidence the growth of 
 long acquaintance. There are certain affinities in 
 human bosoms, certain influences which seem to 
 operate imperceptibly by attraction, as the magnet 
 impels the metal, and draws kindred spirits into 
 contact and communion. The hearts of Pendleton 
 and Louisa mingled as kindly as portions of the 
 same element. They sang and played together, or 
 strolled about the green lawn, or sat under a large 
 elm which threw its branches over the surface of 
 the lake. Sandford often joined them, and if he 
 saw, he did not disapprove, their growing predilec- 
 tion. Whatever might have been formerly the case, 
 Pendleton was now certainly in love ; and he en- 
 joyed the emotions of that delightful passion with- 
 out alloy. Still the likeness which he had observed 
 at his first visit, haunted his imagination, and as he 
 studied every accent and movement of Louisa Sand- 
 ford, the peasant girl often recurred to him. Some- 
 times a tone of her voice would strike some chord 
 of his heart, and awaken a thrilling sensation, and 
 sometimes a gesture recalled so vividly the graceful 
 attitudes of Benson's sister, that Pendleton could 
 scarcely contain his emotions. 
 
 " And pray why did not the love-sick gentle- 
 man make some enquiry after the fair incognita ? 
 Here he has been lounging about a village inn, or 
 5 
 
50 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 sauntering over the country for weeks, without 
 using any exertions to discover his lady love and 
 now he is hanging over Miss Sandford's piano, dis- 
 tracted with doubt, when, by putting a simple ques- 
 tion to her, he might at once remove his uncer- 
 tainty ?" 
 
 My dear madam, 1 could give you a score of good 
 substantial reasons, in support of the conduct of my 
 young friend ; but I am happily relieved from the 
 necessity of offering any by the fact which has just 
 been developed, that he was in love, which ac- 
 counts for all inconsistencies. Had Captain Pen- 
 dleton pursued the course which you have sug- 
 gested, he would have acted with what the law 
 calls " ordinary prudence ;" but then, madam, he 
 would have behaved very unlike a lover, whose 
 duty it is to arrive at the knowledge of his heroine's 
 character and circumstances by the most circuitous 
 methods, remaining long ignorant of what is known 
 to all the rest of the world, and opening his eyes 
 to full conviction only in the blessed state of 
 matrimony. Besides, had he gone soberly in pur- 
 suit of his love as a gentleman seeks a lost spaniel, 
 or sought information at every door, as a yankee 
 pedlar hunts for old iron he should never have 
 been hero of mine; for not only would his conduct 
 have been most wn-heroical, but his search would 
 in all probability have been successful, and this 
 tale would never have been written. But more- 
 over the very consummation which 1 have just 
 
THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 51 
 
 hinted at, success, startled the sensitive mind of 
 Pendleton. His fancy had so long cherished a de- 
 lightful vision, that he shrunk instinctively from a 
 developement which might dissolve the airy fabric. 
 Three years might have made a vast change in the 
 fate of this fair girl. She might be dead, or, dread- 
 ful thought ! she might be married ! He might find 
 her digging potatoes, or driving a cart, or rocking a 
 cradle ! Some great clodhopper might have sipped 
 the nectar from those rosy lips, which would have 
 charmed an anchorite ; he might find her blowing 
 the bellows of a grim blacksmith, or waxing the 
 ends of a jolly shoemaker's thread ! Besides, he was 
 not only a modest man, but possessed a mind of 
 refined delicacy, which suggested that Benson's 
 mother might think he came to claim her thanks, or 
 his sister might imagine he sought a reward, for the 
 service he had rendered the friendless youth. In 
 short, I could recount a thousand ingenuous feelings 
 which operated to produce indecision ; but as nine 
 tenths of my readers would pronounce them non- 
 sensical, and they will readily suggest themselves to 
 the other tenth, I shall pass them over. 
 
 But more than all was he perplexed by the like- 
 ness between the sister of Benson, and the daughter 
 of Sandford. His heart often whispered that they 
 were the same. But how could that be ? The one 
 a poor girl, clad in homespun, the daughter of a 
 widow, the sister of a common soldier ; the other 
 an elegant woman, the only and the darling child of 
 
52 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 a man of fortune and education. He felt reluctant 
 to dissolve an illusion which identified these two 
 dearly cherished objects ; but he became satisfied 
 at last, though the one had long animated his fancy, 
 it was the other who now warmed his heart. 
 
 One day as they sat together, Pendleton, resolv- 
 ing to solve the riddle which perplexed him, took 
 from his pocket-book a miniature of the fair rustic 
 which he had drawn from memory, and presented 
 it to Louisa. A beam of joy suffused her face, as 
 she caught a first glimpse of the features of the por- 
 trait, which was changed to astonishment as her eye 
 fell upon the dress. She cast an embarrassed 
 glance at Pendleton, and again viewed the picture 
 with tremulous confusion. For a few minutes 
 both were silent it was an interval such as many 
 lovers have known, in which a single glance speaks 
 volumes in a single moment and the secret thoughts 
 of the heart bursting forth from the eyes, the cheeks, 
 and the lips, are eloquent in every feature when 
 the most interesting of all questions is asked and 
 answered in timid looks, the doubts of years re- 
 moved, arid the blissful arrangements made for a 
 life of happiness, by the silent language of the eye. 
 That moment has fled with the rapidity of thought, 
 and the lovers remain abashed with the delightful 
 truth which has flashed upon them, the maiden 
 covered with conscious blushes, and the youth 
 gazing with unrestrained rapture at his bright con- 
 quest ! 
 
53 
 
 At length, to dispel an embarrassment which was 
 becoming irksome, Pendleton said, " 1 will relate 
 the history of that portrait it is the memorial of a 
 Jirstlove, and displays the features of one who has 
 long possessed my affections." Then assuming a 
 mock heroic air, and a gay tone, he proceeded : 
 " You must know that once upon a time, when I was 
 a young officer, and wore a fine uniform, and had a 
 tall white feather in my hat, I marched at the head 
 of my company, one fine summer's evening, through 
 a pretty little village like that beyond the water, 
 and encamped by a beautiful lake like that before 
 us, and a lovely little girl in a homespun cotton 
 frock and a white muslin sun-bonnet, with the 
 sweetest blue eyes in the world, exactly like yours 
 came to the camp to see me " 
 
 " Oh no ! no ! not to see you!" 
 
 " Well, well 1 took the visit to myself, escorted 
 her round my camp, fell in love with her, and 
 drew her picture ; or rather she left her own picture 
 on my heart, from whence I took this copy." 
 
 " And what then ?" enquired Louisa, timidly as- 
 suming a little of the archness of her lover. 
 
 " Why then, like a silly swain, I dreamed of her 
 for three years." 
 
 " And then like an inconstant swain, forgot her!" 
 
 " No ! no ! forget her 1 shall never I came to 
 B to seek her, and I trust i have found her here ; 
 my eyes have long been deceived, but my heart can- 
 not be mistaken ; you are you must be she !" 
 5* 
 
54 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 " Nay " said Louisa, as he would have taken her 
 hand, " if this portrait exhibits the likeness of your 
 beloved, you must seek her in the cottage of Mrs. 
 Benson." 
 
 " Mrs. Benson ! surely I did not mention that 
 name !" 
 
 "Then I have betrayed myself!" said Louisa; 
 and she turned to fly, when the tete-a-tete was in- 
 terrupted by the approach of Mr. Sandford. 
 
 The embarrassed maid soon retired, leaving the 
 gentlemen together, and Pendleton, full of the sub- 
 ject, opened his whole heart to Mr. Sandford, dis- 
 closing all the particulars which I have narrated. 
 That gentleman listened with emotion, and then 
 replied, " Your confidence demands equal frankness 
 from me. I will at once explain the riddle which 
 has perplexed you. After the death of Louisa's 
 mother, I unguardedly contracted another marriage 
 which proved unfortunate. Louisa, then a mere 
 child, was treated unkindly by her step-mother, who 
 prevailed upon me to remove to the city of New 
 York, leaving my daughter to the care of Mrs. 
 Benson, who had long been a domestic in my 
 family, and whose husband was the manager of my 
 farm. To them 1 entrusted this mansion and all 
 my affairs here. I engaged in commercial specula- 
 tions, and in the dissipations of a city life, I am 
 mortified to acknowledge that 1 neglected and al- 
 most forgot my daughter. My only excuse is, that 
 I was confident she was in the hands of kind and 
 
55 
 
 worthy people ; but I did not know that she was 
 clad like a rustic, and permitted to run wild over 
 the country. Mrs. Benson, however, though too in- 
 dulgent, was a pious and sensible woman, and 
 reared Louisa with sound principles, upon which 1 
 have since been able to engraft an excellent educa- 
 tion. When I became a widower a second time, I 
 returned to my farm, and found Louisa, shortly 
 after you saw her, a wild' rustic. She had originally 
 a fine mind, and having had access to my library, it 
 was not altogether unimproved, and since that time 
 1 have spared neither pains or expense in her edu- 
 cation. During the war Benson died, and his son 
 ran off and enlisted. Mrs. Benson was deeply 
 afflicted by this event, and Louisa, who felt a filial 
 tenderness for her, and regarded William as a bro- 
 ther, strove all in her power to comfort the wretched 
 parent. She happened to be in the village when 
 your company passed through, and was impelled by 
 strong love for her old nurse, to visit the camp 
 under the vague hope that William might be there. 
 You know the rest and you will not think it 
 strange, considering her extreme youth, that her 
 ardent feelings prompted her to be forward in the 
 service of those who were justly so dear to her. 
 Your name was of course known to us, from having 
 heard it often mentioned by William Benson, who 
 rents a small farm from me, and at your first visit 
 we more than suspected that you were the same 
 person of whom we had heard so much ; Louisa 
 
56 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 was quite abashed with the recollection of her visit 
 to your camp, but believing that you did not re- 
 cognise her, she begged me to keep the secret." 
 
 " There is no reason," exclaimed Pendleton, 
 "why Miss Sandford should wish to conceal a cir- 
 cumstance which does her so much honour." 
 
 " Oh, 1 have no doubt," said Mr. Sandford, 
 smiling, " that both of you have acted up to the 
 most approved canon of romance, and that you de- 
 serve the credit of having done what few others 
 would do in the same situations." 
 
 " There are few," replied the lover, " who are 
 capable of imitating the example of Miss Sandford ; 
 my highest ambition is to possess the hand of one so 
 highly gifted." 
 
 "You will have to ask her for it, then," said the 
 gratified parent, "you have had my consent for 
 some time, and I know you are too good a soldier to 
 ask any assistance in gaining hers." 
 
 I need not draw the veil from the happy scene 
 that ensued. They were seen that evening gliding 
 arm in arm among Louisa's jessamine bowers, their 
 cheeks shaming the rose, and their eyes dancing 
 with pleasure; but as they never told me what 
 passed, I must leave the reader in the same ignorance 
 in which I find myself. They were married. Among 
 the happy faces which appeared at their wedding, 
 none were decked with brighter smiles than those 
 of William Benson and his widowed mother ; and 
 among the joyful hearts, none were more truly 
 happy than the gallant officer and his lovely bride. 
 
57 
 
 MY COUSIN LUCY 
 AND THE VILLAGE TEACHER, 
 
 It has been well said, that memory never loses 
 an impression that has once been made upon it. 
 The lines may be obscured for a time, as an in- 
 scription is defaced by rust, but they are never 
 obliterated ; they may be buried under a crowd of 
 other recollections, but there are times when these 
 roll away, as the mist rises from the valley, and the 
 whole picture stands disclosed, in its original integ- 
 rity. Impressions made in childhood are the most 
 vivid : years may pass, and other remembrances be 
 gathered in, but those that lie deepest are longest 
 retained, and most fondly cherished. Other events 
 touch the heart and pass off without leaving a trace, 
 but these strike in, engraft themselves, and become 
 a part of our nature. Such, at least, has been my 
 experience. I have lived a busy, and I trust not an 
 useless life ; I have seen much of the world ; my 
 feelings and passions have been excited, and my at- 
 tention powerfully fixed, by events of deep interest; 
 but none stand recorded in the same bold, indelible 
 
58 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 characters which mark some of the remembrances 
 of my childhood. 
 
 Not far from my father's residence there was a 
 schoolhouse. It was a small log building, such as 
 we often see in new countries, and stood in a grove, 
 on an eminence near the road. Whether chance, 
 or taste, or convenience dictated the choice of the 
 spot, I cannot tell ; but it always struck me as be- 
 ing not only well adapted to its purpose, but re- 
 markably picturesque. The grove contained not 
 more than an acre or two of ground, but the trees 
 were large spreading oaks that 1 have seldom seen 
 surpassed in size or beauty ; for every observer of 
 nature will agree with me, that trees, even of the 
 same species, differ in appearance as widely as 
 human beings. In every grove the vegetation has 
 some distinguishing characteristic, just as all the in- 
 habitants of a village have some trait in common. 
 The trees are stinted or luxuriant, spreading or tall, 
 majestic or beautiful ; or else they are vulgar, com- 
 mon-place trees, as devoid of interest as the un- 
 meaning people whom we meet with every day. I 
 never see a great oak standing by the road side, 
 without observing its peculiarities. Some are round 
 and portly, some tall and spindling; some aspire, 
 and others grovel ; one has a gracefully rounded 
 outline, and another a rugged, irregular shape. Here 
 you may behold one waving its head with a courtly 
 bend, and there you may see another tossing its great 
 arms up and down like some angular, long limbed, 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 59 
 
 gigantic booby. Trees, too, have their diseases, 
 their accidents, and their adventures. They are 
 torn by the wind, shattered by the lightning, and 
 nipped by the frost ; and while some of them have 
 in their youth the aspect of sallow and dyspeptic 
 invalids, others flourish in a green old age; and 
 whether standing singly in the field, or crowded to- 
 gether in the forest, whether embraced by ivy, 
 clothed with moss, or hung with mistletoe, they al- 
 ways attract attention, by the peculiarities which 
 they derive from these and other incidents. 
 
 Our schoolhouse oaks were of the majestic kind. 
 They had braved the elements for at least a cen- 
 tury, and seemed to be still in the vigour of life. 
 Their great dark trunks were covered with moss, 
 and their immense branches, interlocking far above 
 the ground, shadowed it with a canopy that not a 
 sunbeam could penetrate. The soil was trodden 
 hard and smooth by the school boys, and covered 
 with a short, green sward, over which the wind 
 swept so freely as to carry away all the fallen 
 leaves. 
 
 Here we played, and wrestled, and ran races ; 
 here, in hot weather, the master, forsaking the 
 schoolhouse, disposed his noisy pupils in groups 
 among the trees ; here the rustic orator harangued 
 his patriotic fellow citizens on the anniversary of 
 independence ; and here the itinerant preacher ad- 
 dressed the neighbours on the Sabbath. On occa- 
 sions like the latter, our grove became as gay as a 
 
60 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 parterre. The bonnets, and ribbons, and calicoes 
 were as numerous and many coloured as the flowers 
 of the field. The farmers and their families gene- 
 rally came to the preaching on horseback ; and it 
 was a fortunate animal that bore a lighter burden 
 than two adults and a brace of children. The 
 young women rode behind their brothers or sweet- 
 hearts, or in default of such attendants, mounted 
 sociably in pairs, the best rider taking the saddle 
 and holding the reins, as smart girls are always 
 willing enough to do. It was a goodly sight to see 
 the horses hitched to the trees in every direction, 
 showing off their sleek hides and well combed 
 manes to the best advantage ; and decked with 
 new saddles, and gaudy saddle cloths, and fine 
 riding skirts, that were never exposed to the weather 
 or the eye except on Sundays and holidays. Then 
 the people, before the sermon began, sitting in 
 groups, or strolling in little companies, looked so 
 gay and so happy, that Sunday seemed to be to 
 them not merely a day of rest, but of thanksgiving 
 and enjoyment. When they collected round the 
 preacher, sitting silent and motionless, with their 
 heads uncovered and thrown back in devout atten- 
 tion, the scene acquired a graver and deeper inte- 
 rest. I have never witnessed that spectacle on a 
 calm, sunny day, without a sensation of thrilling 
 pleasure; and often as I have seen it, the impres- 
 sion that it made continued ever fresh and beautiful. 
 There was a mingled cheerfulness and solemnity in 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 61 
 
 this sight, that attached itsself to the spot, and I have 
 afterwards felt in the midst of my studies or sports 
 on school days, a soothing calmness creeping over 
 me, a feeling that the place was hallowed, like that 
 which we experience when strolling in a grave- 
 yard, or lingering in the aisle of a church. 
 
 My memory clings to this spot, as the scene of 
 the most vivid pains and pleasures of my childhood. 
 I pass over the detail of all the sufferings that I en- 
 dured from the brutality of ignorant and tyrannical 
 teachers ; perhaps 1 was more sensitive than other 
 children ; but be that as it may, it is certain that 
 although 1 was fond of learning, and docile in my 
 disposition, I imbibed, very early in life, a cordial 
 hatred for the whole race of schoolmasters. But I 
 loved my books and my companions ; I loved to 
 play at ball and run races ; and I loved the school- 
 house grove, with its tall oaks and verdant lawn. I 
 used to linger on a neighbouring hill, to look on 
 that graceful swell, and those fine trees, and to 
 wonder why I thought the landscape so attractive. 
 Those who recollect their sensations on first enter- 
 ing a theatre, or reading a novel, can form some 
 idea of my feelings. That first play and first novel 
 remain through life impressed upon the imagina- 
 tion, as standards with which all similar objects are 
 compared ; and it was thus that the most interest- 
 ing spot thai attracted my young fancy, became to 
 me the beau ideal of rural and romantic beauty. 
 
 There was another charm connected with this 
 6 
 
62 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 spot, the secret of which I will now disclose to the 
 reader, although for many years I hardly dared ac- 
 knowledge it to myself. My cousin Lucy was my 
 school companion, and I never think of that green 
 hill without seeing her slender form gliding among 
 its shades, with the same calm blue eye, and meek 
 countenance, and soft smile, that she wore when 
 we were children. I hardly know why I loved 
 Lucy better than any body else, for she was seve- 
 ral years my senior, .and never was my playfellow. 
 I romped and laughed with the other girls, and 
 played, them all sorts of tricks ; but 1 never hid her 
 bonnet, or pinned her sleeve to that of her next 
 neighbour. From her childhood she was sedate 
 and womanly ; her deportment was always delicate 
 and dignified ; there was a something about her 
 that repelled familiarity, while the winning softness 
 of her manner invited love and respect. When I 
 came near to Lucy I was no longer a wild, mis- 
 chievous boy, but was elevated into a better and 
 more rational being by the desire, that I felt to 
 please and serve her. 
 
 We had a succession of schoolmasters, the most 
 of whom were illiterate men, who remained with 
 us but a few months. At last there came one of 
 higher pretensions than the rest. He was a young 
 man of liberal education, who brought with him 
 the highest testimonials of his character and attain- 
 ments. He strolled into the neighbourhood on 
 foot, and so great was his modesty that it was 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 63 
 
 some time before any body discovered his acquire- 
 ments, or suspected the object of his visit. At 
 length he proposed, with some diffidence, to fill the 
 vacant situation of teacher; and, having produced 
 his credentials, was readily admitted to that thank- 
 less office. He was altogether a different man 
 from any of his predecessors. His temper was 
 even, his heart kind, his manners easy, and he had 
 the rare talent of commanding respect, and com- 
 municating knowledge, without the appearance of 
 an effort. He was as bashful as a girl, and as art- 
 less a being as ever lived. Every body liked him ; 
 his good sense, his cheerfulness, his inoffensive 
 manners, and industrious habits, made him the fa- 
 vourite of young and old. 
 
 It was customary in those days for the school- 
 master to board with his patrons, each one enter- 
 taining him for a week at a time, in rotation ; an 
 arrangement which, while it divided the burden of 
 his subsistence equally, enabled the whole neigh- 
 bourhood to become personally acquainted with 
 the pedagogue. When the latter happened to be 
 a dull, prosing dog, scantily supplied with good 
 manners and good fellowship, the week of his re- 
 ception wore heavily away, the table was less plen- 
 tifully spread than usual, and the whiskey jug was 
 sure to have suffered some disaster on the day pre- 
 vious to his arrival. The head of the family in- 
 dulged himself on such occasions in liberal remarks 
 upon the idleness and effeminacy of learning ; and 
 
64 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 the good wife, by frequent allusions to the scarcity 
 of provisions, and the high price of schooling, gave 
 the unfortunate teacher to understand that he was 
 considered as a mere incubus upon the body poli- 
 tic a Mr. Nobody, who was only tolerated, and 
 fed, and allowed to sit in the chimney-corner, for 
 the purpose of keeping the children out of mis- 
 chief. But if the schoolmaster was a pleasant fel- 
 low, one who read the newspapers, and played the 
 fiddle, and told a good story, the week of his visita- 
 tion brought holiday times and high doings to the 
 farmer's hospitable fireside. Then the good man 
 heard the news, the girls heard the violin, aud the 
 mistress of the house found a patient auditor to the 
 recital of all the misadventures which had befallen 
 the family within the scope of her memory. Then 
 the boys wore their holiday clothes every day, the 
 hospitable board groaned under a load of good 
 things, and the cheerful family enjoyed seven long 
 days of good humour and good eating. 
 
 Of all schoolmasters, Mr. Alexis, the gentleman 
 above alluded to, was the most popular one that 
 ever darkened the door of a farm-house. In his 
 time, the " schoolmaster's week' 1 was a week of 
 festival. He not only read the news, and played 
 the fiddle, but could sing a good song, and recite 
 the veracious biography of a hundred real ghosts. 
 He could explain all the hard words in the Testa- 
 ment, all the outlandish names in the newspapers, 
 and all the strange hieroglyphics which are mis- 
 
THE VILLAGE .TEACHER. 65 
 
 chievously set down in the almanac, to puzzle the 
 brains of simple country folks. Then he was affa- 
 ble and talkative; with all this he was good- 
 humoured, and, what perhaps was more effective 
 than all the rest, he was good-looking. With 
 such qualifications he was always a welcome 
 visiter, and I can well remember the stir that his 
 coming occasioned in my father's house. On the 
 preceding Saturday there was an universal scrub- 
 bing; the floors, the windows, the chairs, the pew- 
 ter plates, the milk pails, and the children, were all 
 scrubbed. The dimity curtains, that lay snugly 
 packed away in the great press, sprinkled with 
 lavender and rose leaves, were now brought forth 
 and hung over the parlour windows ; and the 
 snow-white counterpanes, that were kept for great 
 occasions, were ostentatiously spread upon the 
 beds. The yard was swept, and the great weeds 
 that had been suffered to grow unmolested, were 
 plucked up ; and the whole messuage, out-houses, 
 tenements, and appurtenances, made to look as fine 
 and as smart as the nature of the case would 
 admit. Then such baking, and brewing, and 
 cooking ! The great oven teemed with huge 
 loaves and rich pastry ; yielding forth from its vast 
 mouth puddings, and pies, and tarts, enough to 
 have foundered a whole board of aldermen. The 
 fatted calf was killed, the brightest ornaments of 
 the pig-stye and poultry-yard were devoted to the 
 knife, and the best blood of the farm was freely 
 6* 
 
66 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 spilled to furnish forth delicate viands, with which 
 to pamper the appetite of that important and 
 popular character, the schoolmaster. 
 
 I am often singular in my opinions, for 1 do not 
 consider myself bound to believe any thing, merely 
 because every body else believes it. As to the 
 schoolmaster, I disliked him from the very first; 
 and when every body else praised him, I was 
 silent. 1 had an inherent antipathy against all pe- 
 dagogues. I viewed them as our natural enemies, 
 a race created to scourge and terrify children ; and 
 for the person in question 1 entertained a special 
 and particular aversion. This was the more singu- 
 lar, as I was by nature confiding and placable, and 
 never indulged a malignant feeling towards any 
 other human being. He treated me with kindness, 
 instructed me with unwearied patience, and I verily 
 believe would have found the road to my heart, 
 had I not suspected that he was searching out the 
 way that led to my cousin Lucy's. 1 was always 
 jealous of her, because the disparity of our ages 
 placed her at a distance which almost extinguished 
 hope, and because she always treated me as a boy 
 and a relation, and either never did, or never 
 would see that I cherished feelings towards her in- 
 finitely more tender than any that the mere ties of 
 consanguinity could have awakened. A boy in 
 love becomes cunning beyond his years. Unable 
 to enter the lists as a candidate, and obliged to 
 look on in silence, he becomes the secret and vigi- 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 67 
 
 lant enemy of his unconscious rival. I was conti- 
 nually watching the schoolmaster and my cousin 
 Lucy; and not a glance, nor a blush, nor a touch 
 of the hand, escaped my jealous eye. An indiffer- 
 ent observer would have seen nothing in their in- 
 tercourse to excite the slightest suspicion ; an ena- 
 moured boy, who had loved devotedly from the 
 first dawn of intelligence, read volumes of meaning 
 ifl every act and look. The conduct of both of 
 them was perfectly delicate and unexceptionable. 
 There was not the least approach to gallantry on 
 his part, nor an inviting or an encouraging glance 
 on hers ; but I could mark the softened tone of his 
 voice, and the involuntary reverence of his man- 
 ner, when he addressed her. 1 could detect the 
 brightening of his eye when she spoke, and the 
 courteous bow wiJ^which he replied to any ques- 
 tion from her, so efferent from the common-place 
 civility with which he treated his other female pu- 
 pils. He often walked home with her, but never 
 without other company, for she was always sur- 
 rounded by children, one or two of whom she held 
 by the hand, as if to prevent the possibility of a 
 tete-a-tete. Perhaps she never had a thought that 
 there was any particular meaning in his attentions ; 
 but there is an instinct in female delicacy ; and al- 
 though it might never have occurred to Lucy that 
 her teacher had opportunities beyond other men, 
 which required that she should place a careful 
 watch over her affections, nature regulated her 
 
G8 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 conduct. I was often with them ; they conversed 
 without constraint, and never spoke of love, or 
 courtship, or marriage. But he pointed out to her 
 the finest traits of the landscape, gathered for her 
 the choicest flowers, and discoursed of poetry; 
 sometimes reciting the most beautiful passages, in 
 so eloquent a tone that 1 could have knocked him 
 down, and was ready to quarrel with Lucy for the 
 apparent interest with which she listened. Often 
 did I wish that he was a thousand miles off, or that 
 I was a schoolmaster. 
 
 It would be too tedious to set down all the mis- 
 chievous pranks that I played our teacher, in re- 
 venge for his supposed attachment to my cousin. 
 Though fond of learning, I obstinately persisted in 
 a resolution to owe nothing to his teaching ; and 
 more than once disgraced himg^d myself by wilful 
 blunders, at our public examroations. I incited 
 the biggest boys into conspiracies against his peace 
 and dignity. Once when he was going to a tea- 
 party at my uncle's, a little better dressed than 
 usual, a troop of us scampered past him, as he was 
 crossing a miry brook, and, pretending not to ob- 
 serve him, splashed a shower of mud and water 
 over his holiday suit. We sent him one day into 
 a large company with a grotesque figure chalked 
 on his back ; and on another occasion scorched off 
 his eyebrows by exploding gunpowder under his 
 nose, while he was intently engaged in working a 
 problem in algebra. None of these persecutions 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 69 
 
 ever ruffled his temper; and when my mother, 
 who could not believe that the fault was mine, re- 
 proached him with the slowness of my progress, 
 he mildly told her that the greatest geniuses were 
 often dull boys at school, and that I would no 
 doubt make a shining man. 
 
 At length the term of the schoolmaster's engage- 
 ment expired, and my heart bounded with joy 
 when I heard that he was going to quit the country. 
 I was at my uncle's on the morning of his departure, 
 when he called to take leave of the family. Lucy 
 was in the garden, and Alexis went there to look 
 for her. Young as I was, I could readily compre- 
 hend that a latent passion would be most apt to 
 betray itself in a parting interview ; and that of all 
 places in the world, a garden is the fittest to excite 
 tender feelings in the bosom of .young lovers. In 
 a moment a thousand thoughts flashed through my 
 mind in another moment love and jealousy 
 prompted me to observe a meeting, which my fore- 
 boding heart told we would be fraught with more 
 than usual interest. It was a mean act,. but jealousy 
 is always mean. I was too young, too much in 
 love, and too angry to reflect ; and if I had reflect- 
 ed, who could have thought it improper to witness 
 any thing which could possibly take place between 
 two such perfect beings as my cousin Lucy and the 
 schoolmaster? 
 
 I crept secretly to the garden, and from the co- 
 vert of a thick hedge saw Alexis approach my 
 
70 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 cousin. He took her hand, and told her that he 
 had come to bid her farewell ; that he had bade 
 adieu to all his other friends, and had deferred call- 
 ing upon her until the last, because to part with 
 her was more painful than all the rest. There was 
 a touching softness in his voice, and a correspond- 
 ing melancholy clouded his features. " What a 
 canting rascal," said I to myself; " I am afraid 
 Lucy will never be able to stand it." 
 
 He then dropt her hand, and began to pluck 
 twigs from a peach tree, while Lucy was industri- 
 ously engaged in demolishing a great rose. At last 
 he said, " There is one subject " Lucy stooped 
 down, and began to pull the weeds from a tulip 
 bud. The schoolmaster stopped and looked em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 " Silly fellow !" said I, exultingly, " why does 
 he not kneel down, and lay his hand upon his 
 heart ?" I took courage when I saw his trepidation, 
 believing that he would never be able to tell his 
 love, or that Lucy would discard so clumsy a 
 lover. 
 
 " Miss Lucy" said the schoolmaster. 
 
 " Sir !" said Miss Lucy. 
 
 " What a canting villain !" said I. 
 
 Mr. Alexis looked around, as if fearful of obser- 
 vation. 
 
 " He looks as if he were stealing," said 1 ; " and 
 well he may, the vile pedagogue !" 
 
 Alexis sighed, threw down his eyes, and resumed, 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 71 
 
 " There is one subject, Miss Lucy, upon which I 
 have long wished " He looked up, but Lucy 
 was several paces off, twining the delicate vines of 
 a honeysuckle through the lattice of the summer- 
 house. 
 
 " She will never have him," said I, in an ecstasy ; 
 " I know she would never have a whining, canting, 
 pitiful schoolmaster !" 
 
 Alexis followed Lucy to the summer-house, and 
 remarked that u the honeysuckles were very fra- 
 grant." 
 
 " Very !" said my cousin. 
 
 " He has dropped the subject," thought I ; " dear 
 Lucy ! how well she managed him ! Ah ! these 
 schoolmasters know not how to make love ; if I 
 were there, I could show him how !" I breathed 
 freely, and thought it was all over. 
 
 Alexis stood by the side of Lucy ; he leaned to- 
 wards her, and spoke in a low voice. What he 
 said 1 know not, but the words were potent, for 
 Lucy turned her head from him, and I saw that her 
 face was covered" with blushes, redder than the 
 coral flowers that hung around her. 
 
 I thought she was angry. " If he has dared to 
 insult my cousin," said I, " how proudly will 1 
 avenge her quarrel !" I looked again, and could 
 scarcely believe my eyes ! Lucy's head was 
 reclining upon the shoulder of Alexis, and one 
 arm was thrown gently around her ! I thought their 
 lips met ! 
 
72 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 1 could stay no longer. 1 fled from the hateful 
 scene, burning with rage and jealousy, and deeply 
 mortified at my own meanness in having become 
 the voluntary and secret witness of that which 
 should have been sacred from every eye. 
 
 In a few days after this occurrence 1 left my na- 
 tive country. I had long been destined for the sea, 
 and having now received a midshipman's warrant 
 in the navy, set out for the sea-board. After I had 
 bade adieu to all my other friends,' I went to take 
 leave of Lucy ; for I, too, felt that this was the 
 most painful of my separations ; the parting with 
 her seemed like breaking the last and tenderest tie 
 that bound me to the land of my birth. She had 
 always treated me with the affection of a sister, and 
 never did her manner seem so tender as at this mo- 
 ment. When I left her father's house, she followed 
 me across the little lawn before the door, and as 1 
 threw the reins over my horse's neck, and lingered 
 to repeat my adieu, she put a paper into my hand. 
 Her eyes were filled with tears, and my own were 
 not dry. 
 
 1 was some miles on my way from home before 
 my emotion subsided sufficiently to permit me to 
 read Lucy's note. In this she disclose'd to me her 
 engagement with Alexis ; she said it had been ap- 
 proved by her parents, and that the marriage would 
 take place whenever he should be established in a 
 profession, for which he was preparing himself. She 
 spoke of the fair prospects that smiled before her, 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 73 
 
 in an union with one so amiable and highly gifted. 
 She said that she made this disclosure, because 1 was 
 her nearest and dearest relative, after her parents, 
 and was on the eve of so long an absence, that the 
 separation seemed to be almost final. More she said, 
 which 1 need not repeat ; it was all kind and sisterly, 
 and I vowed that I would always love my cousin 
 Lucy, whether she married the schoolmaster or not. 
 
 Her note had one good effect, which harsher 
 measures would have failed to produce. Her 
 generous confidence subdued me ; and as 1 reflect- 
 ed upon it in my cooler moments, 1 determined to 
 smother my ill-fated passion, and to love Lucy 
 only in manner and form as her cousin lawfully 
 might. I resolved, moreover, to forego all my 
 vengeance against Alexis, and to think of him with 
 kindness. 
 
 In a few days I embarked. We had a brilliant 
 cruise. The war with Great Britain was just de- 
 clared, and the ocean swarmed with our enemies. 
 We were frequently engaged, and generally suc- 
 cessful. The novelty and excitement of this life 
 soon caused a wonderful revolution in my feelings. 
 I was no longer a romantic boy, brooding over a 
 hopeless passion, with the single object of my 
 adoration continually before my eyes. My heart 
 had set up other idols ; it had now ample sea-room, 
 and, like our gallant vessel, rode gaily over the 
 sparkling ocean of life. I learned to think of Lucy 
 as the destined bride of another ; yet 1 thought of 
 7 
 
74 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 her as a lovely and a hallowed being, and some- 
 times pronounced her name with the reverence 
 with which a devout catholic utters that of his tu- 
 telary saint. Often when our ship lay becalmed, 
 when the clear moonlight was spread over the 
 ocean, when the waves were at rest, and every 
 thing was still, 1 would lie for hours upon the deck, 
 thinking of the schoolhouse, and its beautiful grove, 
 and my fair cousin. Then i would think of the 
 honours that awaited me of the time when I 
 should be numbered among the heroes of my coun- 
 try ; and would sigh to reflect, that the lovely 
 flower, which so proudly I would have twined 
 among my laurels, would be blushing unseen in the 
 lowly cottage of a country schoolmaster. 
 
 During my first cruise, which lasted nearly two 
 years, I was so fortunate as to distinguish myself on 
 several occasions. But I panted for higher hon- 
 ours ; and on our return to port, finding a fine fri- 
 gate on the point of sailing, I solicited permission 
 to join her, and being considered as an efficient 
 officer, my request was granted, and I sailed on 
 another cruise, without setting my foot on shore. 
 This act of devotedness to my profession raised me 
 in the eyes of my commander, who afforded me 
 every opportunity of acquiring distinction. 1 now 
 rose rapidly. When at sea I was engaged in every 
 hazardous enterprise, and when in foreign ports 
 mj superior introduced me into the best society. 
 Among the exotic beauties whom 1 beheld, I saw 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 75 
 
 none so beautiful as Lucy, but many who were 
 more polished ; perhaps my taste became vitiated, 
 for although I still cherished the memory of her 
 unpretending graces, I learned to admire the more 
 dazzling charms of others, and to indulge the 
 thought that 1 might at some future day adore ano- 
 ther in her stead. 
 
 After a long cruise, in which many dangerous 
 exploits were attempted, and some of them bril- 
 liantly accomplished, we were homeward bound, 
 when we fell in with a fine frigate of the enemy. 
 Both ships were soon cleared for action, and after 
 a bloody engagement we succeeded in capturing 
 our foe. 1 was now acting as a lieutenant, and 
 having the good fortune to be stationed on the 
 spar-deck, immediately under the eye of my com- 
 mander, received his compliments for my conduct. 
 
 We came into port triumphantly. Public hon- 
 ours of the highest character were awarded to us. 
 Dinners and balls were given, and the population 
 of a great city vied in the expression of their pa- 
 triotic gratitude ; while the newspapers throughout 
 the whole continent were filled with our praises. 
 1 was promoted to a lieutenancy, and had the gra- 
 tification of seeing my name emblazoned in the 
 public prints, with those of my distinguished supe- 
 riors. In these proud moments I did not forget my 
 fair cousin ; entirely as 1 had resigned her, and cor- 
 dially as I wished her happiness, 1 sighed to think 
 of her obscure and lonely fate. With a partner so 
 
76 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 bright, so gentle, and so dear, to share my laurete, 
 I should have been supremely happy ; and I could 
 not but marvel at the capricious decree of fortune, 
 which bad doomed one, who might have shone as 
 the bride of a naval hero, to drag out her existence 
 in the vulgar lot of wife to a country pedagogue. 
 
 I had written to my parents on my arrival ; bat 
 a round of entertainments, given in honour of our 
 victory, ( prevented me from visiting them. One 
 evening, as I strolled through the streets with a 
 friend, we passed a spacious church, into which 
 crowds of fashionable people were hurrying with 
 apparent eagerness. 
 
 " Let us go in here," said my companion, " and 
 hear the the fashionable preacher, one who has 
 turned the heads of the whole town, and is more 
 talked of than Commodore Perry or General Scott. 
 He is a new man, who has eclipsed all his contem- 
 poraries by his eloquence, while his learning and 
 modesty win universal esteem." 
 
 We entered the church, and 1 looked round 
 upon the novel exhibition, as upon some fairy 
 scene. It was long since I had sat in the bosom of 
 a worshipping congregation ; and how different 
 was this from the rustic assemblage that I had 
 been accustomed to see, gathered in pious silence 
 under the schoolhouse oaks ! Here was a splendid 
 edifice, ornamented with gilding, decorated with 
 rich hangings, and lighted with brilliant chande- 
 liers, whose intense effulgence awakened in my 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 77 
 
 unpractised heart a thrilling sensation of excite- 
 ment. But the audience, how gay, how gorgeous, 
 how beautiful ! Those to whom such scenes are 
 familiar, can form but a faint idea of the impres- 
 sion made by a fair and fashionable crowd upon 
 the mind of one accustomed only to rustic assem- 
 blages, or to the hardy multitudes who fill the 
 camp or crowd the quarter-deck. Here were 
 gems, and plumes, and silks, and glowing cheeks, 
 and sparkling eyes ; but there was also a simple 
 elegance in the attire, a sedateness in the demean- 
 our, and above all, a devout humility, reigning 
 throughout this thrilling scene, that added to it a 
 solemn grandeur, which exceeds my powers of de- 
 scription. My heart was elevated as I gazed on 
 that rich, and silent, and motionless picture ; and I 
 felt how the omnipotent influence of religion can 
 quell the happy, and soothe the wretched, and win 
 the gay, and calm down all the tumultuous pas- 
 sions of human nature, as oil poured upon the 
 waves reduces them to a placid surface. 
 
 At length the preacher arose, and every eye was 
 turned towards him. I looked up, and what was 
 my surprise at beholding Alexis ! I could not be 
 mistaken, for there he stood in the same simple at- 
 tire, with the same humble aspect, and the same 
 benignant smile, that were so familiarly impressed 
 upon my recollection. His manner had all its for- 
 mer mildness, and his voice its accustomed me- 
 lody ; there was only a little more of fulness and 
 7* 
 
78 MY COUSIN LUCY AND 
 
 compass in the one, and a slight tinge of self-confi- 
 dence added to the other. His sermon was eloquent 
 and able ; the language was clear, classical, and sim- 
 ple ; the manner of its delivery calm and unassuming. 
 His voice was never strained, and seldom elevated 
 above its ordinary pitch ; it swelled and softened 
 upon the ear, without the slightest effort on the 
 part of the speaker, without the least violence to 
 the sense of the hearer. There was no labour of 
 the body ; the arm was never extended, the hand 
 only was raised occasionally from the cushion. 
 The whole manner of the speaker was mild and 
 persuasive ; his argument was acute, close, and 
 powerful, without any attempt to adorn it with the 
 graces of composition, or to win applause by the 
 arts of oratory ; yet such was the effect produced 
 by the delicate choice of harmonious words, their 
 symmetrical arrangement and chaste delivery, 
 together with the apostolic earnestness, and an air 
 of pious conviction that breathed throughout, that 
 all felt and acknowledged that the speaker had 
 opened a new vein of genuine eloquence. 
 
 The deep silence that prevailed during the ser- 
 mon, and the subdued murmur of applause that 
 ran in whispers through the congregation when the 
 service was over, attested the powerful effect of 
 the discourse. As the people dispersed, 1 endea- 
 voured to make my way to Mr. Alexis, but the 
 crowd was so great as to prevent me from reach- 
 ing the pulpit until he had disappeared ; and as it 
 
THE VILLAGE TEACHER. 79 
 
 was late, 1 returned to my lodgings, determined to 
 seek him on the following day. 1 now saw that 
 Lucy was not wedded to obscurity and indigence, 
 and gave her full credit for having discovered a 
 man of genius and feeling in the despised school- 
 master, who had so long been the object of my 
 contempt and aversion. I took shame to myself 
 for having presumed to institute comparisons be- 
 tween Alexis and myself; and felt humble in ac- 
 knowledging that my ephemeral honours would 
 soon be forgotten, while his useful career and 
 splendid powers would sustain for him a brilliant 
 reputation during his existence, and earn a name, 
 which his countrymen would cherish with grati- 
 tude when he should be no more. One thing flat- 
 tered my pride and consoled my prejudices; I 
 learned that Mr. Alexis had long since abandoned 
 his former vocation, and that my cousin had not, 
 after all, married a schoolmaster. 
 
 On the following morning early, Mr. Alexis anti- 
 cipated my visit, by calling to see me. We met 
 cordially ; and on the day after were jogging socia- 
 bly together towards my native place. 1 found 
 Lucy a proud and happy wife. They had built a 
 neat cottage on the schoolhouse hill, in the midst 
 of that beautiful grove, which they carefully pre- 
 served in memory of former days ; and I now found 
 that I had not been singular in my admiration of 
 its sylvan graces. The schoolhouse had been re- 
 moved; and a large, plain meeting-house, on a 
 
80 MY COUSIN LUCY, &C. 
 
 neighbouring eminence, is occupied by a numerous 
 congregation, under the ministry of Alexis. Loved 
 and honoured by his former pupils, the worthy 
 pastor is surrounded by them, who look up to him 
 with gratitude as the teacher of their youth, and 
 with reverence as the guide of their maturity; 
 while the happy Lucy, in the society of her early 
 friends and chosen partner, enjoys the sweetest 
 fruits of innocence and virtue. Here they live in 
 contentment and honour; and when I witnessed 
 their placid lives, their pious labours, their active 
 benevolence and simple virtues, I scarcely knew 
 which to love and admire most, my fair and gentle 
 cousin Lucy, or my ancient rival, but now my very 
 reverend and much honoured cousin, " the school- 
 master." 
 
81 
 
 EMPTY POCKETS. 
 
 I would not have my fair readers to suppose, that 
 1 have dreamed away my life in a " Bachelor's Ely- 
 sium" or a "Paradise of Coquettes," or that all my 
 days have been devoted to " Love in a village." / 
 have done the state some service, in the days that 
 tried men's soles, and have had my own blistered 
 with many a weary march. This explanation will 
 no doubt dispel any surprise which may have arisen 
 in the reader's mind when the title of this paper 
 first caught his eye ; for if there is any class of citi- 
 zens in this vast republic, who are peculiarly fitted 
 and prepared by experience to expatiate with accu- 
 racy and feeling on the subject of empty pockets, it 
 is composed of those gentlemen who follow to the 
 field a warlike chief. It is not necessary to state to 
 what corps I belonged, nor will I be called upon, I 
 trust, to exhibit my commission, or give a counter- 
 
82 EMPTY POCKETS. 
 
 sign : It will be sufficient for my present purpose to 
 assure my fair readers that although I now languish 
 at the feet of beauty, or listen to the inspirations of 
 the muse, I have in verity earned the right to 
 "shoulder my crutch and show how fields were 
 won." 
 
 I shall now proceed to relate an adventure which 
 happened to me when I was a young man and a sol- 
 dier. It was about nine years ago. I was then 
 about twenty-one years old, but nobody would have 
 taken me for more than eighteen. I was returning 
 home from a severe tour of duty upon the frontiers, 
 and wore in my features and habiliments the aspect 
 of a " poor gentleman." My face was sallow and 
 sunburnt my cash low my coat threadbare and 
 my epaulet tarnished ; as for my laurels, they were 
 not yet in bloom. 
 
 It was about sunrise in the morning a delightful 
 morning in October when a waiter at the City^Ho- 
 tel in New York roused me from a sound slumber 
 to announce that the steamboat was about to depart, 
 and that a porter waited for my trunk. Having 
 discharged my bill and made all the necessary ar- 
 rangements on the preceding evening, I had only to 
 throw on my clothes and follow the bearer of my 
 baggage, who paced Broadway with rapid strides. 
 The street was filled with truant passengers like 
 myself, some yawning from their broken slumbers, 
 some grumbling from a half finished breakfast, some 
 fretting about their baggage, and some were in high 
 
EMPTY POCKETS. 83 
 
 spirits. All was commotion in the street and on the 
 wharf. The bell was ringing, and the captain of 
 the steamboat bellowing like a madman "I'll 
 swear 1 wont wait for nara man, woman or child 
 breathen cast off that cable there forard stand by 
 to clap on the steam ! If people wont come in time 
 
 I wont wait If I do" "Nobody wants you to 
 
 wait," thought I, for 1 was now on board ; and the 
 boat was soon paddling her way through the water. 
 It was indeed a delightful morning, and the pas- 
 sengers crowded to the deck. Bright eyes and dull 
 ones, drowsy heads and all, seemed to feel the vivi- 
 fying effect of the beauteous scene and the calm 
 hour. The soldiers were on drill at Governor's 
 Island, the fatigue parties were at work, the drums 
 were beating all was bustle. But the water, and 
 the surrounding shores, how serene, how lovely ! As 
 the eye wandered over the blue expanse but per- 
 haps my fair reader has never been at New York 
 has never seen the North river, nor the East river, 
 nor the Battery, nor Governor's Island, nor. the Nar- 
 rows if so, my poor dear unfortunate reader, it is 
 utterly impossible to convey to thee any adequate 
 idea of the picturesque beauties of New York Har- 
 bour, and the highest point of my success would be 
 to make thy mouth water like that of Tantalus. I 
 could indeed, if I had not long since disposed of my 
 instruments, and almost forgotten their use, put my 
 little knowledge of military topography in requisi- 
 tion, and sketch the commanding points of the land- 
 
84 EMPTY POCKETS. 
 
 scape. 1 could exhibit the labours of " the patriotic 
 diggers," display the last scene of Decatur's glory, 
 and designate the spot where Hamilton fell, and the 
 monument erected to his memory. But 1 beg to be 
 excused and to assure the reader that although 1 
 cannot enable him to participate in the pleasure, all 
 these scenes, and the incidents attached to them, 
 v- ere glowing richly upon my fancy as the steam- 
 boat cleft her rapid way through the silent waters. 
 But my attention was soon drawn to the busy, 
 the smiling and the contented faces the gay, the 
 respectable, and the decent appearance of my fel. 
 low passengers. Fresh from scenes of tumult and 
 danger from the daily contemplation of hardy sol- 
 diers, lurking borderers, and sturdy woodsmen 
 from camps which, though containing the bravest of 
 men, were surrounded by the worst of women, 
 with a heart sickened among the gloomy scenes of 
 the hospital, and yearning after repose, I gazed with 
 delight upon my countrymen. I marked the ele- 
 gance of one, the neatness of another, and the sua- 
 vity of a third and contrasting this placid and 
 cheerful display of national happiness, with the 
 vice, dejection, and disease which 1 had left behind, 
 my heart was filled with delight. Cheerful greetings, 
 and friendly interchanges of civility were circula- 
 ting round me ; I only was unknown and solitary 
 but I reflected that I too should soon be surround- 
 ed by warm hearts and long remembered faces, and 
 should feel a parent's embrace and a sister's kiss. 
 
EMPTY POCKETS. 85 
 
 Strolling towards the cabin door, I now observed 
 a large handbill, the " Rules and Regulations of this 
 Boat," perspicuously set forth in legible characters. 
 Jt was announced in this document, that shortly 
 after the boat should get under weigh, a bell should 
 be rung to summon the passengers to the clerk's 
 room, where they were to pay for their passages, 
 and be entitled to a seat at the breakfast table. A 
 gentleman who stood near me perusing this impor- 
 tant information, now turned to the captain, whose 
 impatience had by this time subsided into a tolera- 
 ble degree of calmness, and observed, "Would it not 
 be better, captain, to make your passengers dis- 
 charge their fare before they get on board ? You 
 must sometimes be imposed upon under your pre- 
 sent regulations." "Not at all," said the captain: 
 "very few persons travel in this way, who have not 
 honour enough to pay and as for the slippery chaps, 
 1 watch them, and 1 know one of them as soon as I 
 see him." 
 
 The bell now sounded, and 1 hastened towards 
 the clerk's desk, when, feeling for my pocket-book, 
 what was my consternation to find it gone ! I felt 
 all my pockets, but found it not I hastened to my 
 trunk, but it was not there the pocket-book was 
 lost. Most people would on such an occasion have 
 made an immediate and loud outcry, but 1 had 
 learned from the rules and articles of war the dan- 
 ger of giving/flfoe alarms, and by my General, who 
 though nicknamed old Jake, was a wise man and a 
 8 
 
86 EMPTY POCKETS. 
 
 good soldier, I had been taught that we should not 
 discover our weakness to the enemy. I had learn- 
 ed too in travelling, that nothing is considered as a 
 surer sign of a slippery chap, than an empty pocket. 
 I therefore assumed as much composure as pos- 
 sible, and returning to the deck strolled up and 
 down, like a sentry upon post, revolving what was 
 best to be done. Perhaps there might be a bank- 
 note lurking in some of my pockets. 1 was aware 
 that this was the worst place in the world to look 
 for a bank-note but still, 1 was a careless fellow, 
 and sometimes stowed my cash in odd places. Upon 
 this suggestion, my pockets were searched anew, 
 and a thorough inquisition had through every hole 
 and corner of my trunk a bank-note in my pocket, 
 indeed ! I might as well have expected to find the 
 Sea Serpent there ! However, my commissariat 
 had not been deficient the day before 1 will not 
 name the sum in deposit, but it was sufficient. 1 
 had given all the loose change in my pocket to the 
 servants at the tavern, and the porter who carried 
 my trunk- the rest was in my pocket-book, and the 
 pocket-book was where ? 1 had arrived at New- 
 York the preceding day, had gone to the theatre at 
 night, and recollected having had it while there. I 
 had returned to the hotel late at night, and had dis- 
 charged my bill, but whether from the contents of 
 the said-pocket book, or from the loose change in 
 my pocket, I could not tell. My heart and head 
 had been too full of the sorrows of Juliet to dwell 
 
EMPTY POCKETS. 87 
 
 on such trash as bank-bills and dollars but now, I 
 thought, 
 
 " How happy could I be with either !" 
 I was, inded, weary of conjecture : one thing was 
 certain, my money was gone ! and locking my trunk 
 1 walked to the side of the vessel, and leaned over, 
 gazing at the water in deep reverie ! 
 
 The surface of the water was unruffled, and as I 
 looked upon it in painful thought, my agitated mind 
 began to acquire a congenial serenity. Where now, 
 I thought, 
 
 " Where now, ye lying vanities of life, 
 
 Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train, 
 
 Where are ye now !" 
 
 I stretched my eyes to the shore, and measured the 
 distance " Oh such a night as this, Leander swam 
 the Hellespont ;" and why should not Lieutenant 
 
 immortalise himself by swimming the East 
 
 River ? 1 had but to leap in, a few minutes would 
 bring me to the shore, and 1 could march to Phila- 
 delphia but Leander swam by moonlight, and there 
 was a lady in the case, besides 1 had had marching 
 enough, I had no provisions, and could not carry off 
 my baggage I was in the enemy's country, it was 
 true, without the means of carrying on the war 
 but to retreat and leave my baggage ! " Old Jake" 
 never taught me that ! 
 
 The more I thought upon my situation, the more 
 complicated, the more painful were my reflections. 
 I was among total strangers there was not a face 
 
EMPTY POCKETS. 
 
 around me that I had ever seen, not an eye that 
 would recognise me. I could not boast that genteel 
 outside which is the common passport to civility 
 my tarnished vestments presented no very inviting 
 appearance my face was red and blistered by the 
 sun these might be taken as the indications of in- 
 temperance. I fancied that I exhibited the coun- 
 terfeit presentiment of one of those slippery chaps 
 alluded to by the captain. When my inability to 
 comply with their lawful requisitions should be an- 
 nounced, what ungenerous surmises would be form- 
 ed by this rough sailor and his hawk-eyed f clerk ! 
 If my feelings should not be assailed by rude re- 
 marks, they would be equally galled by supercili- 
 ous looks and silent suspicions. 
 
 Something must be done. I might appeal to the 
 generosity of the captain ; but 1 was to be his pas- 
 senger only to Brunswick how should 1 get thence 
 to Philadelphia ? Besides, I did not like his looks. 
 1 paced the deck with rapid strides, and with a sen- 
 sation of real pain at my heart. My profession had 
 led me through innumerable dangers ; I had faced 
 men in honourable fight, but I could not cope the 
 redoubted commander of a steamboat, and chal- 
 lenge the inquisitive glances of a crowd of stran- 
 gers. 
 
 The passengers were now crowding to the clerk's 
 room with open pocket-books, or returning from it 
 securing their purses, and buttoning their pocket 
 flaps. Many of those gentlemen were doubtless 
 
EMPTY POCKETS. 89 
 
 going to Philadelphia ; I might frankly acknowledge 
 to one of them my situation, and solicit a loan, to 
 be repaid on my arrival. But he might doubt my 
 word. I thought of Jeremy Diddler a thousand 
 times, and wished for his easy knack of making use- 
 ful acquaintances. I began to scrutinize the faces 
 of my fellow-travellers and endeavoured to find 
 among them a generous, confiding physiognomy. 1 
 found some cold polite faces some foppish faces 
 some miserly faces and a great many common 
 place faces which said nothing. There was one 
 gentlemen whose countenance pleased me. He 
 was a middle-aged, fine looking man easy and 
 genteel in his deportment with a noble eye and 
 thoughtful features. 1 approached him, but at that 
 moment a couple of fine girls who had been lounging 
 over the deck addressed him as their father, and I 
 shrunk back. They were beautiful the rays of 
 beneficence beamed from their eyes ; but a young 
 gentleman does not like to disclose his poverty to 
 the ladies, who of all things have a particular antip- 
 athy to empty pockets. 
 
 There was a young gentlemen of an open pleas- 
 ing countenance, with whom I now entered into 
 conversation. He was quite accessible, communi- 
 cative, and even voluble, and I was about to open 
 my heart to him but he ran on became familiar, 
 vulgar, and disagreeable. I turned from him in 
 disgust. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen, be expeditious if you please,' 
 8* 
 
90 EMPTY POCKETS. 
 
 bawled the captain, " breakfast is on the table." I 
 turned immediately towards a gentleman of respec- 
 table apearance, whose sun-browned features an- 
 nounced him to have been a traveller. I addressed 
 him, learned that we were destined to the same city, 
 and told him my story. The old gentleman looked 
 at me for a moment with an inquisitive glance, then 
 drawing forth his pocket-book presented it, and de- 
 sired me to take what I wanted. I did so pre- 
 sented him with my address, received his, and has- 
 tening to the clerk discharged his claim in time to 
 take my seat at the breakfast table. 
 
 This was one of the petty incidents of life, but 
 caused me more pain than 1 have sometimes expe- 
 rienced under real affliction ; so true is it that we 
 can bear any evils with greater composure than 
 those which touch our pride, and that of all misfor- 
 tunes there is none to be dreaded more than an 
 Empty Pocket. 
 
91 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 After an absence of several years from my native 
 city, I had lately the pleasure of paying it a visit ; 
 and, having spent a few days with my friends, was 
 about to bid adieu, once more, to the goodly and 
 quiet streets of Philadelphia. The day had not yet 
 dawned, and I stood trembling at the door of the 
 stage-office, muffled in a great coat, while the driver 
 was securing my baggage. The streets were still 
 and tenantless, and not a foot seemed to be travelling 
 but my own. Every body slept, gentle and simple , 
 for sleep is a gentle and simple thing. The watch- 
 men slumbered; and the very lamps seemed to 
 have caught the infectious drowsiness. I felt that I 
 possessed at that moment a lordly pre-eminence 
 among my fellow citizens ; for they were all torpid, 
 as dead to consciousness as swallows in the winter, 
 or mummies in a catacomb. I alone had sense, 
 knowledge, power, energy. The rest were all 
 
92 
 
 perdu shut up, like the imprisoned genii, who 
 were bottled away by Solomon, and cast into the 
 sea. I could release them from durance, in an in- 
 stant ; 1 could discharge either of them from impri- 
 sonment, or I could suffer the whole to remain 
 spell-bound until the appointed time for their en- 
 largement. Every thing slept ; mayor, aldermen, 
 and councils, the civil and the military, learning, 
 and beauty, and eloquence, porters, dogs, and drays, 
 steam engines and patent machines, even the ele- 
 ments reposed. 
 
 If it had not been so cold, 1 could have moralized 
 upon the death-like torpor that reigned over the 
 city. As it was, I could not help admiring that 
 wonderful regulation of nature, which thus pe- 
 riodically suspends the vital powers of a whole 
 people. There is nothing so cheering as the bustle 
 of a crowd, nothing more awful than its repose. 
 When we behold the first, when we notice the vast 
 aggregate of human life so variously occupied, so 
 widely diffused, so powerful, and so buoyant, a 
 sensation is produced like that with which we gaze 
 at the ocean when agitated by a storm ; a sense of 
 the utter inadequateness of human power to still 
 such a mass of troubled particles ; but when sleep 
 strews her poppies, it is like the pouring of oil upon 
 the waves. 
 
 I had barely time to make this remark, when 
 two figures rapidly approached two of Solomon's 
 genii escaped from duresse. Had not their out- 
 
THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 93 
 
 ward forms been peaceable and worldly, 1 could 
 have fancied them a pair of malignant spirits, coming 
 to invite me to a meeting of conspirators, or a dance 
 of witches. It was a Quaker gentleman, with a 
 lady hanging on one arm, and a lantern on the 
 other, so that, although he carried double, his bur- 
 thens were both light. As soon as they reached 
 the spot where I stood, the pedestrian raised his 
 lantern to my face, and inspected it earnestly for a 
 moment. 1 began to fear that he was a police 
 officer, who, having picked up one candidate for the 
 treadmill, was seeking to find her a companion. 
 It was an unjust suspicion ; for worthy Obadiah was 
 only taking a lecture on physiognomy, and, being 
 satisfied with the honesty of my lineaments, he 
 said ; " Pray, friend, would it suit thee to take charge 
 of a lady?" 
 
 What a question ! Seldom have my nerves re- 
 ceived so great a shock. Not that there is any thing 
 alarming or disagreeable in the proposition ; but the 
 address was so sudden, the interrogatory so direct, 
 the subject matter so unexpected ! " Take charge 
 of a lady," quoth he ! I had been for years a can- 
 didate for this very honour. JNever was there a 
 more willing soul on the round world. I had always 
 been ready to "take charge of a lady," but had 
 never been happy enough to find one who was 
 willing to place herself under my protection ; and 
 now, when 1 least expected it, came a fair volunteer, 
 with the sanction of a parent, to throw herself, as 
 
94 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 it were, into my arms ! I thought of the country 
 where the pigs run about ready roasted, crying, 
 " Who'll eat me ?" I thought, too, of Aladdin and 
 his wonderful lamp, and almost doubted whether 1 
 had not touched some talisman, whose virtues had 
 called into my presence a substantial personifica- 
 tion of one of my day dreams. But there was 
 Obadiah, of whose mortality there could be no 
 mistake; and there was the lady's trunk not an 
 imaginary trunk, but a most copious and ponderous 
 receptacle, ready to take its station socially beside 
 my own. What a prize for a travelling bachelor ! 
 a lady ready booked, and bundled up, with her 
 trunk packed, and her passage paid ! Alas ! it is for 
 a season after that, some happier wight will " take 
 charge of the lady," and 1 may jog on in single 
 loneliness. 
 
 These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, 
 during a pause in the Quaker's speech, and, before 
 I could frame a reply, he continued : " My daughter 
 has just heard of the illness of her husband, Captain 
 Johnson of the Riflemen, and wishes to get to 
 Baltimore to-day to join him. The ice has stopped 
 the steamboats, and she is obliged to go by land." 
 
 1 had the grace to recover from my fit of abstrac- 
 tion, so far as to say, in good time, that " it would 
 afford me pleasure to render any service in my 
 power to Mrs. Johnson ;" and I did so with great 
 sincerity, for every chivalrous feeling of my bosom 
 was enlisted in favour of a lady, young, sensitive, 
 
THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 95 
 
 and no doubt beautiful, who was flying on the wings 
 of love to the chamber of an afflicted husband. I 
 felt proud of extending my protection to such a 
 pattern of connubial tenderness ; and, offering my 
 hand to worthy Obadiah, I added, " I am obliged 
 to you, sir, for this mark of your confidence, and 
 will endeavour to render Mrs. Johnson's journey 
 safe, if not agreeable." 
 
 A hearty " thank thee, friend, 1 judged as much 
 from thy appearance," was all the reply, and the 
 stage being now ready, we stepped in, and drove off. 
 As the carriage rattled over the pavement, my 
 thoughts naturally reverted to my fair charge. Ah ! 
 thought I, what a happy fellow is Captain Johnson 
 of the Rifle! What a prize has he drawn in the lot- 
 tery of life ! How charming it must be to have such 
 a devoted wife ! Here was I, a solitary bachelor, 
 doomed perhaps to eternal celibacy. Cheerless 
 indeed was my fate compared with his. Should I 
 fall sick, there was no delicate female to fly to my 
 bedside ; no, I might die, before a ministering angel 
 would come to me in such a shape. But, fortunate 
 Captain Johnson ! no sooner is he placed on the 
 sick list, by the regimental surgeon, than his amiable 
 partner quits her paternal mansion, accepts the 
 protection of a stranger, risks her neck in a stage- 
 coach, and her health in the night air, and flies to 
 the relief of the invalid. 
 
 I wonder what is the matter with Captain John- 
 son, continued I. Got the dengue perhaps, or the 
 
96 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 dyspepsia ; they are both very fashionable com- 
 plaints. Sickness is generally unwelcome, and 
 often an alarming visiter. It always brings the 
 doctor, with his long bill and loathsome drugs, and 
 it sometimes opens the door to the doctor's suc- 
 cessor in office, Death. But sickness, when it 
 calls home an affectionate wife, when it proves her 
 love and her courage, when its pangs are soothed 
 by the tender and skilful assiduity of a loving and 
 beloved friend, even sickness, under such circum- 
 stances, must be welcome to that happy man, 
 Captain Johnson of the Rifle. 
 
 Poor fellow ! perhaps he is very sick dying, for 
 aught we know. Then the lady will be a widow, 
 and there will be a vacant captaincy in the Rifle 
 Regiment. Strange, that 1 should never have heard 
 of him before I thought I knew all the officers. 
 What kind of a man can he be? The Rifle is a fine 
 regiment. They were dashing fellows in the last 
 war ; chiefly from the West all marksmen, who 
 could cut off a squirrel's head, or pick out the pupil 
 of a grenadier's eye. He was a backwoodsman, no 
 doubt ; six feet six, with red whiskers, and an eagle 
 eye. His regimentals had caught the lady's fancy ; 
 the sex loves any thing in uniform, perhaps because 
 they are the reverse of every thing that is uniform 
 themselves. The lady did well to get into the 
 Rifle Regiment; for she was evidently a sharp- 
 shooter, and could pick off an officer, when so dis- 
 posed. What an eye she must have ! A plague on 
 
THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 97 
 
 Captain Johnson ! What evil genius sent him 
 poaching here? Why sport his gray and black 
 among the pretty Quaker girls of Philadelphia? 
 Why could not the Rifle officers enlist their wives 
 elsewhere ? Or why, if Philadelphia must be rifled 
 of its beauty why had not I been Captain Johnson? 
 When a man begins to think upon a subject of 
 which he knows nothing, there is no end of it ; for 
 his thoughts not having a plain road to travel, will 
 shoot off into every by path. Thus it was, that 
 my conjectures wandered from the captain to his 
 lady, and from the lady to her father. What an 
 honest, confiding soul, must worthy Obadiah be, 
 continued I, to myself, to place a daughter, so es- 
 timable, perhaps his only child, under the protec- 
 tion of an entire stranger ! He is doubtless a 
 physiognomist. I carry that best of all letters of 
 introduction, a good appearance. Perhaps he is a 
 phrenologist ; but that cannot be, for my bumps, 
 be they good or evil, are all muffled up. After all, 
 the worthy man might have made a woful mistake. 
 . For all that he knew, I might be a sharper or a 
 senator, a plenipotentiary or a pickpocket. 1 might 
 be Rowland Stevenson or Washington Irving 1 
 might be Morgan, or Sir Humphrey Davy, or the 
 Wandering Jew. I might be a vampyre or a ven- 
 triloquist. 1 might be Cooper the novelist, for he 
 is sometimes "a travelling bachelor," or 1 might be 
 our other Cooper, for he is a regular occupant of 
 the stage. I might be Captain Sy names going to 
 9 
 
98 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 the inside of the world, or Mr. Owen going ac- 
 cording to circumstances. I might be Miss Wright 
 no, 1 couldn't be Miss Wright nor if I was, would 
 any body be guilty of such a solecism as to ask 
 Miss Wright to take charge of a lady, for she be- 
 lieves that ladies can take charge of themselves. 
 After all, how does Obadiah know that I am not 
 the President of the United States? What a mistake 
 would that have been ! How would the chief ma- 
 gistrate of twenty-four sovereign republics have 
 been startled by the question, " Pray, friend, would 
 it suit thee to take charge of a lady ?" 
 
 It is not to be supposed that I indulged in this 
 soliloquy at the expense of politeness. Not at all ; 
 it was too soon to intrude on the sacredness of the 
 lady's quiet. Besides, however voluminous these 
 reflections may seem in the recital, but a few 
 minutes were occupied in their production ; for 
 Perkins never made a steam generator half so potent 
 as the human brain. But day began to break, and 
 I thought it proper to break silence. 
 
 " It is a raw morning, madam," said J. 
 
 " Very raw," said she, and the conversation made 
 a full stop. 
 
 "The roads appear to be rough," said I, return- 
 ing to the charge. 
 
 " Very rough," replied the lady. 
 
 Another full stop. 
 
 " Have you ever travelled in a stage before?" 1 
 enquired. 
 
99 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " But never so great a distance, perhaps ?" 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 Another dead halt. 
 
 1 see how it is, thought I. The lady is a blue 
 she cannot talk of these common place matters, and 
 is laughing in her sleeve at my simplicity. I must 
 rise to a higher theme ; and then, as the stage rolled 
 off the Schuylkill bridge, I said, " We have passed 
 the Rubicon, and I hope we shall not, like the 
 Roman conqueror, have cause to repent our te- 
 merity. The day promises to be fair, and the 
 omens are all auspicious." 
 
 " What did you say about Mr. Rubicam ?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 I repeated ; and the lady replied, " Oh ! yes, very 
 likely," and then resumed her former taciturnity. 
 Thinks I to myself, Captain Johnson and his lady 
 belong to the peace establishment. Well, if the 
 lady does not choose to talk, politeness requires of 
 me to be silent ; and for the next hour not a word 
 was spoken. 
 
 I had now obtained a glimpse of my fair com- 
 panion's visage, and candour compels me to admit 
 that it was not quite so beautiful as 1 had anticipated. 
 Her complexion was less fair than 1 could have 
 wished, her eye was not mild, her nose was not 
 such as a statuary would have admired, and her lips 
 were white and thin. I made these few observa- 
 tions with fear and trembling, for the lady repelled 
 
100 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 my enquiring glance with a look of defiance ; a 
 frown lowered upon her haughty brow, and 1 could 
 almost fancy I saw a cockade growing to her bon- 
 net, and a pair of whiskers bristling on her cheeks. 
 There, thought 1, looked Captain Johnson of the 
 Rifle fortunate man ! whose wife, imbibing the 
 pride and courage of a soldier, can punish with a 
 look of scorn the glance of impertinent curiosity. 
 
 At breakfast her character was more fully de- 
 veloped. If her tongue had been out of commis- 
 sion before, it had now received orders for active 
 service. She was convinced that nothing fit to eat 
 could be had at the sign of the " Black Horse," and 
 was shocked to find that the landlord was a Dutch- 
 man. 
 
 " What's your name ?" said she to the landlady. 
 
 " Redheiffer, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh ! dreadful ! was it you that made the per- 
 petual motion ?" 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 Then she sat down to the table, and turned up 
 her pretty nose at every thing that came within its 
 cognizance. The butter was too strong, and the 
 tea too weak ; the bread was too stale, and the 
 bacon fresh ; the rolls were heavy, and the lady's 
 appetite light. 
 
 " Will you try an egg ?" said I. 
 
 I don't like eggs." 
 
 " Allow me to help you to a wing of this fowl." 
 
 " I can't say that I'm partial to the wing." 
 
THE CAPTAIN'S XAivyy i-01* 
 
 " A piece of the breast, then, madam J! > 
 
 " It is very tough, isn't it*?"- : >\ : .. :: -.':*'. 
 
 " No, it seems quite tender." 
 
 " It is done to rags I'm afraid." 
 
 " Quite the reverse the gravy follows the knife." 
 
 " Oh ! horrible ! it is raw !" 
 
 " On the contrary, 1 think it is done to a turn ; 
 permit me to give you this piece." 
 
 " 1 seldom eat fowl, except when cold." 
 
 " Then, madam, here is a nice cold pullet let 
 me give you a merry-thought ; nothing is better to 
 travel on than a merry thought." 
 
 " Thank you, 1 never touch meat at breakfast." 
 
 And my merry thought flashed in the pan. 
 
 " Perhaps, sir, your lady would like some chipped 
 beef, or some ." 
 
 " This is not my lady, Mrs. Redheiffer," inter- 
 rupted I, fearing the appellation might be resented 
 more directly from another quarter. 
 
 " Oh la ! I beg pardon ; but how could a body 
 tell, you know when a lady and gentleman travels 
 together, you know, it's so nateral." 
 
 " Quite natural, Mrs. Redheiffer--." 
 
 " May be, ma'am, you'd fancy a bit of cheese, or 
 a slice of apple-pie, or some pumpkin sauce, or a 
 sausage, or " 
 
 1 know not how the touchy gentlewoman would 
 
 have taken all this I do not mean all these good 
 
 things, but the offer of them ; for luckily before any 
 
 reply could be made, the stage driver called us off 
 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 with his horn. As I handed the lady into the stage, 
 1' Ventured to ta* another peep, and fancied she 
 looked vulgar ; but how could 1 tell ? Napoleon has 
 said, there is but a step between the sublime and 
 the ridiculous ; and we all know that between very 
 high fashion and vulgarity there is often less than a 
 step. Good sense, grace, and true breeding He 
 between. The lady occupied one of those ex- 
 tremes, I knew not which ; nor would it have been 
 polite to enquire too closely, as that was a matter 
 which more nearly concerned Captain Johnson of 
 the Rifle, who, no doubt, was excellently we'll 
 qualified to jndge of fashion and fine women. 
 
 By this time the lady had wearied of her former 
 taciturnity, and grown loquacious. She talked in- 
 cessantly, chiefly about herself and her " Pa." 
 " Her Pa was a Quaker, but she was not a Quaker. 
 They had turned her out of meeting for marrying 
 Captain Johnson. Her Pa was a merchant he 
 was in the shingle and board line." 
 
 Alas ! I was in the bored line myself just then. 
 
 Gentle reader, I spare you the recital of all I suf- 
 fered during that day. The lady's temper was none 
 of the best, and travelling agreed with it but in- 
 differently. When we stopped she was always in 
 a fever to go ; when going she fretted continually 
 to stop. At meal times she had no appetite ; at all 
 other times she wanted to eat. As one of the 
 drivers expressed it, she was in a solid pet the whole 
 day. 1 had to alight a hundred times to pick up 
 
THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 103 
 
 her handkerchief, or to look after her baggage; and 
 a hundred times 1 wished her in the arms of Cap- 
 tain Johnson of the Rifle. I bore it all amazingly, 
 however, and take to myself no small credit for 
 having discharged my duty, without losing my pa- 
 tience, or omitting any attention which politeness 
 required. My companion would hardly seem to 
 have deserved this ; yet still she was a female, and 
 1 had no right to find fault with those little pecu- 
 liarities of disposition, which I certainly did not 
 admire. Besides, her husband was a captain in 
 the army; and the wife of a gallant officer who 
 serves his country by land or sea, has high claims 
 upon the chivalry of her countrymen. 
 
 At last we arrived at Baltimore, and I imme- 
 diately called a hack, and desired to know where I 
 should have the pleasure of setting down my fair 
 companion. 
 
 " At the sign of the Anchor, Street, Fell's 
 
 Point," was the reply. 
 
 Surprised at nothing after all I had seen, I gave 
 the order, and stepped into the carriage. " Is any 
 part of the Rifle regiment quartered on Fell's 
 Point?" said I. 
 
 " I don't know," replied the lady. 
 
 " Does not your husband belong to that regiment ?" 
 
 " La ! bless you, no ; Captain Johnson is'nt a 
 soldier?" 
 
 " I have been under a mistake, then. 1 under- 
 stood that he was a captain in the Rifle." 
 
104 THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
 
 " The Rifleman, Sir ; he is captain of the Rifle- 
 man, a sloop that runs from Baltimore to North 
 Carolina, and brings tar and turpentine, and such 
 matters. That's the house," continued she, " And, 
 as I live, there's Mr. Johnson up and well !" 
 
 The person pointed out was a low, stout built, 
 vulgar man, half intoxicated, with a glazed hat on 
 his head, and a huge quid in his cheek. " How 
 are you, Polly ?" said he, as he handed his wife out, 
 and gave her a smack which might have been heard 
 over the street. "Who's that gentleman? eh! a 
 messmate of yours?" 
 
 " That's the gentleman that took care of me on 
 the road?" 
 
 " The supercargo, eh ? Come Mister, light and 
 take something to drink." 
 
 I thanked the captain, and prdered the carriage 
 to drive off, fully determined, tfiat whatever other 
 imprudence I might hereafter be guilty of, 1 would 
 never again, if I could avoid it, " take charge of a 
 lady." 
 
105 
 
 THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 
 
 One day, no matter when, a stranger was seen 
 riding slowly through the streets of a flourishing 
 town in Tennessee. He was a well dressed good 
 looking young man, mounted upon what in this 
 country would be called, " the best kind of a nag." 
 His appearance, altogether, was respectable 
 enough ; it was even, as respects exteriors, a touch 
 above what is common ; and he would have passed 
 along unnoticed, had it not been for one thing, 
 which excited universal attention. Although the 
 streets were crowded with people, and the fronts of 
 the stores adorned with fine goods, and such fancy 
 articles as usually attract the eye the stranger's 
 gaze was fixed on vacancy ; he turned his head 
 neither to the right nor the left ; he moved not lip 
 nor eye-lid ; but rode forward, as if apparently un- 
 conscious, as well of his own existence, as of the 
 presence of his fellow creatures. 
 
106 THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 
 
 It was court week, and an usual concourse of 
 people was collected. Here was the judge, with a 
 long train of lawyers. The candidates for office 
 were here, distributing smiles and kindnesses, and 
 practising all those popular arts, which are so well 
 understood in every republican country. Here was 
 the farmer, clad in his neatest homespun, and 
 mounted on his best horse. Here was the hunter 
 with his rifle. Here, in short, were the people ; col- 
 lected, some for pleasure, and some for business, 
 exhibiting that excitement of feeling which crowds 
 always produce, with a good humour which is only 
 found in countries where all are free and equal. 
 The public square exhibited a scene which would 
 have been amusing to one unaccustomed to such 
 displays of character. At one spot were two 
 neighbours driving a bargain. Unlike the people 
 of other countries, who transact such business in 
 private, they were surrounded by a host of people, 
 who all occasionally threw in their comments. A 
 stranger, judging from the sly jokes, the loud ban- 
 tering, and the vociferous laughter which passed 
 round the circle, would not have supposed that any 
 serious business was in hand ; a resident only would 
 infer, that before this little circle parted, ahorse would 
 be swapped, a crop of tobacco sold, or a tract of land 
 conveyed. Not far off, was a set of politicians, 
 settling the affairs of the nation. But the most 
 amusing individuals, were some two or three, who 
 were cavorting. Now, if any lady or gentleman is 
 
THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 107 
 
 so ignorant of the American language as not to 
 know what cavorting is, and if Webster's celebrat- 
 ed quarto does not furnish the definition, it is ne- 
 cessary that we explain, that it expresses the con- 
 duct of an individual who fancies himself the smart- 
 est and best man in the world. On the present 
 occasion, a fellow might be seen, dressed in a hunt- 
 ing shirt, with a rifle on his shoulder, mounted, half 
 tipsy, upon a spirited horse, and dashing through 
 the crowd. Now he would force his spurs into his 
 horse's sides, and put him at full speed, or rein him 
 up until he reared on his hinder feet ; and now he 
 would command him to stop, and the obedient ani- 
 mal would stand and tremble. All the time he 
 was ranting and roaring in praise of himself, his 
 horse, and the United States of America. He 
 boasted that.he was born in the woods, rocked in a 
 sugar trough, and suckled by a buffalo ; that he 
 could tote a steamboat, and outrun a streak of 
 lightning ; that his wife was as handsome as a pet 
 fawn, and his children real roarers. He bestowed 
 similar encomiums on his horse ; and finally avowed 
 himself to be a friend to the United States of Ame- 
 rica and then he commenced again and went over 
 the same round, flourishing his rifle all the time, 
 and exerting his lungs to their utmost. Although 
 he often declared that he could whip any man in 
 the round world, except Col. C. that he Jit under 
 at New Orleans, nobody accepted the challenge, or 
 took offence ; the whole being considered as a mat- 
 
108 THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 
 
 ter of course, and as the natural effect of stimulant 
 potations upon an illiterate man of ardent tempera- 
 ment, who, when duly sober, was an honest, quiet, 
 and inoffensive citizen. 
 
 While the people were amused at the vagaries of 
 this wild hunter, or engaged in conversation, the 
 sun had gone down, and it was nearly dusk when 
 the moving automaton, described in the commence- 
 ment of this story, rode solemnly into the town. It 
 is customary in this country for persons who meet, 
 although unacquainted, to salute each other, and 
 this courtesy is especially practised towards stran- 
 gers ; and although the new comer, on this occa- 
 sion, would not have been expected to address each 
 individual in a crowded street, yet, when those who 
 were nearest nodded or spoke, as they civilly open- 
 ed the way, they were surprised to see the horse- 
 man's gaze. fixed on vacancy, and his body remain- 
 ing as erect as if tied to a stake. 
 
 " That man's asleep," said one ; 
 
 " He's as blind as a bat," said another; 
 
 " I reckon he's sort o' dead," exclaimed a third : 
 
 " He rides an elegant nag," remarked a fourth; and 
 all were surprised that a man, who was apparently 
 so good a judge of a horse, had not wit enough to 
 see where he was going, or to know who were 
 around him. 
 
 In the mean while our traveller moved proudly 
 on, until he reached the best inn; a fine brick 
 building, presenting every indication of neatness, 
 
THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 109 
 
 comfort, and even luxury. As he rode up, two 
 well fed athletic negroes, with visages like polished 
 ebony, and teeth as white as snow, rushed forth, 
 and while one seized his bridle, the other held his 
 stirrup as he dismounted. Still the automaton re- 
 laxed not a muscle ; but drawing up his body, moved 
 majestically towards the house. At the door he was 
 met by the landlord, a portly welldressed man, with a 
 fine open countenance, who had been honoured by 
 his fellow citizens with several civil appointments, 
 and had even commanded some of them in the 
 field, in times of peril. He touched his hat as he 
 welcomed the stranger, and invited him into his 
 house with an air of dignity and hospitality. A 
 servant took his surtout, and several gentlemen 
 who were seated round the fire, pushed back their 
 chairs to make way for the stranger. But all these 
 things moved not the automaton ; the glazed eye 
 and compressed lip were still fixed, and the chin 
 remained in the cushion of an immense cravat. 
 After a momentary pause, the gentlemen in the 
 room resumed their conversation, the landlord ap- 
 plied himself to the business of his house, and the 
 silent traveller was consigned to the oblivion which 
 he seemed to covet ; and excited no more attention 
 except from an honest backwoodsman, who strolled 
 in to take a peep, and after gazing at him for a 
 quarter of an hour, suddenly clapped his hands, 
 and exclaimed to 1m companion, " It moves, Bill ! 
 10 
 
110 THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 
 
 if it a'nt alive, I'll agree to go a-foot as long as 1 
 live." 
 
 By this time candles were lighted, and the silent 
 gentleman seemed to grow weary of silence. He 
 now rose and strutted across the apartment with a 
 very important stride. He was a young man of 
 about two and twenty ; of ordinary height, and less 
 than ordinary thickness. His person seemed to be 
 compressed with corsets, and his head was support- 
 ed by the ears upon a semicircle of stiffened linen, 
 which occupied the place of a shirt collar ; and all 
 his habiliments announced him to the eyes of the 
 curious, as a genuine specimen of that singular 
 genus, the dandy. After taking several turns 
 through the apartment, he drew forth his gold re- 
 peater, and opening his mouth for the first time, 
 exclaimed in a peremptory tone, *' Landlord ! I want 
 supper!" " You shall have it, sir," said the land- 
 lord, with a bow, and winking at the same time at 
 the other guests, " we had supped when you arriv- 
 ed, but will not detain you many minutes." 
 
 In a short time, supper was announced, and the 
 stranger was shown into a back room, handsomely 
 furnished, where a neat elderly matron presided at 
 the head of a table, spread with tea, coffee, bread, 
 cakes, beef, pork, bacon, venison, fowls, and all that 
 profusion of eatables with which western ladies de- 
 light to entertain their guests. Near her sat a 
 young lady, modestly attired, in the bloom of youth 
 and beauty, whose easy manners and engaging ap- 
 
THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. Ill 
 
 pearance, might have warmed any heart not callous 
 to the charms of native elegance. Now, indeed, 
 our dandy opened both mouth and eyes to some 
 purpose. Scarcely deigning to return the sa- 
 lutation of his hostess, he commenced the work of 
 havoc fish, flesh, and fowl vanished before him ; 
 his eye roved from dish to dish, and then wandered 
 off to the young lady ; now he gazed at a broiled 
 chicken, and now at the fair niece of the landlord 
 but which he liked best, I am unable to say 
 the chicken seemed to go off very well, but on the 
 subject of the damsel he never opened his mouth. 
 
 Returning again to the silting apartment, he 
 found the same set of gentlemen whom he had left 
 there, still engaged in conversation. They were 
 the judge, the lawyers, and other intelligent men of 
 the country, who were not a little amused at the 
 airs of our dandy. Again they opened their circle 
 to receive him, but his eyes, his mouth, and his 
 heart, if he had one, were closed against every 
 thing but the contemplation of his own important 
 self. After drawing his boots, picking his teeth, 
 and puffing a segar, he again opened his mouth, 
 with, " Landlord ! I want to go to bed !" 
 
 " Whenever you please, sir." 
 
 " 1 want a room to myself, sir !" 
 
 " I do not know how that will be," replied the 
 landlord, " my house is full, and I shall be com- 
 pelled to put you in the room with some of these 
 gentlemen." 
 
112 THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 
 
 " I can't go it, sir !" replied the dandy, strutting 
 up and down ; " never slept in a room with any 
 body in my life, sir ! and never will ! must have a 
 room, sir !" 
 
 The landlord now laughed outright at the airs of 
 the coxcomb, and then said, very good humouredly, 
 " Well, well, I'll go and talk with my wife, and see 
 what we can do." 
 
 " My dear," said the landlord, as he entered the 
 supper room, u here's a man who says he must have 
 a room to himself." 
 
 " What, that greedy little man, in corsets ?" 
 
 The same." 
 
 "Set him up with a room!" exclaimed the landlady. 
 
 " He is a trifling fellow," said the landlord, " but 
 if we can accommodate the poor little man, we 
 had better do so." 
 
 The lady professed her readiness to discharge 
 the rights of hospitality, but declared that there was 
 not a vacant apartment in the house. 
 
 " Give him my room, aunt," said the pretty 
 niece, " I will sleep with the children, or any 
 whereyou please." The young lady was a visitor, and 
 a great favourite ; and the elder lady was altogether 
 opposed to putting her to any discomfort, particu- 
 larly on account of such a rude man. But the 
 niece carried her point, and arrangements were 
 made accordingly. 
 
 In a few minutes, the silent man was conducted 
 by the landlord to a very handsomely furnished 
 
THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 113 
 
 apartment in the back part of the house. Every 
 thing here was of the best and neatest kind. A 
 suit of curtains hung round the bed, the counter- 
 pane was white as snow, and the bed linen was 
 fresh and fragrant. The dandy walked round the 
 room, examining every thing with the air of a man 
 who fancied his life in danger from some contagious 
 disease, or venomous reptile. He then threw open 
 the bed clothes, and after inspecting them, exclaim- 
 ed, " I can't sleep in that bed !" 
 
 " Why not, sir ?" enquired the astonished landlord. 
 
 " It's not clean ! I can't sleep in it !" repeated 
 the dandy, strutting up and down with the most 
 amusing air of self importance, " 1 wouldn't sleep 
 there for a thousand dollars !" 
 
 " Take care what you say, 1 ' said the landlord ; 
 " you are not aware that 1 keep the best house in 
 all this country, and that my wife is famed for the 
 cleanliness of her house and beds !" 
 
 " Can't help it," replied the dandy, very delibe- 
 rately surveying himself in a mirror, " very sorry, 
 sir awkward business to be sure but to be plain 
 with you, I wont sleep in a dirty bed to please any 
 man." 
 
 " You won't, won't you ?" 
 
 " No, sir, I will not." 
 
 " Then 1 will make you," said the landlord, and 
 
 seizing the astonished dandy by the back of the 
 
 neck, he led him to the bed, and forced his face 
 
 down upon it " look at it," continued the enraged 
 
 10* 
 
114 THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 
 
 Tennessean, "examine it smell it do you calf 
 that bed dirty, you puppy !" Then going to the 
 door, he called to a servant to bring a horsewhip ; 
 and informed the terrified dandy, that unless he 
 undressed and went to bed instantly, he should 
 order his negro to horsewhip him. In vain the 
 mortified youngster promised to do all that was re- 
 quired of him ; the landlord would trust nothing to 
 his word, but remained until his guest was disrob- 
 ed, corsets and all, and snugly nestled under the 
 snow-white counterpane. 
 
 It was nearly breakfast time when the crest fal- 
 len stranger made his appearance in the morning. 
 To his surprise, his steed, who had evidently fared 
 as well as himself, stood ready saddled at the door. 
 " Pray, sir," said he to his host, in a very humble 
 tone, and in a manner which showed him at a loss 
 how to begin the conversation, "pray, sir, at what 
 hour do you breakfast ?" 
 
 " We breakfast at eight," was the reply, " but 
 the question is one in which you can have lit- 
 tle interest ; for you must seek a meal elsewhere." 
 
 " Surely, my dear sir, you would not treat a gen- 
 tleman with such indignity .'* 
 
 " March !" said the landlord. 
 
 u My bill ." 
 
 " You owe me nothing ; I should think myself de- 
 graded by receiving your money." 
 
 In another moment, the self important mortal, 
 who, the evening before, had ridden through the 
 
THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 115 
 
 town with such a consciousness of his own dignity, 
 was galloping away, degraded, vexed, and humbled. 
 As he passed along, the same backwoodsman, who 
 had gone to ascertain the fact of his vitality on his 
 first arrival, met him, and pulling off his hat, said, 
 very civilly, " Stranger, your girth is under your 
 horse !" The dandy reined up his steed, jumped 
 off, and found that his girth was indeed under his 
 horse where it ought to be. 
 
 "Do you mean to insult me?" exclaimed he, 
 turning fiercely upon the backwoodsman ; but the 
 latter, instead of replying, coolly remarked to his 
 companions, " If it an't alive, I'll agree to be shot ;" 
 and walked on. 
 
 " Who is that young man ?*' enquired the judge 
 of the circuit court, as the stranger rode off. 
 
 "He is a Philadelphia dun," replied the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " I am no wiser than before," said his honour. 
 
 " Have you lived in our country so long, and not 
 know this race of men ? Sir, they are the collectors, 
 sent out by eastern merchants, to collect their 
 debts. Although they come from different cities, 
 they all go under one general denomination ; some 
 of them are fine young men, but too many are like 
 yonder chap." 
 
 " But how do you know this to be one of them ?" 
 
 " Oh, bless you, I know them well. I read the his- 
 tory of that youth, in his motions, before he was in 
 my house five minutes. One year ago he could 
 
116 THE PHILADELPHIA DUN. 
 
 bow and smile like a French dancing master, skip 
 over a counter, and play as many tricks as a pet 
 monkey. He is just out of his apprenticeship, pro- 
 moted to the dignity of a dun, and mounted on a 
 fine horse, and you know the old proverb, " set a 
 beggar on horseback " 
 
 " I understand the whole matter," replied the 
 judge, and very gravely walked into the house, 
 while the younger members of the bar were roar- 
 ing with laughter at this odd adventure of the Phi- 
 ladelphia dun. 
 
 
117 
 
 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 Shortly after the defeat of the British army at 
 Fort Erie, in the brilliant sortie planned and execut- 
 ed by General Brown, that officer received intelli- 
 gence that General Izard was on his way to join 
 him with a large force. A few weeks sooner, this 
 intelligence would have been highly gratifying. The 
 American army, hemmed in by a foe whose num- 
 bers more than quadrupled their own, had been 
 placed in an embarrassing situation. The fort was 
 situated on low flat ground, and the season being 
 very wet, the constant tramping of so many men had 
 converted the whole place into one great mud pud- 
 dle; the garrison who were lodged in tents, were 
 exposed to continual rains; there was no spot se- 
 cure from the elements, and a dry vestment, bed, 
 or blanket, was, at times, not to be found within 
 our line of sentinels ; while the frequent alarms, and 
 
118 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 the necessary "watch and ward" left only inter- 
 vals for that broken slumber which refreshes not. 
 But little pay, if any, had been received during the 
 campaign money there was absolutely none and 
 our diet was necessarily confined to the ration of 
 meat and bread, which was not of the best kind. 
 The perpetual shower of cannon balls and bursting 
 of bomb-shells was not a matter of complaint, for 
 this was soldier's luck ; to be shot at was our voca- 
 tion ; and as we failed not to amuse ourselves at the 
 batteries during a part of every day, we had, at least, 
 the satisfaction of believing that our fallen compan- 
 ions would not, like Scipio's ghost, "stalk unre- 
 venged among us." But nestling in the mire, and 
 starving and coughing our lungs away, were matters 
 which had not entered into our contract with the 
 government, and on which our commissions, as well 
 as the " rules and articles," were silent. It was not 
 SO " nominated in the bond." Why could not Un- 
 cle Sam send us food, and physic, and a few lusty 
 fellows to help us fight ? Where there are no super- 
 fluous men, every one who falls leaves a niche ; and 
 while we beheld our little force gradually wasting 
 away, it was provoking enough to reflect that our 
 country was full of men, some of whom abused us, 
 some laughed at us, a few praised and none assisted. 
 I may add, that the foe had vowed our extermina- 
 tion, and on one occasion had marched up to our 
 batteries, filling the air with the dreadful war cry 
 " no quarter no quarter to the d d Yankees !!" 
 
THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 119 
 
 and that noble spirit of emulation, that generous 
 contention, and courteous interchange of kindly 
 offices upon proper occasions, which should exist 
 among civilized armies, were all swallowed up in 
 the deep hate excited by the cold-blooded cruelty 
 of the enemy. As war, disease, and the doctor, 
 daily thinned our ranks, it seemed evident, that un- 
 less supplies should arrive, we must become the 
 victims of that unrelenting barbarity, of which our 
 fellow citizens, on various occasions, have had suffi- 
 cient experience. Our country, however, still for- 
 got us, and I know not what would have become of 
 us, had it not been for one kind-hearted gentleman. 
 He was a Quaker gentleman ; and the Quakers, you 
 know, are famed for benevolence. Slipping out of 
 the Fort one day, about noon, when John Bull nev- 
 er dreamed of such a matter, he dexterously cut off 
 about a third of their army, and by that " free use of 
 the bayonet," which the British commander had 
 recommended upon a recent occasion, he saved his 
 own credit, and the throats and scalps of his men, 
 who filled the air with acclamations. The enemy, 
 completely defeated, retired ; and General Brown, 
 not having force enough to pursue, could only make 
 his bow, and wish them good bye. 
 
 At this juncture a despatch arrived, announcing 
 that General Izard had left Plattsburg; was to em- 
 bark at Sackett's Harbour, and passing up the lake, 
 touch at the mouth of the Eighteen Mile Creek, 
 whence his course would be directed, in a great 
 
 
120 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 measure, by the intelligence he might receive from 
 General Brown. It was desirable, therefore, that 
 he should be met at that point by an officer from 
 Fort Erie, who could advise him of the exact situa- 
 tion of the garrison, and the relative positions and 
 srength of the two contending armies, and convey 
 the communications of General Brown. A young 
 artillery officer was accordingly summoned to the 
 general's quarters, and after receiving the neces- 
 sary instructions, he was ordered to get himself in 
 readiness to set out immediately. "General Izard 
 must be met," said the commander, " at the hour he 
 has appointed : can you reach the place by that 
 time?" " Oh, yes, certainly, sir," replied the young 
 artillerist, " though 1 must confess that I neither 
 know the route nor the distance." The General 
 smiled, named the distance, hastily indicated the 
 route, and reminding his envoy thaUhere was barely 
 time left to accomplish the journey by the most ra- 
 pid riding, wished him a pleasant jaunt. 
 
 The Bearer of Despatches crossing an arm of the 
 lake, which separates Fort Erie from Buffalo, re- 
 paired to the quarter master to procure a horse, 
 and being well mounted, departed early in the after- 
 noon of the same day. Two routes were presented 
 to his choice ; the one was the main road which led 
 by Batavia, and was too circuitous to be travelled 
 within the allotted time ; the other was an unfre- 
 quented, but more direct path, which, leading in the 
 neighbourhood of Fort Niagara, then in possession of 
 
THE BEARER OP DESPATCHES. 121 
 
 the enemy, was fraught with danger : but it was ne- 
 cessarily chosen. A large cloak disguised the per- 
 son of our soldier, concealing his arms and military 
 insignia ; and he hoped under the cover of night, to 
 pass the vicinity of the Fort unobserved. By rapid 
 riding he reached the neighbourhood of Schlosser a 
 little before sunset, and being unwilling to approach 
 Queenstown early in the evening, he checked his 
 horse and rode leisurely along. Cooped up, as he 
 had been, he now enjoyed with an exquisite relish 
 the luxuries of pure air, exercise, and liberty. His 
 route lay along the margin of the Niagara river, 
 which now separated him from those glorious fields 
 which had been so recently drenched in gore, and 
 in which American valour had been so conspicuous- 
 ly displayed. A few weeks before, he had passed 
 along the opposite shore in all the fervour of youth- 
 ful hope and military pride, surrounded by the pomp 
 and circumstance of glorious war, by the tumult 
 and glitter of an army with flying colours, and drums 
 and hearts beating. Now the solitary horseman 
 rode alone ; the breeze bore not the accents of men, 
 nor did the distant echo whisper danger in his ear, 
 but his eye dwelt upon scenes of interest ; well 
 known spots occasionally glanced upon his vision : 
 here an army had been encamped, there a battle 
 fought, and under those trees slept many a compa- 
 nion ! The last rays of the sun fell upon his back, 
 and the trees threw their gigantic shadows along the 
 path before him. At such an hour the eye is most 
 11 
 
122 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 delighted with the beauties of a wild landscape, 
 when the nooks, and glens, and secluded places be- 
 gin to darken into the gloom of twilight, while the 
 sun-beams still glitter on the hills and tree-tops, or 
 sleep upon the waves. The Niagara was rippling 
 along its rocky channel, murmuring and fretting as 
 it rushed towards the precipice, over which its de- 
 scent causes one of the sublimest objects in nature. 
 These circumstances all combined to wrap the heart 
 of the traveller in sweet and pleasing meditation ; 
 and he rode on, enjoying those dreams, which, creep- 
 ing imperceptibly into young hearts, hold the ima- 
 gination entranced in delight ; in irresistible delu- 
 sions, full of rapture, variety, and beauty. The 
 hour was witching, the scene picturesque, the very 
 air melodious; and the realities around him became 
 mellowed, and softened, and spiritualised into airy 
 creations of the fancy. The mind, warmed into ro- 
 mantic feeling, gave its own hue to the surrounding 
 objects ; rude and familiar things took to themselves 
 wings and flew away ; vulgar associations were ban- 
 ished ; the scenery disposed itself into shapes and 
 shades of beauty ; bright and varied colours fell 
 upon the landscape ; creatures of fancy peopled the 
 shade, and the breeze murmured in numbers. 
 
 Our officer halted a moment at Schlosser to make 
 some enquiries relative to his route, and learning 
 that a countryman had just passed along, whose 
 homeward path led in the very direction desired, 
 he determined to profit by his company and guid- 
 
THE BEARER OP DESPATCHES. 123 
 
 ance. Spurring his steed, therefore, he rode 
 rapidly on. Near the Falls, he overtook the boor, 
 plodding heavily along. He was a man whose 
 general outline announced him to be of the middle 
 age ; but his visage placed him in the decline of 
 life. Dissipation had probably anticipated the pal- 
 sying touch of time, had wrinkled his face, and slight- 
 ly tinged his hair with the frosty hue of winter. His 
 bloodshot eyes gave proof of habitual intemperance; 
 but there was speculation in them, and a vile spe- 
 culation it was; it was the keen, cunning, steady 
 glance of one who in his time had cut, shuffled, and 
 dealt, who could slip a card, and knew where the 
 trumps lay. With this was mingled the dulness of 
 an illiterate man, and the good humour of one who 
 was willing to be amused, and meant no harm to 
 others. Saving the besetting sin above alluded to, 
 and perhaps the occasional passing of a counterfeit 
 bill upon strong temptation, a small matter for a 
 frontier man, he might have been a right honest fel- 
 low ; one who knew the courtesies and good feel- 
 ings of life, passed the cup merrily, would do a 
 neighbourly act when it came in his way, never beat 
 his wife when he was sober, nor troubled his chil- 
 dren when they kept out of his way. Such at least 
 was the estimate which our young soldier formed 
 of his companion, during their subsequent ride to- 
 gether, to which it is only necessary to add, that he 
 seemed to have recently parted from good liquor, 
 and to have attained that precise point of elation, 
 
124 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 which is well understood in every polite circle by 
 the phrase, a little high. 
 
 When the two riders encountered, they scruti- 
 nised each other with that jealous caution which com- 
 monly passed between strangers who met in those 
 dangerous times, in the vicinity of the hostile ar- 
 mies. The cautious question and the guarded an- 
 swer passed mutually, until each had learnt as much 
 as he could, and disclosed as much as he pleased. 
 Our officer announced himself as a storekeeper, 
 who had been to the army to make a traffic with 
 thesuttlers, having failed in which, he was now re- 
 turning home in haste, by a route which he was 
 told was nearer than the main road, and wished to 
 get that night to a place called . The coun- 
 tryman lived at that very place, was now going home, 
 although it was still upwards of sixteen miles dis- 
 tant, and he said he would be glad of our traveller's 
 company. 
 
 They reached the Falls while daylight yet linger- 
 ed over the awful abyss, and the officer, who had 
 beheld this wonderful sight from the opposite shore, 
 proposed to his companion to halt, that he might 
 survey it under a new aspect. The latter, who 
 seemed in no haste, cheerfully complied, and even 
 seemed pleased with the oppportunity of acting the 
 Cicerone, and detailing all the wonderful tales ex- 
 tant, in relation to the great cataract. He did not, 
 it is true, relate that surprising fact which Goldsmith 
 has recorded, and Morse has copied from him, i. e. 
 
THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 125 
 
 that the Indians descend these rapids in their 
 canoes, in safety ; because, notwithstanding this cir- 
 cumstance is vouched for by two celebrated doc- 
 tors, great amateurs in rivers, winds, and mountains, 
 the vulgar give it no credit, and the natives deny it. 
 Strange infatuation, that the assertions of philoso- 
 phers should not be believed, in preference to our 
 own erring senses and crude notions of probability ! 
 When our officer mentioned this story to his guide, 
 he exclaimed, "Impossible! the man's sartainly 
 cracked !" And had he told the same individual 
 that Dr. Mitchel had said that a whale was not a 
 fish, he would have expressed a similar astonishment; 
 so incredulous is ignorance, so unwillingly does it 
 bow to science and research. For my part, 1 make 
 it a rule never to quarrel with a philosopher, and 
 am therefore willing to admit that it is not only a 
 safe but a remarkably salubrious and amusing re- 
 creation to paddle a canoe down the Falls and back 
 again. 
 
 Leaving this spot, the officer was conducted by 
 his guide to another object of admiration. A short 
 distance below the cataract, the river, rushing along 
 with the immense velocity acquired by being preci- 
 pitated from so great a height, suddenly strikes a 
 perpendicular precipice, which juts boldly into the 
 stream from the American side, and the current thus 
 thrown abruptly to the left, creates a whirlpool, 
 which is not the least among the curiosities of this 
 region. The officer advanced to the edge of the 
 11* 
 
126 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 cliff, and gazed in silence on the foaming current 
 and its overhanging banks, now dimly discovered 
 through the gray twilight. His reveries were bro- 
 ken by his companion, who narrated a melancholy 
 tale connected with the scene of their contempla- 
 tion. Many years ago, when all of this country 
 was in possession of the British, a detachment of 
 troops, having under their convoy a number of fami- 
 lies with their furniture and baggage, were overta- 
 ken by night in this vicinity. They still proceeded, 
 however, in hopes of reaching the forts below. But 
 the French and Indians had formed an ambuscade 
 at this very spot, and just as the devoted party were 
 passing along the brink of the precipice, the savage 
 foe rushed on them with hideous yells. Those 
 alone who have heard the soul-thrilling cry of the 
 Indian warrior, who have heard it breaking through 
 the gloom of the night, with all its horrible accom- 
 paniments, with the wail of infants, and the shrieks 
 of women, with the groans of the dying, the prayers 
 and curses of the living, those only can conceive the 
 horror of such a moment. In vain the troops en- 
 deavoured to resist the tomahawk was drenched 
 in blood the European heard the dreadful war- 
 cry, and felt that it was his knell ; he received the 
 fatal blow from an unseen hand, and had not the 
 stern pleasure of beholding his antagonist, but fell 
 without the gratification of avenging his death, or 
 the honour of defending his life. Still the foe 
 pressed on ; with the war-whoop were mingled loud 
 
THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 127 
 
 shouts of triumph and the laugh of demoniac exulta- 
 tion; the soldiers gave back, the horses, panic- 
 struck, fled from the din of battle, and in a moment 
 were precipitated into the yawning gulf; men, wo- 
 men, and children followed, and the whole of this 
 unhappy party slept that night under the wave. " It 
 is said," continued the informer, " that their spirits 
 may still be seen of a moonlight night, dancing in 
 circles in yonder whirling place, where the water 
 goes round so rapidly and now, see there ! what is 
 that ?" The officer looked in the direction designa- 
 ted by the finger of his companion, and beheld a 
 black object in the whirlpool, rising a foot or two 
 above the surface of the water, circulating rapidly 
 with it, and gradually approaching the centre, until 
 it was swallowed in the vortex. He could easily 
 imagine that the trunks and boughs of trees, floating 
 down the current, might be drawn into the pool, 
 and whirling round with the velocity of the water, 
 might assume an upright position, and present the 
 appearance which alarmed the inhabitants, and gave 
 probability to their conjectures. I have never been 
 altogether satisfied with this sophism of my friend. 
 It is not possible at this time to ascertain the true 
 character of the apparition which he beheld, nor is 
 it my business, as a faithful historian, to risk my 
 reputation by giving a positive opinion upon the 
 subject : yet I must remark, that 1 have no reason, 
 nor had my military friend any, to induce a belief 
 that this was not as genuine and as honest a ghost as 
 
128 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 ever was beheld by mortal eyes. The fact is, that 
 this young gentleman had lately seen so many of 
 his fellow mortals despatched prematurely to their 
 graves, that his mind had become familiarised with 
 death, and in his dealings with substantial dangers 
 he had acquired a contempt for unreal shadows. I 
 am glad, however, to be able to add that he had the 
 discretion to conceal his scepticism from his fellow 
 traveller, to whose remark he gravely replied, " that 
 human bodies when not decently buried seldom 
 rested in peace, but that he had never heard of their 
 doing any harm." His companion assented to the 
 truth of this sagacious remark, and they pursued 
 their journey. 
 
 These conversations having banished reserve, 
 and the companions beginning to grow into confi- 
 dence with each other, the officer ventured to en- 
 quire how near their route would lead to Fort Ni- 
 agara, and learnt that they must pass within a short 
 distance of that fortress. Concealing his sense of 
 the danger which this information implied to his 
 person and mission, he said carelessly, "Well, I sup- 
 pose they will not disturb peaceable travellers ?" 
 "Sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't," 
 was the reply. " Do they ever get out as far as 
 your little village?" " Oh, yes, often. " "And how 
 do they behave there ?" " Bad enough, bad enough," 
 and he then proceeded to narrate a number of par- 
 ticulars, showing how these petty marauders des- 
 troyed their property, insulted their women, and 
 
THE BEARER OP DESPATCHES. 129 
 
 bullied their men, adding to the most monstrous acts 
 of cruelty and oppression, the meanness of picking 
 locks and pilfering trifles. It was by no means a 
 matter of pleasing reflection to the Bearer of Des- 
 patches, that he must rest that night, if he rested at 
 all, under a roof subject to these domiciliary visits : 
 but he had other causes of uneasiness. It is well 
 known that all the inhabitants within reach of an 
 English garrison, who are capable of corruption, be- 
 come corrupt. English gold, which is but a bug- 
 bear among the virtuous, presents a tempting lure 
 to the loose and unprincipled inhabitants of a fron- 
 tier, who can scarcely be said to belong to any 
 country ; and our armies sometimes encountered 
 spies and traitors, where they had fondly hoped to 
 find friends. On this occasion, our officer, who had 
 incautiously placed himself under the guidance of a 
 stranger, began to feel, as darkness gathered around 
 him, that he had acted imprudently, as the latter 
 could as easily conduct him to Fort Niagara as to a 
 place of safety. He concealed his suspicions, and 
 determined to act warily. 
 
 It was dark when they reached Lewistown, a 
 little village which had been entirely reduced to 
 ashes by the enemy. The moon, which now shone 
 brightly, disclosed the solitary chimneys standing 
 amidst the ruins, the fruit-trees surrounded by bri- 
 ars, the remains of enclosures, and all the marks of 
 desolation. A. more beautiful situation could scarce- 
 ly be imagined, but it was now a wilderness. Here 
 they took a path which led them from the river. A 
 
130 THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 
 
 thick forest now overshadowed them, and they pro- 
 ceeded in silence and wrapped in impenetrable 
 darkness, except at intervals, when they reached 
 the summit of a hill, and the moon shot her beams 
 through the branches. It was only by seizing such 
 opportunities to watch the progress, and mark the 
 exact position of this friendly luminary, that our 
 officer, by forming some estimate of the course he 
 was pursuing, could judge of the fidelity of his guide. 
 They passed an encampment of the Tuscarora In- 
 dians, where all was dark and silent ; and about mid- 
 night arrived at the place of destination, which, 
 though characterised as a village, was composed of 
 only two or three log cabins. To one of these, 
 which was dignified with the name of a public 
 house, our traveller was conducted by his compa- 
 nion, who apologized for not inviting him to his own 
 house, owing to the lateness of the hour, and the 
 want of accommodations. 
 
 Mine host, though called from his bed, cheerfully 
 assisted his guest in putting away his tired horse, 
 and then led him through a room where three or four 
 rough two-fisted fellows lay snoring with their feet 
 to the fire, to a chamber on the upper floor. Sup- 
 per he declined, as well from policy, as from want 
 of appetite ; and having secured the door, and laid 
 his pistols under his pillow, he gathered his cloak 
 around him, and threw himself on the bed. From 
 a light slumber he was waked by a low murmur of 
 voices in the apartment below, to which the preca- 
 riousness of his situation induced him to listen with 
 
THE BEARER OF DESPATCHES. 131 
 
 an intense and thrilling interest. Then a footstep 
 was heard upon the stairs ascending slowly towards 
 his apartment, and in a moment afterwards the latch 
 was cautiously raised. He rose, seized his arms, 
 and walked across the floor ; the footstep retired, 
 the voices ceased below, and all was silent. Our 
 officer loved his life as dearly as other men, but it 
 will only be attributing to him on this occasion the 
 feelings of his profession, to suppose that he felt 
 more anxiety for his honour, and the success of his 
 enterprise. His broken slumbers yielded but little 
 refreshment during the remainder of the night ; and 
 before the first gray streak illumined the eastern hori- 
 zon, he arose, and stole forth with noiseless steps, 
 passed the snoring borderers, and in a moment 
 breathed the free fresh air. His horse was soon 
 equipped, and mounting, he rode to the door, 
 summoned his host, who was the first to hear his 
 loud halloo. Surprised to find his guest in the 
 saddle, he made no reply to his repeated demand to 
 know his fare ; but stepping forward, laid his hand 
 upon the bridle. " Hands off, my friend," said the 
 soldier, " my horse is ticklish about the head." 
 " Light, sir, light!" said the host, " and take a dram 
 before you go, it's a raw morning," and still held 
 the rein. At this moment other faces appeared at 
 the door ; the officer liked neither their company 
 nor their looks, and dropping a piece of money at 
 the landlord's feet, he struck the spurs into the side 
 of his steed, and dashed off in a gallop, leaving all 
 danger behind. 
 
132 
 
 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 The reader who has ever been in the pleasant 
 town of Herkimer in New York, may know some- 
 thing of Johnny Vanderbocker, a neat, square built 
 Dutch lad, who was a great favourite among the 
 ladies of that place, a few years back, The reason 
 of his popularity with the fair, I could never exactly 
 learn ; for he was the most uncomely youth that a 
 traveller could meet between Albany and Buffalo. 
 Perhaps it might have been in consequence of his 
 expectations ; for his father, who was a baker, was 
 said to have several hundreds of silver dollars, 
 locked up in an oaken chest which stood by his bed- 
 side ; and as he had always permitted John to roam 
 about the village, without paying the least attention 
 to his education or conduct, it seemed very evident 
 that he intended to make him his heir. Perhaps it 
 might have been owing to his good nature ; for to 
 tell the truth, there was not a better tempered lad 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 133 
 
 in the whole country. Whatever else might be 
 said in disparagement of John, all admitted that he 
 was a well conditioned creature, and had not the 
 least harm in him. He would lie for hours, under 
 the shade of a great willow which stood before his 
 father's door, looking at the sky, or crawl about the 
 grass, hunting for four-leafed clover ; and no change 
 in the weather, nor other cross accident, was ever 
 known to disturb his serenity. In this respect he 
 was a fair example of the influence of circum- 
 stances ; for, having been raised as we say in the 
 west by a baker, it was naturally to be expected 
 that his heart should be light. 
 
 After all, he might owe his favour with the fe- 
 male public to his musical abilities, which were 
 certainly remarkable. When quite small, he was 
 an adept at playing on the Jews-harp, and the boys 
 and girls would crowd around him to listen to his 
 melody, as if he had been another Orpheus. As 
 he grew older, he took to the violin, and his ser- 
 vices began to be in request. ' A man may always 
 fiddle his way through this world ; no matter whe- 
 ther he play for love or money, whether he is a 
 hired musician, or an amateur ; fiddling is a gen- 
 teel, popular, and profitable employment. Johnny 
 was now a regular and an acceptable visiter at all 
 the tea parties, quiltings, and house raisings, in and 
 around the town, and never did any human being 
 fill a station with more propriety, than he did the 
 responsible post of fiddler. By nature he was 
 12 
 
134 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 taciturn, a lover of sleep, a healthy eater, and fond 
 of an inspiring beverage; qualifications which, if 
 they be not proofs of musical genius, may at least 
 be set down as the appropriate accomplishments of 
 a connoisseur in the science of sweet sounds. 
 Seated in an easy chair, for he loved a comfortable 
 position, he would throw back his head, close his 
 eyes, open his huge mouth, and fiddle away for a 
 whole night, without exhibiting the least sign of 
 vitality, except in his elbow and his fingers. Often 
 when a dance was ended, he would continue to 
 play on until admonished that his labours were un- 
 necessary ; but when a new set took the floor, it 
 was only requisite to give Johnny a smart jog, and 
 off he went again like a machine set in motion. 
 When refreshments were brought him, he poured 
 into the vast crater which performed the functions 
 of a mouth, whatever was offered ; and more than 
 once has he swallowed the contents of an inkstand, 
 smacked his lips over a dose of Peruvian bark, or 
 pronounced a glass of sharp vinegar "humming 
 stuff." 
 
 Thus passed the halcyon days of Johnny Van- 
 derbocker, until the completion of his twenty-first 
 year, when an event occurred which entirely 
 changed the tenor of his life. This was no other 
 than the decease of his worthy parent the baker, 
 who was suddenly gathered to his fathers, on a 
 cold winter evening while Johnny was fiddling at a 
 neighbouring fair. The news startled our hero 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 135 
 
 Hke the snapping of a fiddle-string. He returned 
 with a heavy heart to his paternal mansion, and 
 retired to rest somewhat consoled by the reflection, 
 that although he had lost a parent, he had become 
 master of the rolls. He laid aside his amusements 
 to follow the remains of the honest baker to their 
 last receptacle. For a wonder, he remained wide 
 awake the whole day, and slept quietly in his bed 
 the whole of the ensuing night. On the following 
 morning he unlocked the oaken chest, emptied the 
 contents of several greasy bags on the floor, count- 
 ed them over eagerly, and then determined to 
 buy a new violin. 
 
 In his new situation, many cares pressed upon 
 the attention of our hero. Letters of administra- 
 tion had to be taken out, the stock in trade and 
 the implements of his ancestor to be sold, debts to 
 be collected, and debts to be paid ; and before a 
 week elapsed, the heir at law acknowledged that 
 the gifts of fortune are not worth the trouble they 
 bring. His new suit of black imposed an unwont- 
 ed constraint upon him. He could no longer 
 roll upon the grass, for fear of soiling his clothes, 
 and he was told it would be wrong to fiddle at the 
 dances while he was in mourning. 
 
 When an old man gets into trouble, he is apt to 
 betake himself to the bottle; when a young one 
 becomes perplexed, he generally turns his atten- 
 tion to matrimony. Thus it was with Johnny, 
 who, in those golden and joyous days, when he 
 
136 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 had nothing to do but to sleep and eat and play the 
 fiddle, never dreamed of the silken fetter. But 
 when care and trouble, and leather bags, and silver 
 dollars, and black broadcloth, came upon him, he- 
 thought it high time to shift a portion of the bur- 
 then of his existence upon some other shoulders. 
 
 I must now apprise the reader, that although my 
 hero had never thought of marriage, it was only 
 because he was too single-minded to think of two 
 things at once. He had not reached the mature 
 age of one and twenty, untouched by the arrows 
 of the gentle god. In love he had been, and at the 
 precise point of time to which we have brought 
 this veracious history, the tender passion was blaz- 
 ing in his bosom, as kindly and as cheerfully as a 
 Christmas fire. Its object was a beautiful girl of 
 nineteen, who really did great credit to the taste of 
 the enamoured musician. She was the daughter 
 of a widow lady of respectable connections, but 
 decayed fortune the damaged relic of a fashiona- 
 ble spendthrift. Lucy Atherton, the young lady in 
 question, had beauty enough to compensate for the 
 absence of wealth, and a sufficient portion of the 
 family inheritance of pride to enable her to hold 
 her head quite as high as any belle in the village. 
 Indeed, she made it a point to take precedence 
 wherever she went, and as she did this without the 
 least appearance of ill nature, and without display- 
 ing any self-important airs, but rather as a 
 matter of course, it seemed to be univer- 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 137 
 
 sally conceded to her. She was the reigning 
 beauty of the village the prettiest, the gayest, and 
 the most graceful of the maiden train who danced 
 to the music of Johnny Vanderbocker's violin. In 
 the dance she was grace personified. It was a 
 treat to behold her laughing face, her lovely form, 
 and her light step, as she flew with joyous heart 
 and noiseless foot through the mazes of the contra- 
 dance. Now it happened to Johnny occasionally 
 to shut his mouth and open his eyes, just at the 
 dangerous moment when Miss Atherton was engag- 
 ed in these captivating performances, and he must 
 have been the most churlish of all Dutchmen, not 
 to have been fascinated. She was in the habit, 
 too, of leading off the sets, and the choice of the 
 air was generally dictated by her taste. On such 
 occasions she would address our hero with the 
 most winning grace, and in tones of the sweetest 
 euphony, ask Mr. Vanderbocker for " that delightful 
 tune which he played so charmingly." Accustom- 
 ed to the appellation of plain " Johnny" from 
 every other tongue, the title of Mister, conveyed in 
 such honeyed accents, fell pleasantly upon his ear, 
 and whether the fair lady was actuated by self- 
 respect, or by a respect for Johnny, the effect was 
 to make him her fast friend. The fact was, that 
 Miss Atherton had an art, which some ladies exer- 
 cise as skilfully as some gentlemen, and which is 
 found among distinguished belles as often as among 
 ambitious men; I mean that universal courtesy 
 12* 
 
138 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 which gains for its possessor the good will of all 
 ranks that ready smile, and pleasant phrase, and 
 convenient bow. which, like a panacea, suits all oc- 
 casions. In statesmen this desirable accomplish- 
 ment is the result of judicious training ; in hand- 
 some women it is an instinct, connected with that 
 love of applause, which is almost inseparable from 
 beauty. 
 
 Often would Johnny surprise the company, by 
 keeping his eyes open for whole minutes together, 
 as the lovely vision of Lucy Atherton flitted before 
 him. The fire would flash from his eye, and the 
 blood rush from his heart to his elbow, as he gazed 
 in ecstasy at the loveliest dancer in the village- 
 his fingers fell with renewed vivacity upon the 
 tuneful strings, and the very violin itself seemed to 
 melt in sympathy, and gave forth softer, and mel- 
 lower, and gayer tones. Then would he close his 
 eyes, and having laid in an agreeable idea, feed 
 upon it in secrecy, as a stingy boy devours a dain- 
 ty morsel in some hidden corner. With his string- 
 ed instrument rattling away like a locomotive 
 engine, apparently unconscious of any animal pro- 
 pulsion, his mouth wide open, his visage devoid of 
 expression, and the whole outward man reposing 
 in death-like torpidity, he was dreaming of Lucy 
 Atherton his heart was beating time to the imagi- 
 nary motion of her feet, as her form floated and 
 whirled, up the sides and down the middle, cross 
 over, and right and left, through every nook and 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 139 
 
 corner of his bosom. But either because this 
 image was too dearly cherished to be shared with 
 another, or too faintly shadowed out to be altoge- 
 ther intelligible to himself, he kept his own counsel 
 so closely, that none could have suspected the ob- 
 ject of his thoughts, or have pronounced with the 
 slightest shadow of reason, that he had any 
 thoughts at all except upon one occasion, when 
 Miss Lucy Atherton having gone through a scam- 
 per down with uncommon spirit, he exclaimed 
 with great emotion, that she was "a dreadful nice 
 dancer." 
 
 Yet with all this devotion of heart, and with 
 feelings that vibrated to every echo of Lucy's feet, 
 there was not a single chord of association in the 
 mind of Johnny Vanderbocker, which connected 
 the image of Miss Atherton with the idea of wed- 
 lock. On the contrary, having seldom seen her 
 except on high days and holidays, when she shone 
 as a bright peculiar star in the constellation of vil- 
 lage beauty, her name was engraven on the same 
 tablet on which was recorded his agreeable recol- 
 lections of in-fairs, quiltings, tiddle-strings, minced 
 pies, egg-flip, and hot spiced gingerbread. All 
 these good things came together, and with them al- 
 ways came Lucy Atherton. When therefore the 
 notion of a wife came into his head, it was like the 
 intrusion of a comet into the solar system, disturb- 
 ing the regular economy of nature, and eclipsing 
 the other orbs by its brilliancy. It entirely unset- 
 
140 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 tied the well-ordered succession of his thoughts, 
 which commonly moved on from point to point as 
 regularly as the hands of a watch. "A wife !" 
 quoth he, casting a look of silly bashfulness all 
 around, as if afraid of detection " A wife !" ex- 
 claimed he a second time, laughing aloud as at the 
 absurdity of such a proposition " A wife !" mut- 
 tered he again, and then the image of Lucy 
 Atherton came dancing before him. The greatest 
 discoveries have been the result of accident, the 
 happiest invention is but the felicitous application 
 of a known power to a novel purpose; and equally 
 fortuitous was that train of thought in the mind of 
 our hero, which united his own destiny with that 
 of the fashionable and admired Lucy Atherton. 
 The thought was ecstatic ; it brought a glow to the 
 heart of Johnny, such as seldom beams upon the 
 high latitude of a Dutchman's breast, and he re- 
 solved to become, forthwith, a candidate for the 
 hand of the village belle. 
 
 Great designs give unwonted energy to the cha- 
 racter. Idle and timid as our hero usually was, 
 the idea of marrying Lucy Atherton awakened him 
 to a new being. His conceptions were enlarged, 
 his resolution quickened, and all his senses strung 
 anew, and he was as different a man from what he 
 was an hour before, as a stringless violin is, from the 
 same instrument properly attirpd and screwed into 
 tune. He felt his importance increased, his no- 
 tions of happiness expanded, and his whole sphere 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 141 
 
 of existence extended and beautified. He consi- 
 dered the matter settled. " Me and Lucy will just 
 suit," said he to himself. " She dances prime, and 
 I take it, I can outfiddle the world." It never oc- 
 curred to him that the lady would make any objec- 
 tion to the arrangement. 
 
 How could she? for Johnny was possessed of 
 the only two things which he considered absolutely 
 necessary to enjoyment ; music and money. What 
 more could a lady want ? " And then," thought 
 he, " I'm not the worst-looking fellow in the coun- 
 try, and this is not such a bad house neither, and 
 three hundred dollars, and the bake*-shop, is no 
 trifle." Johnny capered round the room in great 
 glee, and one of his companions coming in at this 
 moment, he embraced him, and said, " Don't you 
 wish me joy ?" 
 
 " For what ?" enquired his friend. 
 
 " O I'm so happy !" 
 
 " Is it your father's death that pleases you so 
 much?" 
 
 " O no ! I'm going to be married." 
 
 "Indeed! Who to?" 
 
 " Ah, that 's a secret ; I ha n't told her about it 
 yet, but I know she'll have no objection." 
 
 The next morning found our hero at a neigh- 
 bouring shop, purchasing a variety of trinkets and 
 clothing, for the decoration of his ungainly person. 
 A purple watch ribbon, a pink silk neckcloth, and 
 a huge breastpin which struck him as peculiarly 
 
142 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 tasty and appropriate, were borne off in triumph 
 and these, together with a scarlet velvet waistcoat, 
 of the proper goods and chattels of the late Her- 
 man Vanderbocker deceased, which came to the 
 hands of the said John to be administered, were 
 severally arranged in their respective stations ; and 
 the worthy amateur, adorned with a dazzling ele- 
 gance, to which he had until that time been a 
 stranger, placed his fiddle triumphantly under his 
 arm, and marched boldly to the dwelling of the 
 widow Atherton. 
 
 It is necessary to explain in this place, that in 
 calling our hero a fiddler, we have never meant to 
 insinuate that he played for money. He was as 
 much above such mercenary considerations, as any 
 other lover of the fine arts. He was an amateur. 
 That delicate discrimination of sounds, which ena- 
 bles its happy possessor to arrange the vibrations 
 of coarse strings and fine ones into harmony, and 
 that love of melodious tones and skilful combina- 
 tions, which distinguish the musician, and of which 
 the writer of this history has not the faintest con- 
 ception, all belonged to Johnny. He was a wel- 
 come visiter at all the parties in the village, be- 
 cause he played cotillions and contra-dances with 
 " accuracy and despatch," and moreover not only 
 rendered such services gratuitously, but with the 
 utmost good humour. Whoever else was omitted, 
 on any such occasion, Mr. Vanderbocker was sure 
 to receive a formal card, or a hearty invitation, as 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 143 
 
 the case might require. Of course he was receiv- 
 ed as an equal in every circle, and had access to 
 the best spciety in the village; a privilege which 
 he seldom used, but which permitted him on the 
 present occasion to tap at the door of Mrs. Ather- 
 ton with the air of a familiar friend. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Atherton," said our hero, 
 as he entered the widow's parlour, " Good morn- 
 ing. How 's Lucy ?" 
 
 The lady, surprised at this unwonted familiarity 
 in the son of the village baker, raised her specta- 
 cles, and having gazed at him for a moment in 
 mute astonishment, haughtily replied that Miss 
 Atherton was well. Johnny was glad to hear tt ; 
 but before he could express his joy, the offended 
 parent stalked out, and the young lady herself glid- 
 ed in. " She don't know what 1 came for, or 
 she 'd be more civil," thought Johnny, as he looked 
 after the proud widow but the entrance of the 
 daughter changed the current of his reflections. 
 
 " How d' ye do, Lucy ?" said the amateur. 
 
 Lucy was thunderstruck. The young man had 
 never before addressed her in such a strain ; but 
 she had too much self-possession to betray the least 
 embarrassment ; for a reigning belle can generally 
 command her feelings with as much success as a 
 veteran politician. She returned his salutation, 
 therefore, with the utmost sweetness and ease of 
 manner, and took her seat, inwardly resolving to 
 penetrate into the cause of .the strange revolution 
 
144 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 which a few hours had made in the dress and ad- 
 dress of her visiter. Arrayed in the simple ele- 
 gance of a morning dress, and adorned with youth, 
 health, and beauty, she bent gracefully over her 
 work, and never looked prettier than at this mo- 
 ment, when an inquisitive archness was added to 
 the usually intelligent expression of her counte- 
 nance. For the present, however, her curiosity 
 was balked ; for Johnny, who really meant only to 
 show his tenderness, and had already advanced to 
 the utmost bounds of his assurance, began to falter. 
 The courage, which had sustained him thus far, 
 and which some have insinuated was borrowed 
 from a source that our temperance societies would 
 hardly approve, was fast evaporating ; and after 
 sitting some time in silence, playing with his purple 
 watch-ribbon, he drew his violin from its green bag, 
 and enquired whether Miss Atherton would " fancy 
 a tune." 
 
 The young lady declared that it always afforded 
 her infinite pleasure to listen to Mr. Vanderboc- 
 ker's delightful music ; and in an instant the musi- 
 cal machine started into action the head fell 
 back, the mouth yawned, the eye-lids closed, and 
 Johnny, the best and drowsiest of fiddlers, added 
 a new proof, that even the tender passion is not 
 sufficiently powerful to overcome inveterate habit. 
 But love did not entirely quit the field, or abandon 
 his votary, who opened his eyes at intervals, and 
 bowed and smirked upon his fair auditress in a 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 145 
 
 manner not to be mistaken, while between the dif- 
 ferent airs he would enquire if the last tune was 
 not " cruel purty^ or " desparatejine^ or " elegant- 
 er than all the rest." 
 
 Music, which has charms to " soothe the savage 
 breast," seems to have operated differently on that 
 of the young lady on this occasion ; for the antique 
 velvet vest, the pink neckcloth, the smirking, the 
 bowing, and above all, the short naps which her 
 visitor seemed to enjoy with such complacency, 
 were altogether so irresistibly ludicrous, that in 
 spite of her endeavours to suppress it, she was 
 compelled to burst into a fit of laughter. Johnny^ 
 who very properly considered this as an unequivo- 
 cal expression of delight, was overjoyed at his suc- 
 cess, and adding his own bass to the melodious 
 tenor of his fair companion, shook the room with 
 peals of obstreperous mirth. 
 
 Thus ended the first act of this comedy. The 
 second commences with a sprightly dialogue. 
 Johnny, who had now found his tongue, opened 
 the conversation by asking " Lucy" if she did not 
 think he ought to be married. 
 
 u Undoubtedly, Mr. Vanderbocker," was the re^ 
 ply ; " nothing could be more proper ; provided you 
 believe that marriage would conduce to your hap* 
 piness." 
 
 *' I do n't know as 1 should be any happier, but 
 somehow 1 think 1 should be better contented." 
 
 "Then you ought certainly to marry, for con- 
 13 
 
146 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 tentment is the chief ingredient in the cup of hap- 
 piness." 
 
 " I shall quit drinking entirely," continued the 
 lover, who misunderstood the last position of the 
 lady. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. Sobriety is very becom- 
 ing ; particularly in married men." 
 
 "And who do you think I ought to have." 
 
 " O dear ! 1 cannot tell, indeed. That is a deli- 
 cate question ; and perhaps it might be necessary 
 to determine first who would have you." 
 
 " I guess, a'most any of 'em would be glad to 
 catch at me," replied the swain ; " for father 's left 
 me a snug house, and three hundred dollars in sil- 
 ver, besides the bake-shop." 
 
 " Quite a fortune, I declare !" exclaimed Lucy. 
 
 " To be sure there 's some that 's richer than 
 me, and some better looking," continued Johnny, 
 glancing at the mirror which hung opposite to him ; 
 " but then you know, Miss Lucy " 
 
 " That half a loaf is better than no bread," 
 added the young lady, ironically. 
 
 " Yes just so that 's my idee to a notch, a half 
 bread, as you say, is better than no loaf, and so 
 three hundred dollars and a house and lot " 
 
 "And gentle Mr. Vanderbocker into the bargain, 
 would be a comfortable lot for any lady. Surely 
 the girls in Herkimer ought not to hesitate, for the 
 temptation is very great !" 
 
 " An't it?" exclaimed Johnny, in a tone of exul- 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 147 
 
 tation. " I guess it is !" he added, answering his 
 own question. " It is n't every gal that gets such 
 a chance. Now I '11 tell you a secret," continued 
 he, lowering his voice " if you '// have me, it 's 
 all your own, me and the fiddle, the three hundred 
 dollars, the hake-shop, and all !" 
 
 "The impudent fellow !" thought Lucy ; but she 
 had the politeness and good sense to suppress that 
 thought. A lady is never seriously offended with 
 the swain who offers to marry her; for however 
 humble may be the source from which the propo- 
 sition emanates, it is still a compliment. Lucy's 
 list of conquests was tolerably long for blooming 
 nineteen, and the name of Johnny would add but 
 little dignity to the train ; yet truth obliges me to 
 record that a slight blush, and a very slight toss of 
 the head, with a glance at the mirror, showed that 
 the tribute of admiration was not unwelcome even 
 from our hero. She civilly, but peremptorily de- 
 clined the honour which he had intended for her, 
 and adding, " You must excuse me now, sir, I have 
 other engagements," left the room. 
 
 " Other engagements !" thought Johnny, " that 
 means that she is going to be married to somebody 
 else. What a dunce was 1 not to speak first!" 
 And he retired, deeply chagrined, and not a little 
 puzzled, that a young lady of marriageable age and 
 sound discretion, who was not worth a cent, should 
 refuse a neat cottage, a bake-shop, and three hun- 
 dred dollars, with the slight incumbrance of himself 
 
148 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 and a violin, for no better reason than that she had 
 made a previous engagement with another gentle- 
 man ! 
 
 Had there been a mill-pond at Mrs. Atherton's 
 front door, our hero would undoubtedly have 
 drowned himself; and it is altogether probable that 
 he would even have gone out of his way to seek 
 the means of self-destruction, had he not prudently 
 reflected that the estate of Herman Vanderbocker, 
 deceased, was not yet fully administered, nor the 
 leather bags emptied. To leave this treasure va- 
 cant, and the bake-shop unoccupied, would have 
 been rashness. But he felt unhappy. His heart, 
 which had been as light as a hot roll, was now as 
 heavy as dough ; and being little disposed to mingle 
 in company, he determined to mount his horse, and 
 take a short ride. How far he went, or what he 
 thought of, I am unable to say, as I dined that day 
 with Mrs. Atherton, and spent the afternoon in as- 
 sisting her lovely daughter to draw patterns, a fact 
 which will account for my intimate knowledge of 
 the events of the morning. 
 
 It was nearly night, when Johnny, who was trot- 
 ting briskly homewards, overtook a stranger within 
 a mile or two of the village. He was a tall, slim 
 man, mounted on a high, strong, bony horse ; but 
 he was so muffled up, from top to toe, that our 
 hero could not tell whether he was old or young, 
 gentle or simple. His hat was covered with an 
 oil-cloth, his legs were enveloped in ample wrap- 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 149 
 
 pers of coarse cloth, he was booted and spurred, 
 and over all he wore one of those uncouth but 
 comfortable coats, fabricated out of a green Macki- 
 naw blanket, which are so common on the Missis- 
 sippi. His horse was covered with mud, aud evi- 
 dently tired. His own appearance was way-worn, 
 and weather-beaten. He seemed to have travelled 
 far, and faced many a storm. Before him were a 
 pair of large holster pistols ; behind him, a roll con- 
 taining his surtout and umbrella ; and across the 
 saddle, a pair of immense saddle bags, fastened with 
 a brass padlock. 
 
 Johnny, who had all the fiddler's wonted love of 
 company, and was particularly averse to riding 
 alone in the dark, trottted up along side of the stran- 
 ger, and accosted him with a cheerful " Good eve- 
 ning." 
 
 The traveller nodded stiffly, without deigning to 
 turn his head. 
 
 Johnny gazed wistfully at the jaded rider, the 
 tired nag, the Mackinaw blanket, the leggins, and 
 other fixens, as we say in the West, and wondered 
 who this could be, that was so strangely accoutred, 
 and was too proud to return a civil salutation. De- 
 termined to satisfy his curiosity, he tried to com- 
 mence a conversation, by making some common- 
 place remark about the weather ; but, as this elicited 
 no other reply than a cold monosyllable, he resolved 
 to make a bold push, and come to the point at once. 
 
 "You seem to be travelling, mister," said he. 
 13* 
 
150 . THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 "You have guessed right," replied the traveller. 
 
 "Have you travelled far, if it's a fair question?" 
 
 " Tolerably." 
 
 Now this reply seemed to our hero most perplex- 
 ingly inexplicit. " Tolerably" might comprise ten 
 miles, or twenty, or a hundred, but it could not 
 apply to a long journey. He took another look at 
 the leggins, the pistols, and the green blanket coat, 
 and, edging up to the stranger, thought he would try 
 it again. 
 
 " Well, mister," said he, " if I mought make so 
 bold, where did you come from ?" 
 
 " Just back here," was the laconic reply. 
 
 " From Oneida ?" 
 
 " No ; further back." 
 
 "FromCataraugus?" 
 
 " No ; further back." 
 
 Johnny considered a moment for his stock of 
 geographical knowledge was but slender and again 
 pushed his enquiries. 
 
 " I guess, may be, you came all the way from 
 Buffalo?" 
 
 " No ; further back." 
 
 Johnny scratched his head, in some amazement, 
 and edged off from the stranger, as if fearful he had 
 fallen into bad company ; but his curiosity over- 
 coming every other feeling, he continued ; " Why 
 I don't know as any body lives any further off than 
 that. If 1 mought make so free, what's back of 
 Buffalo?" 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 151 
 
 "Ohio." 
 
 " O o h ! yes ! sure enough ! So you live in 
 Ohio?" 
 
 "No; further back." 
 
 " Well, what's back of that?" 
 
 " Indiana." 
 
 "And do you live there?" 
 
 " No ; further back." 
 
 " And what's back of that?" 
 
 "Illinois." 
 
 " Oh ! you live in Illinois." 
 
 " No 1 don't." 
 
 "Where do you live?" 
 
 "Further back." 
 
 " I guess you don't live at all!" exclaimed Johnny 
 trembling all over, for it was now growing dark, 
 and the tall stranger, who seemed to have ridden so 
 hard and so far, appeared to deny being an inhabit- 
 ant of this world. But Johnny thought he would 
 try another question. 
 
 " Well, mister, if it's no harm, what's back of 
 Illinois ?" 
 
 " Missouri." 
 
 " Do you live there ?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 Johnny absolutely started, and stood up in his 
 stirrups, and a cold chill ran over him; for the 
 conversation was brought to a dead stand by this 
 reply, with a shock resembling that with which a 
 steamboat, under rapid way, is checked by a snag. 
 
152 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 But he had located the stranger ; and, after drawing 
 a long breath, he exclaimed 
 
 " Well, I'm glad on't. I am almost out of breath 
 in finding it out. I don't know how you stood it to 
 travel so far ; it must be a long way off. How far 
 is it, sir, if it's a fair question?' 
 
 "Something over a thousand miles. And now," 
 said the stranger, " as I have answered all your 
 enquiries, 1 hope you will allow me to put a few 
 questions to you." 
 
 "O certainly." 
 
 " Do you live in this village ?" 
 
 " Yes 1 was born here." 
 
 " What's your bsiness ?" 
 
 " I'm a gentleman." 
 
 " What does your father do for a living ?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "What is he?" 
 
 " He is a dead man." 
 
 " Do you know Mrs. Atherton ?" 
 
 " Yes do you ?" 
 
 " Is her daughter married?" 
 
 " No, indeed, far from it." 
 
 "Why far from it?" 
 
 " She refused an excellent offer this morning." 
 
 " From whom ?" 
 
 " That's a secret." 
 
 " How do you know this if it is a secret ?" 
 
 1 had it from herself. But here is the hotel, I'll 
 bid you a good evening." 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 153 
 
 " Stay. Have you any objection to carry a note 
 to Miss Atherton ?" 
 
 " I can't say as I have." 
 
 "Well, then, as she seems to have made you her 
 confidant, 1 will entrust you with one." So saying, 
 he stepped into the tavern, and in a few minutes 
 returned with a neat billet, which he put into the 
 hands of Johnny, requesting him to be particularly 
 careful to deliver it to Lucy herself. 
 
 Proud of an office which would introduce him into 
 the presence of her who had occupied so large a 
 share of his thoughts, he departed with alacrity, but 
 meeting with some of his companions, who detained 
 him, sorely against his will, more than an hour 
 elapsed before he reached the dwelling of Mrs. 
 Atherton. That lady and her fair daughter were 
 seated, ttte d tte, at their work-stand, when a modest 
 knock was heard at the door, and in a few mo- 
 ments the crest fallen Johnny Vanderbocker stood 
 before them. * Bowing reverently to both ladies, he 
 advanced in silence, and laid the note before Lucy, 
 who at first took it up with hesitation, supposing 
 that it contained an effusion of the bearer's own 
 hopeless passion; but no sooner had the superscrip- 
 tion caught her eye, than she tore it open, and ex- 
 claimed, " He is come, he is come ! Mother, mother ! 
 he is come !" 
 
 " Who is come?" enquired Johnny, whose feelings 
 were too much excited to permit him to remain 
 silent. But Lucy's head had fallen upon her 
 
154 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 mother's shoulder, and the tears were rolling down 
 her cheeks, while the good lady's eyes were also 
 filled. 
 
 " Never mind," said Johnny, in a soothing tone ; 
 don't be scared, ladies. If he does carry horse 
 pistols, he is not a going to do as he pleases in 
 Herkimer. Don't, don't cry, Miss Lucy I'll fight 
 for you as long as I can stand." At this juncture, 
 the door again opened, and the stranger stood before 
 them. The blanket-coat fell from his shoulders, 
 and Lucy Atherton rushed into his arms. " Dear 
 Lucy!" " Dear Charles!" was all they could utter. 
 Mrs. Atherton glided out of the room. " The old 
 lady does not like you either," thought Johnny ; 
 " she served me just so." 
 
 " Three are poor company," continued Johnny 
 to himself, and he too retired ; but he had the con- 
 solation of believing that he had found a complete 
 solution of the mystery of the young lady's conduct 
 in the morning. " She would neve*r," he argued, 
 " have refused me, and three hundred dollars, and 
 the bake-shop, if she had n't been engaged already. 
 She was sorry about it, no doubt, though she did 
 pretend not to mind it. Dear me, what a pity ! the 
 poor thing laughed so, and was so overjoyed when 
 I went there a-courting to-day, and now this great 
 backwoodsman has come from nobody knows where, 
 to carry her off. Well she knows her own business 
 best. Three hundred dollars won't go a begging 
 long in Herkimer. So good-bye to Lucy Atherton," 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 155 
 
 But manfully as our hero strove against his disap- 
 pointment, it preyed upon him, and for two days he 
 remained in his own house quite disconsolate, moping 
 about like a hypochondriac, and poking the fire with 
 the petulance of a bachelor who is past hope, or 
 past forty. At the end of that time he received an 
 unexpected visit from the stranger. Stripped of his 
 blanket-coat and leggins, and disarmed of those 
 ferocious weapons which had excited our hero's 
 curiosity so strongly, he seemed another person. 
 Although somewhat above the ordinary stature, his 
 person was slender and genteel, his face, which was 
 browned by exposure to the weather, was remarka- 
 bly handsome, and his address frank and easy. His 
 age might have been two or three and twenty, but 
 having already mixed with the world, and felt the 
 touch of care, he had the manners of an older man. 
 " Mr. .Vanderbocker," said he, "you guided me into 
 the village the other evening, when I was tired and 
 perhaps less sociable than I ought to have been, and 
 Ihave called to thank you for your civility, and to 
 request the pleasure of your company on to-morrow 
 evening at Mrs. Atherton's." Johnny pleaded his 
 black coat, and tried to beg off; for he had heard it 
 whispered that Lucy was to give her hand to the 
 handsome stranger, and felt but little inclination to 
 be present at the wedding. His visiter, however, 
 pressed him, adding, " Miss Atherton esteems you 
 as one of her earliest friends, and will have it so." 
 " 1 will go then," said Johnny, greatly soothed by 
 
156 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 this compliment. " And now, Mr. Wilkinson," for 
 such he had learned was the stranger's name, " will 
 you be kind enough to tell me how you managed to 
 court one of our Herkimer ladies, without ever set- 
 ting your foot in the village our belle, too, that has 
 had so many good offers at home ?" Mr. Wilkinson 
 smiled, and replied,- " Lucy and myself met at 
 Schenectady, where we were both going to school, 
 and were well enough pleased with each other to 
 agree to unite our destinies. Her father was but 
 recently deceased, and she was supposed to have 
 inherited a fortune, while my own circumstances 
 were such that it was with difficulty I completed 
 my education. Mrs. Atherton might possibly have 
 taken these things into consideration ; at all events, 
 her views differed from ours, and she no sooner 
 heard of our attachment than she took Lucy home, 
 and, rather haughtily as I thought, forbade my 
 visiting at her house. Poor Lucy ! her fortune 
 turned out to be illusory. Her father had died a 
 bankrupt, and left his family so destitute, that Mrs. 
 Atherton had to struggle with many difficulties. 
 Though they have kept up a genteel appearance, I 
 fear they have sometimes wanted even the necessa- 
 ries of life. But Lucy lived through it all with a 
 gay heart, and a noble spirit, and refused, as you 
 remark, many a good offer. As for me, I went to 
 the West, mortified at having been spurned from 
 the door of a proud woman, and determined to 
 earn that wealth and distinction, which I saw could 
 
THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 157 
 
 alone procure my admittance into the bosom of 
 Lucy's family. 1 went, friendless and pennyless, 
 to the shores of the Mississippi, where not a heart 
 beat responsive to my own, and where 1 was ex- 
 posed to many hardships and dangers. But I was 
 so eminently successful in business, that I am al- 
 ready independent, and able to claim the fulfilment 
 of her promise. There is no objection now on the 
 part of either mother or daughter, and, to-mor- 
 row evening, I shall become the happy possessor of 
 Lucy's hand." 
 
 u You deserve it," said Johnny, sobbing, "in- 
 deed you do for, simple as 1 seem, and simple as 
 I be, I 'm not the lad to envy a true lover and a 
 generous-hearted girl their happiness. But do you 
 intend to take her ' further back ?' " added he, 
 pointing significantly to the West. 
 
 " Yes, that is my home now." 
 
 " Good luck to you both, then. I will certainly 
 attend the wedding ; and if father had been dead a 
 little longer, I would play for you, that I might see 
 Miss Lucy dance for the last time. Yes, it would 
 be the last time. Never will I see such another 
 figure on the floor. And never shall any other 
 woman dance to music of mine. I '11 hang up my 
 fiddle. There will be nobody in the village fit to 
 play for when she is gone. I have played my last 
 tune, and I shall now do as my father did bake 
 bread, and lock up my dollars in the old oak 
 chest." 
 
 14 
 
158 THE VILLAGE MUSICIAN. 
 
 Johnny kept his word. Several years have 
 passed, and he may now be seen any summer's 
 day, seated at the door of his cottage, with a red 
 night-cap on his head, and a short black pipe in his 
 mouth, chuckling over the idea that he has more 
 hard dollars under lock and key than any man in 
 the village. He bakes excellent bread, gives good 
 weight, and drinks nothing but his own beer, while 
 the sound of a violin, or the smile of a woman, 
 never gladdens his roof, and 
 
 " The harp that once in Tara's halls 
 
 The soul of music shed, 
 Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 
 As if that soul were fled." 
 
159 
 
 FASHIONABLE WATERING PLACES. 
 
 A person of taste may spend a few days very 
 pleasantly at a genteel Watering Place. The con- 
 tinual succession of new faces, the interesting 
 variety of character, and the harmonious intermix- 
 ture of grades exhibited here, are such, that the 
 mind of desultory man, however studious of change, 
 cannot fail to be amused. I say nothing of the 
 beauties of the landscape, the invigorating breeze 
 of the country, or the medicinal virtues of the 
 mineral fountain because the last may be imitated 
 in perfection by a bungling apothecary, and the 
 others are easily purchased by the fatigue of a 
 morning ride from the most crowded metropolis. 
 Those vulgar enjoyments which are within the 
 reach of the whole human race, are very properly 
 disdained by persons of fashion. Much has also 
 been said of the keen appetites which are found at 
 these healthful places of resort. Portly gentlemen, 
 
160 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 and pale-faced ladies, exult equally in the quantity 
 offish, flesh, and fowl, which the talismanic effects 
 of the sea breeze or the chalybeate draught enable 
 them to consume. But this is surely false taste. 
 What can be more ungenteel than eating, or rather 
 devouring, flesh and vegetables like the locusts of 
 Egypt, or the lean kine of Pharaoh ? Can that be 
 styled a polite employment which is common to 
 the philosopher and the savage, the belle and the 
 washerwoman ? Eating is certainly a vulgar occu- 
 pation and 1 cannot but marvel that wits and 
 beauties "the curled darlings of the nation" 
 should hie to Long Branch or Ballston, for the 
 purpose of gratifying that voracious propensity 
 which gives celebrity to the boa constrictor, and 
 the man who swallows tallow candles for a wager ! 
 The preacher condemns the epicure who " fares 
 sumptuously every day ;" and the physician lives 
 by repairing the inroads of the cook. Besides, we 
 certainly know, that the literati of every age have 
 deplored the appetite for food as the most imperti- 
 nent and vexatious of the human propensities. 
 That it has caused many an honest gentleman to 
 turn author, cannot be disputed ; and that it has 
 peopled Parnassus with gaunt forms and hungry 
 aspects, is equally unquestionable. Gentlemen, 
 therefore, who write for bread, should not go to 
 Watering Places. For my part, I have always 
 viewed this subject with the eye of a philosopher, 
 and have never ceased to deplore the inflexibility 
 
WATERING PLACES. 161 
 
 of that ordinance of our nature, which bestows the 
 best appetites upon those who are least able to 
 supply them. Physicians display a most unfeeling 
 apathy to the sufferings of their fellow creatures, 
 when they inconsiderately administer provocatives 
 to the palate of every one who fancies himself de- 
 ficient in voracity, without enquiring into the ability 
 of the patient to sustain and cherish the newly 
 awakened sense. If I was a practitioner of the 
 healing art, 1 would ask my patient if he was a poet, 
 and if he answered in the affirmative, I should con- 
 gratulate him upon the delicacy of his appetite, and 
 positively forbid the "exhibition" of tonics. I 
 would conscientiously regulate the appetites of 
 those who had the good fortune to be placed under 
 my care, by the dimensions of their purses. Thus 
 my patients would be rated, like ships of war, by 
 their weight of metal ; he who could compass three 
 full meals a-day, with a lunch at noon and a hot 
 supper at midnight, should ruralise at Bedford or 
 Saratoga, and have bark and wine to his heart's 
 content ; a less plethoric purse should be placed on 
 allowance ; and where the income was in a low 
 state of debility, meagre diet and nauseating draughts 
 should be prescribed. But as it seems natural that 
 the force of reason should forbid men from pursuing 
 that which, when obtained, would be burthensome, 
 I am in the habit of believing all the visiters whom 
 I meet at Watering Places to be persons of fortune, 
 who purchase pleasure with their superfluous 
 14* 
 
162 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 wealth, or seek appetites because they have where- 
 withal to gratify them. 
 
 But a watering place has other uses and attrac- 
 tions. Dashing blades may lawfully resort thither 
 to sport their equipages, and beauties to display 
 their charms. Southern gentlemen find the flavour 
 of a mint julep greatly enhanced by the refreshing 
 coolness of the mountain spring, and city ladies 
 bloom like wild flowers in these salubrious retreats. 
 Your watering place is, moreover, a notable school 
 for good manners ; for, as the parties are for the 
 most part strangers to each other, all are free and 
 equal ; and thence results that absence of constraint 
 and ease of manner, which is so much admired in 
 high life. There is no herald's office kept here. 
 Here is no balancing of straws, and weighing of 
 feathers no tossing of heads, and winking, and 
 whispering, to find out who is who. One gentleman 
 may wear blue, and another black, but " a man 's a 
 man for a' that" and as every man may place his 
 own name on the books with whatever title or 
 addition he pleases, he has only to choose his own 
 rank, and he passes current accordingly. " Misery," 
 it is said, " brings us into strange company" so 
 does misery's opposite, pleasure. Here are singular 
 combinations, not to be explained by any of the 
 established rules of affinity, attraction, or cohesion. 
 
 To the lover this is a congenial climate. Is it 
 not strange that a sympathy should exist between 
 the palate and the heart ? Will my fair and gentle 
 
WATERING PLACES. 163 
 
 readers believe that love and hunger the one a 
 gross vulgar appetite, the other a genteel, delicate, 
 sentimental passion may be awakened and invigo- 
 rated by the same stimulants ? It is even so. The 
 air of the country is alike salubrious to a feeble 
 frame, or a debilitated attachment. The sight of 
 haystacks, and waving corn, and flowery meads, 
 creates a sweet delusion around the intoxicated 
 senses of the lover, and peoples the fairy scene with 
 nymphs and swains, and all the delightful parapher- 
 nalia of pastoral love. Mineral water is as nutri- 
 tious to the heart, as it is invigorating to the body. 
 Why is it that the young lady 
 
 Whose soul blithe Cupid never taught to stray 
 Beyond the coxcombs who infest Broadway, 
 
 no sooner gets to Ballston, than her ambition soars 
 to nobler objects ; and she, who a few days before 
 submitted patiently to the addresses of a dandy, 
 now aims at the subjugation of a manly heart ? No 
 wizard ever invented a love-inspiring potion so 
 potent as the medicated fountain ; but to which of 
 the elements that enter into the composition of the 
 chalybeate draught this effect is to be attributed, I 
 am at a loss to determine. If I were a chemist, I 
 could account for the phenomenon, because a che- 
 mical genius is never at a loss for a theory, and 
 dives into causes with an expertness which, by no 
 means, depends upon any previous or present 
 knowledge of the subject. He who deals in retorts 
 can solve any question though not always by the 
 
164 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 retort courteous. I once, indeed, attempted to phi- 
 losophise upon this matter myself, and achieved a 
 moral analysis after the manner used and approved 
 by the chemical professors. 1 carefully examined 
 the various properties of a celebrated spring, and 
 in a few minutes arrived at a conclusion quite as 
 satisfactory as the results of ordinary experiments. 
 " Here is magnesia," said I, " which corrects acidi- 
 ty, and which by a sympathetic influence upon the 
 mind converts a sour old maid into a well condi- 
 tioned miss, and neutralising the acerbities of the 
 bachelor's temper, leaves his mental system in a 
 healthful state, well suited to the reception of soft 
 and agreeable impressions. And here is sulphur, 
 which, combined with 'villanous saltpetre,' com- 
 mits such havoc in the world under the name of 
 gunpowder. Can ladies who imbibe sulphur water 
 and gunpowder tea, be otherwise than inflam- 
 mable ? Is it any wonder that maidens who take 
 in such combustible materials should ' go off' with 
 any spark with whom she comes in contact? 
 Then here is iron mercy preserve the dear girls ! 
 what a collection of mortal engines ! what fatal im- 
 plements of destruction are here assembled ! an 
 artillery officer would be quite at home in such a 
 magazine of ordnance stores. We have only to 
 convert this iron into steel let it act mechanically 
 upon the flinty heart of the lady, and is it any won- 
 der that Cupid should strike fire, or Hymen light a 
 match?" Such was my theory, and I will vouch 
 
WATERING PLACES. 165 
 
 it to be as correct as many of the systems in 
 which the scientific repose implicit faith. If it has 
 not more good sense than the theory of specific 
 gravity, 1 will forfeit my ears provided a future 
 generation be allowed to decide the question. But 
 whether 1 am right or wrong, i shall still exclaim, 
 " if mineral water be the food of love, drink on !" 
 and that it is, will, I think, be satisfactorily proved 
 by the following little history. I have suppressed 
 the real names of the parties, but the facts will be 
 instantly recollected by those of my readers, who 
 have been in the habit of visiting the celebrated 
 spot where they occurred. 
 
 Miss Simper appeared at Saratoga in an elegant 
 suit of sable. She was said to be in mourning for 
 her father, an opulent broker in Baltimore, recent- 
 ly deceased. Grief had wasted her health, and 
 weeping had washed away her roses, and she was 
 come to recover her appetite, and re-animate her 
 blushes. Miss Simper, of course, was an heiress, 
 and attracted great attention. The gentlemen 
 called her a beauty, ^id talked a great deal of her 
 real estate, bank stock, and securities. Some of 
 the ladies thought her complexion too sallow, 
 and some objected to the style of her dress. Mrs. 
 Highflyer said she had not the air of a woman of 
 fashion, while Captain Halliard pronounced her a 
 suspicious sail, and declared his belief that she was 
 a privateer in disguise. The fair stranger, how- 
 ever, walked daily to the fountain, modestly cast 
 
166 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 down her eyes when gazed at, and seemed uncon- 
 scious of all but her own honours. 
 
 About this time Major Fitzconnel appeared upon 
 the busy scene. He was a tall, handsome man, of 
 easy address, and polished manners, who seemed 
 to regard all around him with an air of very polite 
 unconcern. He was announced as an officer in his 
 Britannic Majesty's service, and brother to Earl 
 Somebody in England. It was reported that he 
 had large landed possessions in the west. He did 
 not appear to seek society, but was too well bred 
 to repel any civilities which were offered to him. 
 The gentlemen were well pleased with his good 
 sense, his knowledge of the world, and the suavity 
 of his manners; but as he seemed to avoid the 
 ladies, they had little opportunity of estimating his 
 qualities. 
 
 Major Fitzconnel and Miss Simper met by acci- 
 dent at the fountain. The officer, who had just 
 filled his glass at her approach, presented it to the 
 lady, who, in sipping the transparent element, 
 dropped her handkerchief. *The gentleman very 
 gallantly picked up the cambric, and restored it to 
 the fair hand of its owner but the blushing dam- 
 sel, abashed by the easy attentions of an elegant 
 stranger, in her confusion lost her reticule, which 
 the soldier gracefully replaced upon her wrist, with 
 a most respectful bow. A curtesy on the one side, 
 and another bow on the other, terminated the civi- 
 lities of this meeting. The gentleman pursued his 
 
WATERING PLACES. 167 
 
 walk, and the lady returned to her chamber. 
 That Miss Simper felt duly sensible of the honour 
 of having elicited three graceful congees from the 
 brother of an English earl, cannot be doubted ; nor 
 can we suppose, without injustice to that gentle- 
 man's taste, that he saw with indifference the 
 mantling blushes which those attentions had drawn 
 forth ; certain it is, however, that as they separated 
 in opposite directions, neither of them was seen to 
 cast " one longing lingering look behind." As I 
 had not the privilege of intruding into either of 
 their chambers, I cannot say what fairy forms 
 might have flitted around the- magic pillow, 
 nor whether the fair one dreamed of coronets, 
 coats of arms, kettle drums, and epaulets. 
 In short, I am not able to inform the inquisitive 
 reader, whether the parties thought of each other 
 at all; but from the extreme difficulty of again 
 bringing two such diffident persons in contact, 1 am 
 inclined to think the adventure would have ended 
 here, had not " chance, which oft decides the fates 
 of mighty monarchs," decided theirs. 
 
 Miss Simper's health required her attendance at 
 the fountain on the following morning at an unu- 
 sually early hour ; and the major, while others were 
 snoring, had sallied forth to enjoy the invigorating 
 freshness of the early breeze. They met again by 
 accident at the propitious well ; and as the attend- 
 ant, who is usually posted there to fill the glasses of 
 the invalids, had not yet taken his station, the 
 
168 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 major had not only the happiness of performing 
 that office, but of replenishing the exhausted vessel, 
 until the lady had quaffed the full measure pre- 
 scribed by the medical dictator of this little com- 
 munity, i am not able to say how often they 
 pledged each other in the salubrious beverage ; but 
 when the reader is informed that the quantum pre- 
 scribed to a delicate female varies from four to 
 eight glasses, according to the nature of her com- 
 plaint, and that a lady cannot decorously sip more 
 than one mouthful without drawing breath, it will 
 be seen that ample time was afforded on this occa- 
 sion for a tete-a-tete. The ice being thus broken, 
 and the water duly quaffed, the gentleman pro- 
 posed a promenade, to which the lady after some 
 little hesitation acceded ; and when the great bell 
 summoned them to breakfast, they repaired to the 
 table with excellent appetites, and cheeks glowing 
 with healthful hues, produced by the exercise of 
 the morning. 
 
 At ten o'clock the lady issued forth from her 
 chamber, adorned with new charms, by the recent 
 labours of the toilet, and strolling pensively, book 
 in hand, to the farthest corner of the great piazza, 
 commenced her studies. It happened, at the same 
 moment, that the major, fresh from his valet's 
 hands, hied himself to the same cool retreat, to 
 breathe forth the melancholy musings of his soul, 
 upon his flute. Seeing the lady, he hesitated, beg- 
 ged pardon for his intrusion, and was about to 
 
WATERING PLACES. 169 
 
 retire- but the lady assured him it was " no intru- 
 sion at all," and laid aside her book. The gentle* 
 man was soon seated beside her. He begged to 
 know the subject of her researches, and was de- 
 lighted with the taste displayed in the choice of her 
 author ; she earnestly solicited a display of his mu- 
 sical talents, and was enraptured with every note ; 
 and when the same impertinent bell which had 
 curtailed their morning walk, again sounded in 
 their ears, they were surprised to find how swiftly 
 time had flown, and chagrined that the common- 
 place operation of eating was so often allowed to 
 interrupt the feast of reason and the flow of soul. 
 
 At four o'clock the military stranger handed 
 Miss Simper into an elegant gig, and drove to the 
 neighbouring village ; where rumour soon pro- 
 claimed that this interesting pair were united in 
 the holy bands of matrimony. For once the many 
 tongues of fame spoke truly and when the happy- 
 major returned with his blushing bride, all could 
 see that the embarrassment of the lover was ex- 
 changed for the triumphant smile of the delighted 
 bridegroom. It is hardly necessary to add that 
 such was the salutary effect of this pleasing event, 
 that the " young couple" found themselves restored 
 instantaneously to perfect health; and on the fol- 
 lowing morning they bade adieu to Saratoga 
 springs, 
 
 "This is a very ungenteel affair!" said Mrs. 
 Highflyer. " 1 never heard the beat of it in my 
 15 
 
170 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 born days !" said a fat shopkeeper's lady. " How 
 funny!" cried one young lady. " How shocking !" 
 exclaimed another. " Egad, that 's a keen smart 
 girl !" said one gentleman. " She 's a tickler, I 
 warrant her !" said a second. " She 's a pirate, 
 by thunder !" roared Captain Halliard. 
 
 In the mean while, the new-married pair were 
 pursuing their journey by easy stages towards the 
 city of New York. We all know " how the blest 
 charms of nature improve, when we see them re- 
 flected," and so on ; and we can readily imagine 
 "how happily the days of Thalaba past by" on this 
 occasion. Uninterrupted by ceremonious visits, 
 unrestrained by the presence of third parties, sur- 
 rounded by all the blandishments which give en- 
 chantment to the rural scene, it is riot surprising 
 that our lovers should often digress from the 
 beaten road, and as often linger at a romantic spot, 
 or a secluded cottage. 
 
 Several days had now elapsed, and neither party 
 had made any disclosure to the other upon the im- 
 portant subject of finance. As they were drawing 
 near the end of their journey, the major thought it 
 advisable to broach this delicate matter to his 
 bride. It was upon a fine summer evening, as they 
 sat by a window, at an inn, enjoying the beauties 
 of an extensive landscape, that this memorable 
 conversation occurred. They had been amusing 
 themselves with that kind of small talk which new 
 married folks find so vastly pleasant : as how much 
 
WATERING PLACES. 171 
 
 they love one another, and how happy they intend 
 to be, and what a fine thing it is for two fond 
 hearts to be dissolved and melted down into one, 
 &c. Many examples of love and murder were re- 
 lated the lady told of several distressed swains 
 who had incontinently hanged themselves for their 
 mistresses, and the gentleman as often asseverated 
 that not one of those martyred lovers adored the 
 object of his passion with half the fervour which 
 he felt for his own, dear, sweet, darling, precious 
 little Anne! At last, throwing his arm over his 
 wife's chair, he said carelessly, 
 
 " Who has the management of your property, 
 my dear?" 
 
 " You have, my darling," replied she. 
 
 " 1 shall have, when 1 get it," said the husband 
 u I meant to enquire, in whose possession it was 
 at present ?" 
 
 " It is all in your own possession," said the lady. 
 
 " Do not trifle with me," said the gentleman, 
 patting; her cheek "you have made me the happy 
 master of your person, and it is time to give me 
 the disposal of your fortune." 
 
 " My face is my fortune, kind sir," said she, lay- 
 ing her head on his shoulder. 
 
 " To be plain with you, madam," said the im- 
 passioned bridegroom " I have need of money 
 immediately the hired gig in which we came to 
 this place has been returned, and I have not the 
 means to procure another conveyance." 
 
172 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 " To be equally candid with you, sir," replied 
 the happy bride, " 1 have nothing in the world but 
 what you see." 
 
 " Have you no real estate ?" said the major T 
 starting on his feet. 
 
 " Not an acre." 
 
 " No bank stock?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 "No securities, no jewels, no money?" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind." 
 
 " Are you not the daughter and heiress of a rich 
 broker?" 
 
 " Not I, indeed." 
 
 " Who the devil are you, then?" 
 
 " I am your wife, sir, and the daughter of a very 
 honest blacksmith." 
 
 " Bless me !" exclaimed the major, starting back 
 with astonishment then covering his face with 
 both his hands, he remained for a moment, absorb- 
 ed in thought. Resuming his serenity, he said, in 
 a sneering tone, " I congratulate you, madam, on 
 being the wife of a beggar like yourself. I am a 
 ruined man, and know not whence to supply my 
 immediate wants." 
 
 " Can you not draw upon the earl, your bro- 
 ther ?" said the lady. 
 
 " I have not the honour of being allied to the 
 nobility." 
 
 " Perhaps you can have recourse to the paymas- 
 ter of your regiment?" 
 
WATERING PLACES. 173 
 
 " 1 do not happen to belong to any regiment." 
 
 " And have you no lands in Arkansas ?" 
 
 " Not an acre." 
 
 " Pray, then, sir, may I take the liberty of asking 
 who you are ?" 
 
 " I am your husband, madam, at your service, 
 and only son to a famous gambler, who left me 
 heir to his principles and profession. 
 
 " My father gave me a good education," said the 
 lady. 
 
 " So did mine," said the gentleman " but it has 
 not prevented me from trumping the wrong trick 
 this time." 
 
 So saying, Major Fitzconnell bounced out of the 
 chamber, hastened to the bar, and called the land- 
 lord. His interesting bride followed on tiptoe, and 
 listened unobserved. The major enquired " at 
 what hour the mail stage would pass for New 
 York." " About midnight," was the reply. " Please 
 to secure me a seat," said the major, "and let me 
 be waked at the proper hour." " Only one 
 seat ?" enquired the host. " One seat only !" was 
 the reply. The landlord remarked that it was 
 customary for gentlemen who set off in the night to 
 pay their fare in advance, upon which the major 
 paid for the seat. 
 
 The major and his bride retired to separate 
 
 chambers ; the former was soon locked in the arms 
 
 of sleep, but the latter repelled the drowsy god 
 
 from her eye-lids. When she heard the stage drive 
 
 15* 
 
174 WATERING PLACES. 
 
 up to the door of the inn, she hastily rose, and hav- 
 ing previously made up her bundle, without which 
 a lady never steals a march, hastened down stairs. 
 Upon the way she met the landlord, who enquired 
 if her husband was awake. 
 
 " He is not," said the lady, " and need not be 
 disturbed." 
 
 " The seat was taken for you, then," enquired 
 the innkeeper. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Oh, very well we '11 not disturb the gentle- 
 man the stage is ready, madam, -jump in." Mrs. 
 Fitzconnell jumped in accordingly, and was soon 
 on her way to New York, leaving the gallant and 
 ingenious major to provide another conveyance, 
 and a new wife, at his leisure. 
 
THE USEFUL 
 
 Jemmy Gossamer was the only son of a reputable 
 tradesman, who grew rich by his skill and industry 
 in his business, and who might, with propriety, be 
 said to have been a man of most excellent habits, for 
 he was an eminent tailor. Perhaps I should have 
 said a men's mercer, for it is a curious trait of human 
 nature, that even those who are not too proud to 
 labour, are often too vain to be called by their right 
 names. In our republican country, and in an age 
 when the operative classes are really achieving the 
 proudest triumphs which adorn the page of history, 
 it is singular to see the ambitious artifices, by which 
 common occupations are attempted to be concealed 
 under dignified names. Formerly, a shoemaker 
 was content to be called cobbler, but now he is 
 elevated into a cordwainer ; a tinker is a tin-plate 
 worker ; and one half the blacksmiths in the country 
 
176 THE USEFUL MAN. 
 
 have the title of engineer. So let it be : a name 
 costs nothing, and does nobody any harm. But old 
 Gossamer was one of those who cared very little 
 what people called him, provided they called often, 
 and were punctual in the payment of their bills. 
 He sat on his shop-board from morning till night, 
 and worked like a man or, more properly speak- 
 ing, like the ninth part of a man, from the expira- 
 tion of his apprenticeship, to the age of sixty-five. 
 He grew rich apace ; and with wealth came a train 
 of honours. He was made a bank director, a 
 member of the city councils, and president of a fire 
 company ; but so far from being seduced by these 
 distinguished marks of public favour, he continued 
 to flourish his scissors to the last, with unwearied 
 assiduity, and with a humility which the brightest 
 smiles of fortune never for a moment subdued. He 
 seemed to have taken the measure of his own mind, 
 and to have cut his coat according to his cloth. 
 
 It is a curious law of nature, or of society, that a 
 father who reaps an abundant harvest of this world's 
 prosperity, by means of his own honest exertions, 
 is most usually very careful to prevent his son from 
 following his example. It is not uncommon to see 
 men spending long lives of usefulness and virtue, 
 to no other end than that of rearing their offspring 
 in the opposite vices. In the management of his 
 business, Mr. Gossamer never showed any want of 
 prudence or judgment ; but was always as sharp as 
 a needle. The training of his son was another 
 
THE USEFUL MAN. 177 
 
 affair. He could never bring himself to the belief, 
 that his hopeful heir was cut out for a tailor ; and as 
 the youth showed no genius for any other calling, he 
 wisely determined to breed him up a gentleman. 
 There is no character more eagerly coveted in our 
 simple republican land, than that of a gentleman. 
 An honest farmer, or a mechanic, will work harder 
 than a slave all his life, and deny himself a thousand 
 enjoyments, in order to have the gratification of 
 seeing his only son a gentleman. And what is a 
 gentleman ? In this country, if he is not less, he is 
 certainly not more, than another. Gentility does 
 not endow any man with a new faculty, or an 
 exclusive privilege. A gentleman has all the wants, 
 frailties, appetites, vices, and passions of other men, 
 suffers under the same diseases, endures the same 
 misfortunes, and dies the same death. He has but 
 one life, but one vote, and cannot lawfully have but 
 one wife. He must eat and sleep, wear clothes, cut 
 off his beard, and take physic, as well as a clod-hop- 
 per. In other countries a gentleman is supposed to 
 inherit, and transmit, a purer blood than that which 
 flows in the veins of his fellow creatures ; and he 
 enjoys some privileges which amount to substantial 
 advantages. But, alas ! where is the man in our 
 land yea, even the proudest and most aristocratic, 
 who can look back upon his ancestry, without stum- 
 bling upon a dingy blacksmith, a tricky pedlar, 
 or a foetid apothecary ; or can look forward to the 
 career of his offspring, without, in his brightest 
 
178 
 
 THE USEFUL MAN, 
 
 dreams, being forced to see some of them humbled 
 to the most plebeian occupations ? To be a gentle- 
 man, then, in the sense that we now use the word, 
 amounts to nothing more than to be idle, and the 
 title is a convenient one, to distinguish those who 
 have no occupation, from the useful classes of soci- 
 ety. It was so that Mr. .Gossamer understood it. 
 Having laboured hard all his life, he imagined that 
 it would be a great privilege to live without work ; 
 and as his son would have an ample fortune, he 
 determined that he should spend it as he pleased. 
 
 Jemmy was accordingly the best dressed youth 
 in the town. He soon became a leader of the fash- 
 ions ; for whenever the old gentleman wished to 
 introduce a coat of a new cut, or to astonish the 
 sober natives with a flashy vest, he displayed the 
 first pattern upon the neatly turned person of his 
 favourite son, who was thus made to answer the 
 purpose of a walking advertisement. By this saga- 
 cious process, two birds were killed with one stone; 
 the skill of the father was made manifest to the 
 public, while the son became the envy of all his 
 companions. 
 
 Mr. Gossamer was not unmindful of the advanta- 
 ges of education, and was determined to procure 
 for the hopeful youth who was to inherit his fortune, 
 ail the learning that money could buy. But that 
 sprightly young gentleman soon discovered that 
 schools and colleges were no places for him. Among 
 modern innovations, that of writing the word "use- 
 
THE USEFUL MAN. 179 
 
 fulness" over all the doors of science and literature, 
 is one of the most conspicuous. Our hero soon 
 discovered that learning was not considered as a 
 polite accomplishment, but as an acquisition which 
 was to qualify a man for the business of life. He was 
 continually reminded of the practical value of 
 different branches of knowledge, and of their con- 
 nection with the occupations of men. The truth 
 of course flashed upon his mind, with all the force 
 of a syllogism or, as his worthy progenitor would 
 have expressed it, it was just as plain as the button 
 on a man's coat that learning was not necessary 
 for a gentleman. The words " practical," " busi- 
 ness," " usefulness," and the like, were associated 
 in his mind with yard-sticks, paper measures, lumps 
 of wax, dirty fingers, and other concomitants of the 
 shop ; and as he had wisely kept aloof from the 
 latter, he was not aware of having any interest in 
 the former. It followed that useful knowledge 
 would be superfluous to him, who was not intended 
 for an useful man, but a gentleman. The schools 
 xvere abandoned, or only attended occasionally as 
 a matter of form ; his chief occupations were dress- 
 ing, lounging in Chesnut street, playing billiards, 
 and going to the theatre ; and his studies were con- 
 tined to newspapers, play-bills, Byron's poems, and 
 Miss Fanny Wright's philosophy. Thus he grew 
 in years and in gentility, and at the age of twenty- 
 one, was thoroughly convinced that the highest dig- 
 nity of man consisted in being fashionably clad, and 
 
180 THE USEFUL MAN. 
 
 the highest enjoyment of life in spending money. 
 About this time, the elder Mr. Gossamer, having 
 snapped the thread of life, was gathered to his 
 fathers, leaving his remnants to our hero. 
 
 The propitious hour was now arrived, when our 
 hero was to reap the harvest he had so long antici- 
 pated, and for which his father had toiled through 
 half a century. He was now lord of himself, and 
 master of an ample fortune, and he expected forth- 
 with to take his station among the A 's and the 
 
 B s, and the C s who were considered as 
 
 tip-top people. But the A s, the B s, and 
 
 the C s had never heard of him, and to Jemmy's 
 perfect astonishment, his father's death neither 
 increased his dignity, nor enlarged the circle of his 
 acquaintance. He tried to force his way into that 
 society in which he longed to move, but was 
 repulsed with the gentle hint, that he was not consi- 
 ered as a gentleman ! Highly indignant at what he 
 considered an unmerited aspersion upon his birth 
 and breeding, he resolved upon the usual expedient 
 in such cases that of purchasing, by dint of wealth, 
 admission into those circles from which he was 
 excluded by his manners and education. He deter- 
 mined to marry, and set up a fine establishment. 
 But, alas ! what varied disappointments lie in wait 
 for the aspirants after worldly honours ! One lady 
 refused him because he was a fop, another because 
 he was illiterate and vulgar, a third sneeringly 
 offered him the ninth part of her heart, and all 
 
THE USEFUL MAN* 181 
 
 agreed that he was not a gentleman. " Not a gen- 
 tleman !" exclaimed Jemmy, " that's a good one ! 
 I wonder whaH am, if I'm not a gentleman ? I'm 
 not a practical man, nor a mechanic, nor an opera- 
 tive, nor one of those useful men that they make 
 such a fuss about. I am not a philosopher, nor a 
 scholar; no, nor a doctor, nor a lawyer of course, 
 I must be a gentleman. I have plenty of money, 
 and nothing to do ; and I take it I dress as well as 
 any body. I must be something, and I dont know 
 what I can be, unless I am a gentleman !" He 
 applied to a friend for advice as to the best method 
 of asserting his gentility. 
 
 " Write a book," said his friend, " authorship has 
 got to be a very genteel calling." 
 
 " 1 can't go that my genius doesn't lie that way." 
 
 " My dear fellow, that is all a mistake ; it requires 
 no genius to make a book, as books are now made. 
 It only requires industry, a steady hand, and a sharp 
 pair of scissors." 
 
 "That may be very true," replied our hero, 
 " but industry is not a gentlemanly virtue ; and as 
 for a pair of scissors, I am surprised that you would 
 mention so vulgar an instrument ; I abominate the 
 very name." 
 
 "Oh ! I beg pardon ; well, there is another plan ; 
 suppose you fight a duel." 
 
 " Don't mention it, my dear fellow. I have not 
 nerves for that. Besides, I might be killed, and 
 16 
 
182 THE USEFUL MAN. 
 
 then I should not be a gentleman, but only an 
 1 unhandsome corpse.' No, 1 can't go that." 
 
 " You must travel, then." 
 
 " Travel ! eh ! where ?" 
 
 " Any where you please ; to the West, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 "West; what, out Chesnut street? over Schuyl- 
 kill ?" 
 
 " Aye, over Schuylkill and Susquehanna, over the 
 Ohio and Mississippi." 
 
 " Well, 1 like that ! agreed ! will you go ? Come, 
 let's be off ; I want to be back by Monday, to Coop- 
 er's benefit." 
 
 His friend walked off, laughing ; but our hero 
 was not to be balked in his newly awakened ambi- 
 tion, and having made up his mind to travel West, 
 and learnt that he could not possibly " be back by 
 Monday," he very considerately determined to 
 wait until after that day. Having made all the ne- 
 cessary enquiries and preparations, he resolutely 
 took his seat in the stage, and commenced his 
 journey. 
 
 Had it been a dozen years ago, he would have 
 found few turnpikes, and those wretchedly bad ; for 
 nobody had yet found out that it was unlawful to 
 make them. Every rock in the Alleghany ridge 
 might have been broken to atoms, and every pro 
 minent feature in the face of the country amputated, 
 without the slightest injury to the Constitution. 
 Indeed, most people would have thought it a whole- 
 
THE USEFUL MAN. 183 
 
 some operation. Be that as it may, the roads were 
 not made, nor, until very recently, did any body 
 seem to care about them. The politicians, after 
 all, are the men to do business ;^they are the " great 
 magicians" who set every thing going. No sooner 
 did they take the matter up, than not only all the 
 land, and the rivers, but even public sentiment, 
 began to be McAdamised ; and while one side 
 denounced turnpikes as the roads to national ruin, 
 and another extolled the making of them as the 
 greatest of virtues, the people proceeded vehemently 
 to that proof of the pudding, which the good old 
 maxim pronounces the best. Notwithstanding all 
 this, our hero soon discovered, that, even in these 
 days of improvement, a journey from the Atlantic 
 to the western country, is an adventure of no small 
 magnitude. As there is ever something in the way, 
 to retard our most innocent undertakings, so here 
 are piles of hideous mountains, heaped up one upon 
 another, until the highest not only intercepts the 
 poor earthly traveller, but forces even the clouds, 
 as they roll through the air, to turn aside, or to 
 crawl heavily up the mountain to its summit. There 
 is something sublime, and even consoling, in this 
 idea ; and as the traveller winds his toilsome way 
 up the mountain path, it is quite comfortable to 
 reflect that thunder-gusts, as well as stage-coaches, 
 must submit to be impeded by these tremendous 
 barriers. As for Jemmy Gossamer, he thought 
 nothing about it, but drew his travelling cap over 
 
184 THE USEFUL MAN. 
 
 his eyes, and slept the more soundly as the carriage 
 proceeded with less rapidity. One fact, however, 
 in natural philosophy, he learned among the cliffs 
 of the Alleghany ridge, as it was too obvious to 
 escape even the notice of a gentleman, namely, 
 that the world is not round like an apple, as he had 
 been taught to believe, but as angular as a brickbat. 
 
 From Pittsburgh our traveller proceeded very 
 comfortably, in a fine steamboat, to St. Louis, 
 meeting with no adventures worthy of particular 
 notice. He had previously sent to this place, by 
 way of New Orleans, a very elegant dearborn car- 
 riage, which he properly imagined would carry his 
 trunks, wardrobe, &c. and enable him at all times 
 to appear like a gentleman. To this he now pre- 
 fixed a fine horse, by means of a dashing set of pla- 
 ted harness, and thus equipped, he set forth one fine 
 summer morning upon his travels in Illinois. He 
 preferred this State, because he was told that the 
 prairies were level, and destitute of trees. " I like 
 that," said he u bad things, these trees don't have 
 them in Chesnut street- city council had them all 
 cut down on account of the catterpillars -wonder 
 congress don't have the whole concern extermina- 
 ted." 
 
 Our traveller was now driving over beautiful 
 plains, in a thinly settled country, where his fine 
 dearborn and dandy coat begat no small degree of 
 wonderment among the natives. To the latter he 
 had resolved to be very civil and condescending, 
 
THE USEFUL MAN. 185 
 
 because he had heard that General Jackson, Mr. 
 Clay, and other great men, were remarkable for 
 their affable courtesy to the common people. As 
 he rode leisurely along, he met a countryman, with 
 a rifle on his shoulder, who hailed him with, " How 
 are you, stranger ?" at the same time stopping short, 
 as if to invite a tete-a-tete. 
 
 " 1 hope T see you well, sir," returned Jemmy, 
 reining up his horse, smiling his prettiest smile, and 
 bowing his best bow. 
 
 " Travelling, stranger ?" was the next question. 
 
 " Yes, sir, rusticating a little, as you may per- 
 ceive." 
 
 " Which way are you going ? if it's a fair ques- 
 tion." 
 
 "Very fair Pm bound north." 
 
 "Going to settle?" 
 
 "Can't say that I am. Just taking a tour of plea- 
 sure to recreate the body, and expand the mental 
 faculties." 
 
 " What parts did you come from ?" 
 
 " From Philadelphia." 
 
 " How do you like that country ?" 
 
 "Philadelphia is not a country, my good friend, it 
 is a city." 
 
 " Oh ! it is a city ! Is it a good place to live ?" 
 
 "Better than this, a plaguy sight." 
 
 " Well, you don't say so ! are the land thar, a/t 
 good as this here ?" 
 
 16* 
 
186 THE USEFUL MAN. 
 
 " Can't tell you never saw any land in my life 
 till I left home." 
 
 " Did you live in the water , if I mought be so 
 bold as to ax?" 
 
 " No, I lived in town." 
 
 "Oh ! you lived in town ! likely, likely. What 
 do you follow for a living ?" 
 
 "Sir, I follow my own inclinations I'm a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " What might your name be ?" 
 
 By this time Jemmy was growing impatient. He 
 gave his whip a flourish, and replied with a sneer, 
 " Why, it might be Julius Caesar. 
 
 "Scissor!" exclaimed the hunter, slowly shoulder- 
 ing his rifle and turning away, " mighty poor scis- 
 sors, too !" Jemmy cracked his whip, and dashed off 
 in a passion, while the backwoodsman, looking 
 drolly after him, muttered to himself, "Well if you 
 aint the poorest chance, for a live man, that ever 1 
 saw, I'll agree to shoot nothing but a shot gun as 
 long as 1 live !" 
 
 Mr. Jemmy Gossamer had not proceeded very 
 far, when a jolly farmer, mounted on a sleek nag, 
 overtook him, and very pleasantly saluted him. 
 Jemmy bowed stiffly. 
 
 " Peddling, sir ?" enquired the farmer. 
 
 " Do 1 look like a pedler?" exclaimed our hero, 
 in high dudgeon. 
 
 *' I meant no offence, stranger ; I thought, from 
 
THE USEFUL MAN. 187 
 
 the way you are fixed off, that you must have goods 
 to sell." 
 
 " I would thank you, sir, to tell me what part of 
 my equipage resembles that of a pedler." 
 
 " Well, stranger, I'd no notion of making you mad, 
 for a pedler's just as good as another man; but that 
 little carry-all that you ride in, favours the Yankee 
 wagons they drive, mightily. And then you tote 
 such a powerful heap of plunder, that 1 thought you 
 must have goods to sell." 
 
 Our traveller drove along in no enviable state of 
 feelings, vexed at having his fine carriage denomina- 
 ted a carry-all, mortally offended at hearing it com- 
 pared with a pedler's vehicle, and dreadful indignant 
 that he himself should be mistaken for a travelling 
 merchant. "Was it for this," thought he, "that I 
 came all the way to Illinois ? Shall I never be duly 
 appreciated? Has the whole world conspired to 
 deny me the homage due to my great wealth ? Will 
 nobody recognise me as a gentleman ?" Engaged 
 in such reflections, he jogged along for an hour or 
 two, when a young countryman, who was trudging 
 along, with a bundle at his back,^ery civilly asked 
 him to be kind enough to tell him the time of day. 
 Soothed by the respectful manner of this address, 
 he stopped, and drew forth his elegant gold repeater 
 -~-"just twelve." 
 
 " Well, that are an elegant watch, I'll be con- 
 sarned if it aint ! Would you trade her, stranger?" 
 
 " I don't trade in watches, my friend." 
 
188 THE USEFUL MAN. 
 
 " Oh you don't ! Have you any powder ?" 
 " What sort of powder do you mean ?" 
 " Well I'm not partic'lar what sort ; either glazed 
 or rough will suit me, so it will shoot quick." 
 " I don't carry gunpowder in my carriage." 
 " That's a pity ; you could trade a right smart of 
 it in these parts. Have you tobacco ?" 
 
 "How do you dare to ask me such a question ?" 
 roared our dandy, in violent indignation. 
 
 The young man looked at him in astonishment, 
 
 and calmly replied, " I'm as white a man as you 
 
 are. I'll ask what questions I please ; if you don't 
 
 like it, you can go ahead with your little go-cart." 
 
 Mr. Gossamer gave his horse a violent cut with 
 
 his long lash, and dashed off at a gallop, determined 
 
 to answer no more questions. But he was obliged 
 
 to stop at a cabin, to get a drink of water, and had 
 
 no sooner entered, than the good woman of the 
 
 house informed him that her "youngest datur was 
 
 powerful bad with the misery in her tooth," and 
 
 enquired if "he had any camfire." 
 
 " I am no physician, my good woman." 
 
 " I did'nt reckdh you was ; you look too young 
 
 for a doctor. Do you carry the mail, young man ?" 
 
 From this eventful day forward, he gave up all 
 
 hope of ever being received as a gentleman. He 
 
 turned his horse's head eastward, and never stopped 
 
 until he reached home, 
 
 " It won't all do," said he to his friend, " I have 
 been taken for a pedler, for a travelling doctor, and 
 
THE USEFUL MAN. 189 
 
 for a mail carrier. I could not pass for a gentleman 
 in the wilds of the West, any more than in the cir- 
 cles of Philadelphia. There is some secret in it 
 that I have not learned. One thing is certain, that 
 money will not make a gentleman." 
 
 " What do you propose to do ?" 
 
 " Oh, I cut the whole concern. 1 shall open the 
 old man's shop to-morrow, take in a partner who 
 can handle the shears^ and become an operative." 
 
 "What! not a tailor!" 
 
 "Yes 1 will 1 will so I'll be hanged if I don't! 
 I cannot be a gentleman I must be something -I'll 
 
 be A USEFUL MAN," 
 
190 
 
 THE DENTIST. 
 
 I am not aware whether the following story has 
 been told before; nor is it any matter if it has, my 
 relation of it will have the effect of corroborating 
 evidence, and if it has not, it will possess the merit 
 of novelty. The circumstance which led to a de- 
 velopement of the whole affair, occurred in the 
 shop of a respectable milliner in the village of 
 
 R . The worthy proprietor of this rural 
 
 emporium of fashions, a maiden lady of fifty, stood 
 behind the counter, as gay as a May morning, and 
 as neat as if she had just stepped out of one of her 
 own bandboxes. On the opposite side was a grave, 
 middle-aged gentleman, who might have been buy- 
 ing a bonnet for his wife, or paying for finery for 
 his daughters. His countenance was shrewd, 
 though benevolent, and his appearance that of a 
 professional man who was thriving in his business. 
 
THE DENTIST. 191 
 
 He was about to leave the shop, when a young girl 
 who stepped in attracted his attention, and without 
 seeming to notice her, he lingered, leaning upon 
 the counter, and apparently absorbed in reading a 
 newspaper. She was delivering some beautiful 
 specimens of needle-work. While the milliner ex- 
 amined the patterns, the gentleman stood in a 
 situation to have a full view of the face of the fair 
 stranger, and was struck with its extraordinary 
 beauty. Not only were the features and expression 
 pleasing, and the complexion fine, but the rich glow 
 of the cheek, the softness and intelligence of the 
 clear blue eye, and the youthful brilliancy of the 
 whole countenance, pointed out this young female 
 as the possessor of more than ordinary attractions. 
 But he was most surprised at the evidence of ex- 
 treme poverty exhibited in the transaction before 
 him. She was disposing of work, for a mere pit- 
 tance, which must have cost her immense labour, 
 and which showed accomplishments, such as the 
 " labouring poor" do not ordinarily possess. Her 
 own dress, though perfectly neat, and managed with 
 care, was worn and faded, and entirely destitute 
 of ornament. Every indication, except such as her 
 face and form afforded, announced her to belong 
 to the humblest rank of life, and to be then endur- 
 ing the extreme of poverty. But what most par- 
 ticularly attracted his attention were her tine teeth, 
 the most beautiful he had ever seen ; her coral lips, 
 and a smile so engaging as even to give dignity and 
 
192 THE DENTIST. 
 
 sweetness to the petty transaction, in which she 
 seemed to be so unsuitably employed. 
 
 The stranger, who evidently had some purpose 
 in view in thus watching the motions of the young 
 girl, seemed to be much embarrassed, and as she 
 lightly tripped away, after disposing of her wares, it 
 was with an air of respect, and some hesitation, 
 that he followed her to the door and gently laid his 
 finger on her shoulder. She turned hastily, and 
 slightly curtesied; a blush suffused her cheek, but 
 her calm eye met that of the stranger, with a glance 
 that announced the self-possession of one accustomed 
 to the world. He paused, as if uncertain whether 
 to proceed ; but he was a man not easily to be 
 baulked, and assuming a familiar tone, which his 
 own age, and the youth, as well as the extreme 
 indigence, of the person before him, seemed to 
 justify, said, 
 
 " My pretty girl, have you nothing more to sell?" 
 
 " Nothing more, sir." 
 
 " You do not know how rich you are," continued 
 the stranger, " let me make your fortune by pur- 
 chasing some of your teeth." 
 
 The young female recollected that her dress was 
 of the coarsest kind ; yet she felt offended at the 
 familiarity of the stranger's manner, as well as at a 
 proposition which seemed to be intended as an un- 
 feeling jest, and was about to pass on, when the 
 stranger added, 
 
 
THE DENTIST* 193 
 
 " I am quite in earnest, and would most gladly 
 be the purchaser." 
 
 "Indeed !" replied the girl. " I cannot imagine, 
 sir, why you should wish to purchase my teeth." 
 
 " If I am willing to give you your own price," 
 said the stranger, very good humpu redly. " it is not 
 important for you to know my reasons." 
 
 The girl looked in the man's face, astonished at 
 the oddness of his proposal. He was a person of 
 respectable appearance, whose prepossessing coun- 
 tenance seemed to assure her, that he would not 
 sport with the feelings of the unfortunate. 
 
 " I am in very serious earnest," he repeated, " for 
 two of your lower fore-teeth, 1 will give you a price 
 far beyond their actual value." 
 
 " That you are not jesting 1 am bound to be- 
 lieve," replied the girl, " since you say so ; I am 
 only surprised at the novelty of the offer." 
 
 " Perhaps you think it would be more natural to 
 dispose of the whole se^ together, with yourself in 
 the bargain," said the stranger, jokingly. 
 
 To his surprise, the young female made no reply ; 
 her unaltered features and calm eye seemed to say 
 that she did not consider herself the fit subject of a 
 jest, and had no reply to make to such ill-timed 
 pleasantry. 
 
 The stranger saw his mistake, and regretted his 
 unintentional rudeness. He had touched the feel- 
 ings of a sensitive heart. " Pardon me," said he, 
 " I meant no offence. To convince you of my 
 17 
 
194 THE DENTIST. 
 
 sincerity, 1 will tell you why I wish to make this pur- 
 chase. 1 am a dentist, and reside in a neighbouring 
 town. A patient of mine, a lady who is wealthy 
 and handsome, but not quite so young as you are, 
 has had the misfortune to lose two of her fore- 
 teeth. She is inconsolable, and will not agree to 
 have them replaced, except from the mouth of 
 young, healthy^ handsome girl. Such are my in- 
 structions. None but the most beautiful teeth will 
 be accepted. Yours are just the thing, and 1 am 
 authorised to offer you five hundred dollars for two 
 such as I shall select." The young female's sur- 
 prise had kept her silent when she first heard this 
 singular proposal ; she smiled when it was seriously 
 persisted in ; but at last, when the possibility that 
 she might accept it occurred to her, a cold chili ran 
 through her frame, and pointing out her door to the 
 dentist, she requested him to call upon her in half an 
 hour, and hastily retired. 
 
 As the reader feels, no doubt, a laudable curiosity 
 to be introduced to all the persons concerned in 
 the interesting catastrophe which is to follow, 1 
 shall now present them separately to his notice. 
 The first in point of importance, is a certain Mrs. 
 Flowerby, who, when I can first recollect her, was 
 a middle-aged widow lady, but who would have been 
 very much offended to have had that description 
 applied to her, even twenty years afterwards. She 
 had been some time or other, but I know not when 
 thought very handsome; and she thought herself 
 
THE DENTIST. 195 
 
 quite as beautiful as ever. She had a fine walk, a 
 stately air, and dressed in the extreme of every 
 fashion. We used to call her Madame Flowerby, 
 and the boys sometimes nicknamed her" my lady" 
 epithets which incensed her greatly, inasmuch as 
 she supposed that they had some allusion to her 
 age, when in fact they were given in reference to 
 her pride. Had she known this, it would have 
 satisfied her ; because, although people are ashamed 
 of being old, few think it a disgrace to be proud 
 or childish. The fact is, that Mrs. Flowerby was 
 really a very genteel, and a very respectable woman, 
 to look at but not for any other purpose ; for she 
 was not overstocked with either good sense or good 
 nature, nor do I know of a single valuable quality 
 that she had, except to dress remarkably well, and 
 to give famous parties. I shall never forget how 
 she used to toss her head when she came in con- 
 tact with vulgar people, by which she meant every 
 body that did not visit at her house ; nor how 
 sweetly she smiled upon those who approached her 
 with proper respect, and under a due sense of her 
 superior perfections. One of the best things she 
 had was a fine set of teeth, and of all her posses- 
 sions there was nothing upon which she placed so 
 proper an estimate ; every body admired her teeth, 
 and she not only admired them herself, but, with a 
 laudable public spirit, displayed them to the world 
 upon all occasions. It is not to be wondered at, 
 therefore, that when two of those teeth, occupying 
 
196 THE DENTIST. 
 
 a conspicuous post in the front, just between Mrs. 
 Flowerby's ruby lips, and in the very centre of her 
 smile, were accidentally destroyed, she was incon- 
 solable. After mourning over her misfortune for 
 several days, she bethought herself of an expert 
 dentist in the neighbourhood, who had recently 
 acquired celebrity by his success in his vocation. 
 The dentist displayed before her a number of the 
 best shaped and whitest substitutes in his possession. 
 
 " There, madam, is a beautiful one ; it is ivory, 
 but I cannot vouch that it will retain its colour." 
 
 "That will never do, then ; the colour must be 
 exact. I would not be detected in this matter for 
 the world." 
 
 " It would certainly be very unpleasant." 
 
 " Oh, shocking ! I had rather have any thing else 
 said of me, than that 1 showed false teeth. My poor 
 dear teeth ! they were so beautiful !" 
 
 " There are some handsome ones, ma'am, and 
 their brilliancy will stand the touch of time. No- 
 thing can be more natural." 
 
 " Oh ! these are beauties ! what are they made of? 1 " 
 
 "Of the tooth of a hippopotamus." 
 
 " Of a hippo what did you say, sir !" 
 
 " The hippopotamus, ma'am ; a great sea mon- 
 ster." 
 
 " Oh, horrible ! do you suppose, sir, that I would 
 ever have in my mouth the fang of a terrible sea 
 monster, that had crushed shoals of raw, live fish, 
 in his voracious jaw!" 
 
THE DENTTST. 197 
 
 " Here, ma'am," continued the dentist, very coolly 
 handing over another pair, " are two of the hand- 
 somest 1 have ever seen. Your own were scarcely 
 more beautiful." 
 
 " These are darlings, indeed ! so delicate ! of such 
 exquisite whiteness ! What are these made of?" 
 
 " They are real ; I took them from the mouth of 
 a negro boy." 
 
 " Oh, you inhuman creature! to think of putting 
 the teeth of a negro into the mouth of a lady that 
 is worse than the hippo the dreadful sea monster 
 you spoke of." 
 
 " Then, ma'am, I know not how to please you." 
 
 " Sir, I must be pleased ! I ask no favours. I am 
 able to pay for what 1 set my heart upon." 
 
 So they went on ; until the conference ended in 
 the lady's issuing the instructions, which we have 
 already heard announced from the lips of the dentist. 
 
 Our next portrait shall be that of the heroine. 
 But a few months had passed away, since the 
 brightest star in our constellation of village beauty 
 was Louisa Hutchinson. Her form was fine, and 
 no one ever beheld her face without being struck 
 with its beauty. The grace and loveliness of her 
 appearance were exquisite. The blended dignity 
 and sweetness of her manner were unrivalled. Her 
 mind was vigorous and sprightly, her wit playful, 
 and her conversation highly attractive. Above all 
 there was a joyousness, an air of chaste hilarity, 
 that was particularly engaging, and won the m- 
 17* 
 
198 THE DENTIST. 
 
 voluntary homage of all who approached her. She 
 was joy personified. To behold her smile, and not 
 to feel its power, was impossible. Her eye, her 
 cheek, her lip, all smiled in unison, as if the stream 
 of intellectual gladness overflowed its fountain, and 
 beamed from every feature. Do I dream when I 
 paint her thus ? Far from it. Such was Louisa 
 when 1 knew her first ; when her voice was music, 
 and her touch enchantment; when she was the lu- 
 minary about whom all lesser lights revolved ; when 
 she warmed and animated all. She was the Belle. 
 To admire her was the criterion of taste ; to follow, 
 to love, to pay her homage, was the common fate of 
 the village youth ; and no one was properly gra- 
 duated in the school of fashion, who had not duly 
 enrolled himself among the number who were 
 vanquished by her fascinations. If such was the 
 beautiful reality, as pictured to the eye of an unim- 
 passioned observer, who shall describe the lovely 
 vision that was imprinted on the heart of a devoted 
 and favoured lover? No tongue can speak, nor 
 does it enter into the heart of man to conceive 
 unless he be an accepted lover how the soul 
 clings, and doats, and revels in such a passion, for so 
 bright an object ! Not every heart has the capacity 
 to enjoy such a fulness of bliss. There was one who 
 did feel, and was worthy to enjoy it, and of him we 
 shall speak hereafter. 
 
 Louisa had lost her mother, and her father was 
 old. He had been in good circumstances ; but age 
 
THE DENTIST. 199 
 
 and misfortune had combined to reduce him to the 
 most hopeless poverty. His exact situation was for 
 a long while concealed from the public. Few were 
 acquainted with the true situation of his affairs. He 
 had retired from business, had no visible income, 
 and was too infirm to make any personal exertions 
 to support his family. Yet there was a decent ap- 
 pearance of comfort about his little mansion, which 
 precluded the idea of absolute want. Louisa was 
 always plainly, but neatly attired ; and so much did 
 the simple style of her dress add to her native 
 graces, that many who knew the delicacy of her 
 taste supposed that she had adopted this mode of 
 dress from choice, and even from a refinement of 
 coquetry. Her little parlour was the scene of cheer- 
 fulness. By and by things began to change ; one 
 article of furniture after another disappeared ; 
 Louisa joined the parties of her companions less 
 frequently ; and those who called, were often refused 
 admittance, under the pleas that Miss Hutchinson 
 was engaged, or indisposed. At last, her only 
 servant was dismissed, and the truth was no longer 
 dissembled, that Louisa was not only the nurse of 
 her aged parent, but laboured night and day to pro- 
 cure for him the common necessaries of life. She 
 was not ashamed of these employments, nor did 
 any think them disgraceful ; on the contrary, the 
 number of her friends and admirers increased with 
 this new display of the loveliness of her character. 
 She continued to be the queen of hearts, the orna- 
 
200 THE DENTIST. 
 
 ment and pride of the village. Happily there is, as 
 yet, in our country, but little of the miserable pride 
 of aristocracy ; and an accomplished woman is not 
 spurned from society, because necessity obliges her 
 to become an active agent in the business of life, 
 and the pride and stay of those who depend on her 
 exertions. Many of Louisa's friends kindly offered 
 their assistance ; and her young companions would 
 often aid her in the needle work by which she 
 gained a livelihood. It is even asserted, by those 
 who pretend to know all about such matters, that 
 her opportunities for entering into the blessed state 
 of matrimony increased with her misfortunes, and 
 that there was no day in her life, in which the 
 proudest youth in the town would not have been 
 happy to lead her to the altar. But her heart was 
 pledged, and she was of too noble a nature to pur- 
 chase affluence by the sacrifice of its best affections. 
 The supplies of friendship were scanty, and soon 
 exhausted. Charity, in its best form, affords but a 
 miserable relief. Its fountains are meagre and un- 
 steady. Under its kindest aspect it brings a dis- 
 tressing sense of dependence. Louisa's father was 
 a weak and a proud man, in whose mind the de- 
 crepitude of age had destroyed all the firmness of 
 manhood, while its foibles remained unchanged. 
 She refused, therefore, the assistance of some from 
 delicacy, and of others from the fear of offending her 
 father ; some of her friends married, and left the 
 village ; others became reduced like herself, until at 
 
THE DENTIST. 201 
 
 last her solitary hours were spent alone, and her 
 table supported solely by the labour of her own 
 hands. She had one friend, who forsook her not : 
 she had a conscience void of offence, a meek and 
 firm reliance in the Redeemer, and an unshaken 
 faith, that He who tempers the wind to the shorn 
 lamb, would not forsake the orphan girl who 
 watched over the bed of a dying parent. 
 
 Louisa had an accepted lover, who was worthy 
 of her affection ; but he knew little of the real state 
 of her affairs. He was aware that her father was 
 poor, but not that he was in want. He well knew 
 that she had nothing to bestow but herself. He 
 had been absent from the village for several years, 
 in the service of a merchant, at a distant city, and 
 only saw Louisa in the short visits that he was oc- 
 casionally allowed to make. He, too, was indigent, 
 and their marriage depended on the contingency of 
 his becoming established in business. This was 
 another motive inducing Louisa to withdraw from 
 public notice, to conceal her extreme penury, and 
 to reject, rather than solicit, assistance. She was 
 unwilling that her lover should know that she was 
 labouring fora subsistence ; not because she feared 
 that it would degrade her in his eyes, for she knew 
 that he had too much good sense to indulge such 
 feelings ; but she could not consent to wound his 
 sensibility, or to place him and herself in so awk- 
 ward a situation as a knowledge of these facts would 
 have imposed. 
 
202 THE DENTIST. 
 
 Mr. Hutchinson became seriously ill. So long as 
 he had laboured only under the ordinary weakness 
 of old age, she could sit by him and work ; but now 
 he was confined to bed, and her whole time was 
 consumed in the necessary care of the invalid. A 
 physician was called in ; wine and other expensive 
 articles had to be purchased ; poor Louisa found 
 herself surrounded by wants and difficulties too 
 great for all her exertions ; and her courage began 
 to sink, when her parent asked for refreshments 
 which she could not give him, and, in the petulance 
 of dotage, reproached her for negligence of his wants. 
 Still, although a tear sometimes stole down her 
 cheek, her step was firm, and her face serene ; she 
 uttered no complaint, but bent her knee in prayer, 
 bowed her heart in submission, and felt that peace 
 which the world cannot give nor take away. 
 
 Such was her situation, when she had gone to 
 the milliner, as she feared, for the last time ; for 
 she knew not how to get materials, or to find time, 
 for a new effort. When she returned home, she 
 retired to her own room, and sunk down in an agony 
 of grief. The gradual but heavy pressure of po- 
 verty, the long days of labour and the long nights of 
 watching, the solicitude of filial affection, the pang 
 of " hope deferred," and all her other afflictions, 
 she had borne with a woman's fortitude, for they 
 were woman's peculiar trials, and thousands of her 
 sex have borne them without a murmur. But when 
 relief, and even affluence, appeared within her 
 
THE DENTIST. 203 
 
 grasp, on the one hand, and the sacrifice by which 
 that relief was to be purchased, presented itself on 
 the other, all her sensibilities were at once awake,n- 
 ed. Her beauty had been that possession which 
 the world had most admired ; it had procured her 
 homage and adulation, and given her the sway of all 
 the hearts around her. Had she not prized it herself, 
 she would have been more* or less, than human. 
 She thought of him who had garnered up his hopes 
 in her affection ; she knew not what portion of 
 the devoted and faithful love of Edward Linton she 
 owed to her personal charms, nor how that affection 
 might change, could he behold her disfigured* and 
 shorn of her beauty. She thought of her suffering 
 parent, and, with that courage which had hereto- 
 fore marked all her conduct, determined on the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 At the expiration of the half hour, the dentist 
 repaired to the miserable abode of the unhappy 
 girl. It was small, but had once been a comforta- 
 ble residence ; it was now dilapidated and disfur- 
 nished. Louisa received him with calm politeness, 
 and directed him to proceed at once to the opera- 
 tion. He paused, and then slowly counted down 
 the stipulated sum. Finding that no objection was 
 made, he proceeded to extract two of her finest 
 teeth, and then withdrew. Louia's first emotion 
 was thankfulness for the seasonable relief, and joy 
 and pride that she could now soothe the dying pillow 
 of a parent. For the present, her cares admitted 
 
204 THE DENTIST. 
 
 no other thought. Her father was rapidly declining* 
 As he summoned his strength for the last strug- 
 gle, he seemed to be favoured with that strong gleam 
 of intellectual light, which sometimes glows over 
 the departing soul, as the beams of the setting sun 
 burst forth before the evening closes. He felt and 
 acknowledged the sacrifices and cares of his daugh- 
 ter, thanked and blessed her for all her kindness, 
 and breathed his last in peace of mind. 
 
 We have explained how Louisa became gradual- 
 ly estranged from her friends, and left to struggle 
 alone against her afflictions. The news of her fa- 
 ther's death drew her former acquaintances to the 
 house of sorrow, and they were shocked at the full 
 discovery of her situation and sufferings. Every 
 office of kindness was cheerfully performed; Louisa 
 was taken to the house of a friend, where, sustained 
 no longer by those feelings which had heretofore 
 supported her, she sunk under a violent attack of 
 fever. In her dreams of delirium she thought only 
 of Edward Linton, her impassionate admirer, whose 
 love had been her pride, and whose constancy had 
 formed one of her greatest consolations. Her dis- 
 eased imagination pictured him ripened into matu- 
 rer manhood, risen from indigence to prosperity, 
 and grown callous to the love of his youth. As she 
 slowly regained her health, and vigour of mind, this 
 fearful dream still preyed upon her spirits ; and when 
 she contemplated her faded features, and the sad 
 ravages made in her beauty, by the sacrifice she 
 
THE DENTIST. 205 
 
 had so nobly made to filial duty, her pride induced 
 her to determine to release him from his engage- 
 ments. She wrote him a feeling and delicate let- 
 ter, in which, after alluding to the recent loss of 
 her parent, she assured him that her own circum- 
 stances were so changed as to render their union 
 impossible, conjuring him neither to answer her 
 letter, nor to seek an interview which could only 
 be painful to both. Thus was a noble minded girl, 
 whose whole life had been a continual sacrifice of 
 feeling to duty, misled, by the pride of beauty, into 
 an act which she believed to be disinterested, but 
 which in truth was unjust. 
 
 Edward was a man of strong mind, and gene- 
 rous feelings. His first impulse was to hasten to 
 Louisa, for his heart was wrung, and his long che- 
 ished hopes blasted, by her letter. But he, too, was 
 proud and acted on the same principle which had 
 governed her. He was poor, and she was, as he 
 supposed, still the pride of the village. He had 
 nothing to offer but himself, while her charms might 
 enable her to match herself with the wealthiest, or 
 the most honourable. Had he been rich, he would 
 have eagerly sought an explanation, but poor as he 
 was, he only wept over Louisa's letter, and deter- 
 mined to submit. In another week he was on his 
 way to Europe, as supercargo of a fine ship. His 
 voyage was quick and prosperous. The war be- 
 tween Great Britain and the United States, which 
 18 
 
206 THE DENTIST. 
 
 broke out after he sailed, enabled him to sell his 
 cargo at an advance far beyond the most sanguine 
 hopes of his owners. His homeward voyage was 
 short, and already the shores of his native land were 
 in sight, when he was captured by a British cruiser. 
 A prize master was placed on board, and the ship 
 ordered to Halifax. Three days after, by a bold 
 and well-concerted plan, he rose with his own men 
 upon the prize crew, obtained the mastery over 
 them, and carried the ship safely into New York. 
 
 His good conduct was munificently rewarded by 
 the owners, and he found himself in easy circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Two years afterwards, as Dr. Nippers, the dentist, 
 sat one pleasant evening at his door, patting the 
 curly head of a little urchin who climbed on his 
 knee, a handsome carriage drove up, and a lady, 
 richly, but not gaudily dressed, alighted. She was 
 shown in due form into the doctor's study, the ope- 
 rating chair was wheeled out into the middle of 
 the floor, and the worthy dentist stood ready to obey 
 the commands of his fair visiter, whose surpassing 
 beauty and graceful carriage struck him with the 
 same awe which would have been produced by the 
 advent of a supernatural being. 
 
 " Have 1 the pleasure of seeing Dr. Nippers ?" 
 enquired the lady. 
 
 " That is my name, ma'am, at your service," re- 
 plied the dentist, bowing obsequiously, but so awk- 
 wardly as to upset a half a dozen phials. 
 
THE DENTIST. 207 
 
 " I have heard much of your great skill as a den- 
 tist." 
 
 41 My fame, ma'am," rejoined the dentist, mo- 
 destly, " is perhaps greater than my merits ; though I 
 flatter myself that I have been of some service to 
 the afflicted, in my line." 
 
 "Do you recollect having purchased a pair of 
 teeth from a poor girl, a few years ago, for a large 
 sum of money?" 
 
 l Oh, very well, very well that affair has been 
 on my conscience ever since. The poor girl was 
 suffering under some strange affliction, and I have a 
 thousand times reflected on myself, for not giving 
 her the money, and putting a couple of shark's fangs 
 in old Madame Flowerby's mouth. Poor thing ! 
 1 fear the loss of her teeth unsettled her intellects." 
 
 "Why do you think so?" 
 
 " She shortly after left the village very suddenly, 
 and I then learned to my sorrow, that instead of 
 practising upon an humble girl, to whom the money 
 would have been a sufficient compensation, I had 
 by mistake robbed an accomplished young lady of 
 one of her chief ornaments. Some time after, 1 heard 
 
 that she was teaching a school in ; there I 
 
 followed her determined to make all the reparation 
 in my power. But the very day before I arrived 
 there, a young gentleman came and carried her 
 off " 
 
 " And married her in spite of her teeth?" enquired 
 the lady, archly. 
 
208 THE DENTIST. 
 
 " I suppose so," replied the good dentist, too un- 
 suspicious in his nature to recognise the victim of 
 his pullikens in the lady before him. 
 
 " I am that lady," rejoined his visiter, " and I 
 have come to restore your money, and to beg you 
 to replace my teeth." 
 
 " Most cheerfully ! here they are, the identical 
 teeth. Madame Flovverby changed her mind about 
 them ten times in one week in the next week she 
 died. 1 kept them as models, and beautiful ones 
 they are." 
 
 The lady then rose, and after informing him 
 where she lodged, desired him to call the next day 
 and inquire for Mrs. Linton. 
 
209 
 
 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM 
 
 I passed an evening lately in company with a 
 number of young persons, who had met together for 
 the laudable purpose of spending a merry Christmas; 
 and as mirth exercises a prescriptive right of sove- 
 reignty at this good old festival, every one came 
 prepared to pay due homage to that pleasant deity. 
 The party was opened with all the usual ceremo- 
 nies ; the tea was sipped, the cakes praised, and Sir 
 Walter Scott's last novel criticised ; and such was 
 the good humour which prevailed, that although 
 our fair hostess threw an extra portion of bohea 
 into her tea-pot, not a breath of scandal floated 
 among the vapours of that delightful beverage. An 
 aged gentleman who happened to drop in, at first 
 claimed the privilege, as " an old Revolutioner," of 
 18* 
 
210 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 monopolizing the conversation, and entertained us 
 with facetious tales, told the fiftieth time, of Tarle- 
 ton's trumpeter, General Washington's white horse, 
 and Governor Mifflin's cocked hat, with occasional 
 pathetic digressions relating to bear-fights and Indian 
 massacres. The honest veteran, however, who was 
 accustomed to retire after smoking one pipe, soon 
 grew drowsy, and a similar affection, by sympathy 
 I suppose, began to circulate among his audience, 
 when our spirits received a new impulse from an 
 accidental turn of the conversation from three cor- 
 nered hats and horses, to courtship and marriage. 
 The relative advantages of married life and celiba- 
 cy were discussed with great vivacity, and as there 
 were a number of old bachelors and antiquated 
 maidens present, who had thought deeply and feel- 
 ingly on the subject, and were, therefore, able to 
 discuss it with singular felicity, the ladies' side of the 
 question had greatly the advantage. A gentleman, 
 who had reluctantly left the card-table to join the 
 ladies, gave his opinion that life was like a game of 
 cards a good player was often eucred by a bad 
 partner he thought- it wise, therefore, to play alone. 
 " Perhaps," said a fair miss, ll a good partner might 
 assist you." " Thank you, madam," said he " court- 
 ing a wife is nothing more than cutting for partners ; 
 no one knows what card he may turn." My friend 
 Absalom Squaretoes gravely assured us that he had 
 pondered on this subject long and deeply, and it 
 had caused him more perplexity than the banking 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 211 
 
 system, or the Missouri question ; that there were 
 ^eve^al ladies whom he might have had, and whom, 
 at one time or another, he had determined to marry, 
 "but," continued he, arching his eyebrows with a 
 dignity which the great Fadladeen might have 
 envied, " the more I hesitated, the less inclination I 
 felt to try the experiment, and I am now convinced 
 that marriage is not the thing it is cracked up to be !" 
 Miss Tabitha Scruple, a blooming maid of three 
 score, confessed that for her part, she was very 
 much of Mr. Squaretoes' opinion it was well 
 enough for honest pains-taking people to get mar- 
 ried, but she could not see how persons of sentiment 
 could submit to it " unless indeed," she admitted, 
 " congenial souls could meet, and, without merce- 
 nary views, join in the tender bond but men are 
 so deceitful, one runs a great risk, you know !" 
 
 Mr. Smoothtongue, the lawyer, who had waited 
 to hear every other opinion before he gave his own, 
 now rose, and informed the company that he would 
 conclude the case, by stating a few points, which 
 had occurred to him in the course of the argument. 
 He began by informing us the question was one of 
 great importance, and that much might be said on 
 both sides (" Twig the lawyer," said Squaretoes.) 
 He said that so great a man as Lord Burleigh, treasu- 
 rer to Queen Elizabeth, had written ten rules of 
 conduct, which he charged his son to observe and 
 keep next to the ten laws of Moses, and that the 
 very first of them related to the choice of a wife. 
 
212 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 He pointed out all the unfortunate husbands men- 
 tioned in history, from Adam down to George the 
 Fourth, and after detailing the relative duties of 
 baron "and /erne, as laid down in Blackstone, con- 
 cluded with sundry extracts from Pope, whose 
 works he declared he set more store to than those of 
 any writer in the English language, except Mr. 
 Chitty. He was interrupted by a young lady, who 
 declared that Pope was a nasty censorious old 
 bachelor so he was. The lawyer replied, that as 
 Mr. Pope's general character was not implicated in 
 the present question, it could not be properly 
 attacked, nor was he called on to defend it and 
 that, as long as his veracity was unimpeached, his 
 testimony must be believed, which he offered to 
 prove from " Peake's Evidence," if the lady desired 
 him to produce authority. The lady assured him 
 that she was greatly edified by his exposition of the 
 law, and had no desire to see the books but con- 
 fessed that though she admired his speech very 
 much, she was still at a loss to know which side he 
 was on. "JMadam," said he, with great gravity, " 1 
 admire marriage as a most excellent civil institu- 
 tion, but have no inclination to engage in it, as I can 
 never consent to tie a knot with my tongue which I 
 cannot untie with my teeth." 
 
 These opinions coming from such high authority, 
 seemed to settle the controversy, and the question 
 was about to be carried nem. con. in favour of celi- 
 bacy, when an unlucky miss, whose cheeks, and 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 213 
 
 lips, and teeth, reminded one of pearls, and cherries, 
 and peaches, while all the loves and graces laughed 
 in her eyes, uttered something in a loud whisper 
 about " sour grapes," which created a sensation 
 among a certain part of the company, of which you 
 can form no adequate idea, unless you have wit- 
 nessed the commotions of a bee hive. I now began 
 to be seriously afraid that our Christmas gambols 
 would eventuate in a tragical catastrophe and 
 anticipating nothing less than a general pulling of 
 caps, was meditating on the propriety of saving my 
 own curly locks, by a precipitate retreat. Fortu- 
 nately, however, another speaker had taken the 
 floor, and before any open hostilities were commit- 
 ted, drew the attention of the belligerents, by a 
 vivid description of Fiddler's Green. This, he as- 
 sured us, was a residence prepared in the other 
 world for maids and bachelors, where they were 
 condemned as a punishment for their lack of good 
 fellowship in this world, to dance together to all 
 eternity. Here was a new field for speculation. A 
 variety of opinions were hazarded ; but as the 
 ladies all talked together, 1 was unable to collect 
 the half of them. Some appeared to regard such a 
 place as a paradise, while others seemed to consider 
 it as a pandemonium. The ladies desired to know 
 whether they would be provided with good music 
 and good partners ; and I could overhear some of 
 the gentlemen calculating the chances of a snug 
 loo-party, in a back room. On these points our 
 
214 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 informant was unable to throw any light. The 
 general impression seemed to be that the managers 
 of this everlasting ball would couple off the compa- 
 ny by lot, and that no appeal could be had from 
 their decision. Miss Scruple declared that she 
 had a mortal aversion to dancing, though she would 
 not object to leading off a set occasionally with 
 particular persons , and that she would rather be 
 married half a dozen times, than be forced to jig 
 it with any body and every body. Mr. Skinflint 
 thought so long a siege, of capering would be rather 
 expensive on pumps, and wished to know who was 
 to suffer. Mr. Squaretoes had no notion of using 
 pumps, he thought moccasins would do ; he was 
 for cheap fixings and strong. Miss Fanny Flirt was 
 delighted with the whole plan, provided they could 
 change partners ; for she could imagine no punish- 
 ment more cruel than to be confined for ever to a 
 single beau. Mr. Goosy thought it would be expe- 
 dient for to secure partners in time, and begged 
 Miss Demure to favour him with her hand for an 
 etarnal reel. Little Sophy Sparkle, the cherry- 
 lipped belle, who had nearly been the instrument of 
 kindling a war as implacable as that of the Greeks 
 and Trojans, seemed to be afraid of again giving 
 offence ; but, on being asked her opinion, declared 
 that it was the most charming scheme she ever 
 heard, and that she would dance as long as she 
 could stand, with any body or nobody, rather than 
 not dance at all. 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 215 
 
 During all this time I was lolling over the back 
 of a chair, a lazy habit which with many others I 
 have caught since my third sweetheart turned me 
 off and was rolling and twisting the pretty Sophy's 
 handkerchief for 1 can't be idle into every pos- 
 sible form and shape. I was startled into consci- 
 ousness by the dulcet voice of my fair companion, 
 as she exclaimed, " La! Mr. Drywit, how melancho- 
 ly you are ! how can you look so cross when every 
 body else is laughing? pray what do you think of 
 the grand ball at Fiddler's Green ?" " 1 never 
 trouble myself, madam, to think about things which 
 do not concern me." " Oh dear ! then you have no 
 idea of going there ?" " Not I indeed, I go to no 
 such places." "And not expecting to inhabit the 
 paradise of bachelors, it is a matter of indifference 
 to you how your friends enjoy themselves?" " No, 
 indeed : 1 sincerely hope that you may caper into 
 each other's good graces, and romp yourselves into 
 the best humour imaginable with the pains and 
 pleasures of l single blessedness ;' as for my single 
 self I intend, unless some lady shall think proper to 
 stand in her own light, to alter my condition." 
 Having uttered this heroic resolution, 1 made my 
 bow and retired. But the conversation of the eve- 
 ning still haunted my imagination, and as I sunk to 
 sleep, General Washington's white horse, Sophy 
 Sparkle, and Fiddler's Green, alternately occupied 
 my brain, until the confused images settling into a 
 regular train of thought, produced the following 
 vision. 
 
216 
 
 1 thought that the hour of my dissolution had 
 arrived, and I was about to take my departure to 
 the world of spirits. The solemnity of the event 
 which was taking place did not affect me however, 
 as it would have done, had the same circumstance 
 occurred in reality ; for my mind was entirely filled 
 with the conversation of the previous evening, and 
 I thought, felt, and died like a true bachelor. As I 
 left the clay tenement which I had inhabited so 
 long, I could not avoid hovering over it for a mo- 
 ment, to take a parting view of the temple which 
 had confined my restless spirit, and for which, I 
 must confess, I had a high respect. I could now 
 perceive that time had made ravages in the features 
 which had lately been mine, that 1 had not been 
 aware of while living, and that the frame which had 
 carried me through a stormy world, was somewhat 
 the worse for the wear, and I really felt a joy in 
 escaping from it, similar to the emotions with which 
 the mariner quits the shattered bark that has braved 
 the billows through a long voyage. Still, however, 
 I felt something like regret in quitting my ancient 
 habitation, and was beginning to recall to memory 
 the conquests I had made in it, and the sieges it had 
 withstood, when I was obliged to take my depar- 
 ture. I had always thought that spirits flew out of 
 a window, or up the chimney, but I now found that 
 whatever might have been the practice of others, 
 mine was a ghost of too much politeness to with- 
 draw in this manner from a house in which I had 
 
217 
 
 been only a boarder ; and accordingly 1 walked de- 
 liberately down stairs, and passed through the par- 
 lour, where several of my female acquaintances 
 were talking of me. The curiosity which we have 
 all inherited from our first mother, would have in- 
 duced me to stop, had I not recollected that it 
 would be very ill bred in me to listen to the dis- 
 course of those who were not aware of my pre- 
 sence, and that, according to the old saw, " listeners 
 never hear any good of themselves." I therefore 
 passed on, but could not avoid observing that the 
 current of opinion was rather in my favour, and that 
 those who allowed me no good quality while living, 
 now confessed that at least I had no harm in me. 
 As soon as 1 reached the open air, my spirit began 
 to ascend for some distance, and then floated rapidly 
 towards the north. It was a brilliant evening, and 
 as the stars shone with uncommon lustre, I could 
 not help fancying them the eyes of millions of beau- 
 ties, who, having made it their business to teaze the 
 beaux in this world, were doomed to light them to 
 the next. 
 
 I do not know how long I had been journeying, 
 when 1 discovered the sea beneath me, filled with 
 mountains of ice, and I perceived that 1 was rapidly 
 aproaching the north pole. I now congratulated 
 myself upon being able to determine, by actual ob- 
 servation, whether the poles are flattened as some 
 philosophers imagine, together with other questions 
 of like importance to the happiness of mankind. 
 19 
 
218 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 But how great was my surprise when on arriving 
 at the place, 1 found that all the philosophers in 
 the world were mistaken, except Captain Symmes, 
 and discovered only a yawning cavern, into which 
 I was suddenly precipitated ! 
 
 I now travelled for some distance in utter dark- 
 ness, and began to be very fearful of losing my way, 
 when 1 suddenly emerged into a new world, full of 
 beauty, melody, and brightness. I stood on the 
 brink of a small rivulet, and beheld before me an 
 extensive lawn, of the richest green, spangled with 
 millions of beautiful flowers. Clusters of trees and 
 vines were scattered in every direction, loaded with 
 delicious fruit. Birds of the loveliest plumage 
 floated in the air, and rilled the groves with melody. 
 The garden of Eden, or the paradise of Mahomet, 
 could not be arrayed by a poetic fancy with half 
 the charms of this elysium. 
 
 While I stood enchanted with delight, a strain of 
 music stole along the air, resembling that which 
 proceeds from a number of violins, tambourines, 
 and triangles, and I was not a little surprised to re- 
 cognise the well known air of " O dear what can 
 the matter be !" At the same moment I perceived 
 a female figure advancing with a rapid motion, re- 
 sembling a hop, step and jump. 1 now cast a glance 
 over my own person, as a genteel spirit would natu- 
 rally do at the approach of a female, and discovered 
 for the first time, that although I had left my sub- 
 stance in the other world, 1 was possessed of an 
 
219 
 
 airy form precisely similar to the one I had left 
 behind me, and was clad in the ghost of a suit of 
 clothes made after the newest fashion, which I had 
 purchased a few days before my death. I mechani- 
 cally raised my hand to adjust my cravat, but felt 
 nothing, and sighed to think that 1 was but the sha- 
 dow of a gentleman. As the figure came near, she 
 slackened her pace, and struck into a graceful 
 chasse forward, at the same time motioning me 
 to cross the rivulet, which I no sooner did than I 
 involuntarily fell to dancing with incredible agility. 
 The fair stranger was by this time close to me, and 
 we were setting to each other, as partners would do 
 in a cotillion, when she presented her right hand, 
 and turned me, as she welcomed me to Fiddler's 
 Green. 1 was now more astonished than ever, for 
 although when T took the lady's hand, I grasped no- 
 thing but air " thin air," yet she spoke and acted 
 with precisely the grace, manner, and tone of a 
 modern fair belle. She was exceedingly happy to 
 see me at the Green hoped 1 had left my friends 
 well and desired to know how I had been for the 
 last twenty years since she had seen me. 1 
 assured the lady that she had the advantage of me 
 that 1 was really so unfortunate as not to recollect 
 my having had the honour of her acquaintance, and 
 that 1 was totally ignorant of any thing that had oc- 
 curred twenty years ago, as that was before my time. 
 She told me that it was useless to attempt to con- 
 ceal my age, which was well known at the Green, 
 
220 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 and equally unpolite to deny my old acquaintance. 
 Upon her mentioning her name, 1 recognised her 
 as a famous belle, who had died of a consumption 
 at the introduction of the fashion of short sleeves and 
 bare elbows. Having thus passed the compliments 
 of the morning, my fair companion desired to con- 
 duct me to the principal manager of the Green, by 
 whom my right of admittance must be decided, and 
 offering both of her hands, whirled away in a waltz. 
 We soon came to a part of the lawn which was 
 crowded with company, all of whom were dancing, 
 and I was about to advise my conductress to take a 
 circuitous course, to avoid the throng, when she di- 
 rected me to cast off, and right and left through it, 
 a manoeuvre which we performed with admirable 
 success. On our arrival at the bower of the princi- 
 pal manager, the sentinels danced three times for- 
 ward and back, then crossed over, and admitted us 
 into the enclosure. My conductress now presented 
 me to an officer of the court, who, after cutting 
 a pigeon wing higher than my head, led me to his 
 superior. The manager was a tall, graceful person, 
 dressed in a full suit of black, with silk stockings, 
 shoes and buckles ; an elegant dress sword glittered 
 by his side, but he wore his own hair, and carried a 
 chapeau de bras gracefully under his arm. He is 
 the only person i these regions who is permitted to 
 exercise his own taste in the ornaments of his person. 
 He was beating time with one foot, not being obli- 
 ged, like the others, to dance ; I was informed, how- 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 221 
 
 ever, that he sometimes amused himself with a 
 minuet, that step being appropriated solely to the 
 managers, as the pigeon zuing is to the officers of 
 inferior dignity. On such occasions, an appropriate 
 air is played, and the whole company are obliged to 
 dance minuets, to the great perplexity of those 
 ladies and gentlemen who have not studied the 
 graces in the upper world. He received me with a 
 polite bow, and desired me to amuse myself on the 
 Green for a few moments, as he was not then at 
 leisure to attend to me; by which I perceived that 
 dancing gentlemen are every where equally fond of 
 putting off business. 
 
 On my return to the plain, I was attracted by 
 the delicious appearance of the fine clusters of fruit 
 that hung from the trees, and reached my hand to 
 pluck a peach but I grasped nothing ! My fair 
 companion was again at my side, and condescended 
 to explain the mystery. " Every thing you see 
 here," said she, " surprises you. You have yet to 
 learn that marriage is man's chief good, and they 
 who neglect it are sent here to be punished. In the 
 other world we had the substantial and virtuous en- 
 joyments of life before us, but we disregarded them, 
 and pursued phantoms of our own creation. One 
 sought wealth, and another honour ; but the greater 
 number luxuriated in idle visions of fancy. We 
 were never happy but in imagining scenes of de- 
 light too perfect for mortals to enjoy. The heart 
 and mind were left unoccupied, while we were 
 19* 
 
222 
 
 taken up with frivolities which pleased the eye and 
 ear. In the affairs of love, we were particularly 
 remiss. Its fruits and flowers hung within our 
 reach, but we refused to pluck them. Ladies have 
 danced off their most tender lovers, and many a 
 gentleman has gambled away his mistress. The 
 flurry of dissipation and the soft emotions of affec- 
 tion will not inhabit the same breast. We were to 
 choose between them, and we chose amiss and 
 now behold the consequence ! We are here surround- 
 ed by fruits and flowers that we cannot touch we 
 have listened to the same melody until it has be- 
 come tedious we are confined to partners not of 
 our o\vn choice and the amusement which was 
 once our greatest delight is now a toil. When alive, 
 our fancies were busy in creating Elysian fields 
 here we have an Elysium, and we lead that life 
 which maids and bachelors delight in a life of fid- 
 dling, dancing, coquetry, and squabbling. We now 
 learn that they only are happy who are usefully 
 and virtuously employed." This account of the 
 place which 1 was probably destined to inhabit, 
 was rather discouraging; but my attention was 
 soon drawn by fresh novelties. I was particularly 
 amused with the grotesque appearance of the vari- 
 ous groups around me. As the persons who com- 
 posed them were from every age and nation, their 
 costumes exhibited every variety of fashion. The 
 Grecian robe, and the Roman toga, the monkish 
 cowl, and the monastic veil, and the blanket and 
 
223 
 
 feathers of the Indian, were mingled in ludicrous 
 contrast. Nor was the allotment of partners less 
 diverting. A gentleman in an embroidered suit led 
 off a beggar girl, while a broad-shoulderd mynheer 
 flirted with an Italian countess. But 1 was most 
 amused at seeing Queen Elizabeth dancing a jig 
 with a jolly cobbler, a person of great bonhommie^ 
 but who failed not to apply the strap when his state- 
 ly partner moved with less agility than comported 
 with his notions. When she complained of his 
 cruelty, he reminded the hard-hearted Queen of her 
 cousin Mary, and Lord Essex. Several of her 
 maids of honour were dancing near her with catho- 
 lic priests, and 1 could perceive that the latter took 
 great delight in jostling the royal lady, whenever an 
 opportunity offered. My attention was withdrawn 
 from the dancers by the approach of a newly de- 
 ceased bachelor, whose appearance excited univer- 
 sal attention. He was a tall, gaunt, hard featured 
 personage, whose beard had evidently not known 
 the discipline of a razor for a month before his de- 
 cease. His feet were cased in moccasins, and his 
 limbs in rude vestments of buckskin ; a powder- 
 horn and pouch were suspended from his shoulders, 
 and a huge knife rested in his girdle. 1 knew him 
 at once to be a hunter who had been chasing deer in 
 the woods, when he ought to have been pursuing 
 dears of another description. I determined to have 
 a little chat with him ; and approaching, asked him 
 how he liked Fiddler's Green. "I don't know, 
 
224 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 stranger," said he, scratching his head. " I 'm ra- 
 ther jubus that 1 have got into a sort of a priminary 
 here." I expressed my surprise at his not admiring 
 a place where they were so many fine ladies. 
 " Why as to the matter of that," said he, " there's a 
 wonderful smart chance of women here that are a 
 fact and female society are elegant for them that 
 likes it but, for my part, I'd a heap rather camp 
 out by the side of a cane-brake, where there was a 
 good chance of bears and turkeys." " But you for- 
 get," said I, " that you have left your flesh and blood 
 behind you." "That are a fact," said he, " I feel 
 powerful weak but I dont like the Jixens here, 
 no how I'm a Abominable bad hand among women 
 so I'd thank 'em not to be cutting their shines 
 about me." " But, my friend, you will have to turn 
 in directly, and dance with some of them. <c I rec- 
 kon not," said he, " if I do, I'll agree to give up 
 my judgment, but if any of 'em have a mind to 
 run or jump for a half pint, I'd as leave go it as not." 
 This gentleman was followed by another, who came 
 in a still more "questionable shape." The polite 
 ghosts could not suppress a smile, at the sight of 
 this moiety of a man, while the ill-bred burst into 
 peals of obstreperous laughter. I easily recognised 
 him to be a Dandy ; and as he, with several other 
 newly arrived spirits, were hastening to the mana- 
 ger's court, 1 repaired thither also, in hopes of ob- 
 taining an audience. 
 
 As we passed along, my conductress pointed out 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 225 
 
 to me a most commodious arm charm, in the shade 
 of a delightful bower, near which was suspended a 
 richly ornamented tobacco pipe while a huge tab- 
 by-eat sat purring on the cushion. It had an inviting 
 air of comfortable indolence. On my enquiring 
 whose limbs were destined to repose in this conve- 
 nient receptacle, my companion replied : " It is 
 called the Chair of Celibacy, the happy maid or 
 bachelor, whose singleness shall not be imputed to 
 any blameable cause; who spends a good humoured 
 life, and dies at a respectable age, in charity with 
 all the world, shall be seated in that commodious 
 chair, enjoy the company of this social quadruped, 
 and, while pleasantly puffing away the placid hours, 
 may indulge in any remarks whatever upon the sur- 
 rounding company, and thus enjoy all the luxuries 
 of unmarried life. Its cushion, however, has not 
 as yet found an occupant." " But this," said I, 
 " can be the reward of only one meritorious indivi- 
 dual what is to become of the remainder of those 
 who shall not be sentenced to dance ?" " I cannot 
 answer your question," said she, "for as yet no one 
 has appeared who could claim an exemption from 
 the common fate. I suppose, however, that if this 
 chair should ever be filled, others will be provided, 
 should any future members of the fraternity estab- 
 lish their claims to the same felicity." 
 
 We soon arrived at the dread tribunal, which was 
 to decide our future destiny ; but before the anti- 
 cipated investigation commenced, the court was 
 
226 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 thrown into confusion by an altercation between 
 the Dandy and my friend from the back woods. 
 The former, it seems, had indulged himself in some 
 imprudent jests upon the dress of the latter, which 
 so irritated the gentleman in buckskin, that he 
 threatened to flirt him sky-high." TheDandyupon 
 this swelled very large, and assuming an air of vast 
 importance, declared, that "ifagenJ/e/wmhad used 
 such language to him, he would know what to do." 
 " I tell you what, stranger," said the woodsman, 
 " you mus'nt imitate any thing of that sort to me, I 
 don't want to strike such a mean white man as you, 
 but if you come over them words agin, drot my skin 
 if I don't try you a cool dig or two, any how. An 
 officer here interposed, and with some difficulty re- 
 stored peace, as the bachelor in buckskin continued 
 to assert, that the other had hopped on him without 
 provocation, and that he wouldn't knock under to 
 no man. He was at length in some degree pacified, 
 and strolled off muttering that he wasn't going for 
 to trouble nobody but that they musn't go fooling 
 about him. I joined the rough son of the forest as 
 he retired, and endeavoured to appease him by ex- 
 pressing a hope that upon a more intimate acquaint- 
 ance with this place and its inhabitants, he would 
 find them more agreeable, than he seemed to anti- 
 cipate from his late experience. " Well, stranger," 
 said he, " I want to be agreeable with every one 
 but to speak my mind sentimentally, on the occasion 
 of this ruckery that's been kicked up, I do verbatimly 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 227 
 
 think that there little man is not in his right head, 
 and for that reason, 1 dont Dally what he says, no 
 how and most of the folks here seems to be sort o' 
 crazy but I dont like to be bantered, no how and 
 if there's any man, that's rightly at himself, that has 
 any thing agin me, let him step out, and I'll give 
 him a fair fight I'm always ready to offishuate in 
 that point of mew /" I replied, that I hoped there 
 would be no occasion for a further display of his 
 prowess, and repeated my conviction, that all would 
 go well with him. " Well, well," said he, "we'll 
 see but somehow I dont like the signs I dont feel 
 like 1 was at home here I feel sort o' queer, like I 
 was out of my range, but when I get right well 
 haunted to the place, maybe I'll like it better." 
 
 The manager had now ascended the justice-seat, 
 and was prepared to examine the newly arrived 
 spirits. The first who presented herself, was an 
 unseemly maiden of forty, who stated her case with 
 great fluency. She assured the court, that it was 
 not her own fault that she was here, as she had al- 
 ways conducted herself with great decorum, and . 
 had never evinced any dislike to matrimony. In- 
 deed she had once been duly engaged to marry 
 but her lover coming in unexpectedly upon her one 
 day, when she was only just spanking her youngest 
 sister a little, for breaking a bottle of perfume " and 
 do you think," continued she, " the ungrateful wretch 
 didn't march off, swearing he had caught a tartar 
 and from that blessed day to this, I never set eyes 
 
228 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 on him, so" "You may stand aside," said the 
 manager, " until we can find a suitable partner for 
 you." 
 
 The next lady was rather younger, and more 
 comely. She declared, modestly enough, that she 
 had never been particularly anxious to marry, al- 
 though she had never evinced any particular reluct- 
 ance. She had remained unnoticed and unwooed 
 until the age of twenty-four, " wasting her fragrance 
 on the desert air," when she captivated the affec- 
 tions of a very amiable young man. His affairs 
 calling him abroad, they separated under a solemn 
 pledge that their union should be solemnised on 
 his return. His absence was protracted to above 
 a year, and in the mean while another lover ap- 
 peared. She remained constant until the approach 
 of her twenty-fifth birth-day, on the night of which 
 it was customary, as she understood, for the old 
 boy, to make his appearance to unmarried ladies. 
 The dreaded night arrived, and the maid was un- 
 wed "and 1 was lying in bed wide awake," con- 
 tinued she, " and the room was as dark as pitch, 
 when the old boy appeared, sure enough, and walk- 
 ing on tip-toe to my bed-side (I could hear him, but 
 could not see him) he whispered in my ear 
 
 " Take the man, 
 While you can, 
 Silly old maid !" 
 
 After this awful warning my mind was so troubled, 
 that I determined to find relief by obeying the noc- 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 229 
 
 turnal mandate, and accordingly I agreed to marry 
 rny new lover. But on the very day fixed for the 
 ceremony, my first beau returned, and heard the 
 news ; the gentlemen quarrelled, and then made 
 up, and I lost them both, which 1 am sure was 
 not my fault, for with the greatest sincerity I could 
 have sung c How happy could I be with either :' 
 but you know, sir, 1 could not oblige them both." 
 
 The dandy now made his appearance, and was 
 about to commence his story with a bow as low as 
 his corsets would permit, when the manager sup- 
 pressing a smile, said, " Be pleased, sir, to pair off 
 with the obliging lady who stands at the bar, your 
 appearance precludes the necessity of a hearing." 
 
 A languishing beauty now approached, and gently 
 raising her downcast eyes, ogled the judge with a 
 most bewitchingly pensive smile, which seemed to 
 say, " Oh ! take me to your arms, my love." ' My 
 history," said she, " is short and melancholy. My 
 heart, was formed for the soft impulses of affection, 
 and was rendered still more sensitive by a diligent 
 perusal of the most exquisite fictions in our lan- 
 guage ; 1 devoured those'productions, which describe 
 amiable and unfortunate susceptibilities of my sex, 
 and endeavoured to regulate my conduct by the 
 most approved rules of romance. I doted on man- 
 ly beauty ; and knowing that gentlemen admire the 
 softer virtues, 1 endeavoured, while in their pre- 
 sence, to be all that was soft and sweet. I selected 
 several handsome men, on whom 1 conferred my par- 
 20 
 
230 THE BACHELORS 1 ELYSIUM. 
 
 ticular regard and friendship, in the hope that out 
 of many I could fix one. To each of these 1 gave 
 my entire confidence, consulted as to my studies, 
 and entrusted him with the feelings and the sorrows 
 of a too susceptible heart leaving each to believe 
 that he was the only individual who enjoyed this 
 distinguished honour. To all other gentlemen, and 
 to my own sex, I evinced a polite indifference. My 
 friends treated me with great kindness, but, alas ! 
 what is mere kindness ! Some of them pressed my 
 hand, and said a great many soft things without com- 
 ing to the point, and some would even snatch a kiss, 
 for which, not being followed by a declaration of 
 love, I thought 1 ought to have dismissed them, but I 
 had not sufficient resolution. And thus, with a heart 
 feelingly alive to the delights of connubial affection, 
 and after a miserable life, devoted to its pursuits, I 
 died without enjoying its blisses." 
 
 " A little less solicitude to attain the object, might 
 perhaps have been attended with more success," 
 said the manager. "We will endeavour to provide 
 you with a friend of whose constancy you shall have 
 no reason to complain. For the present be pleased 
 to stand aside." 
 
 This lady was succeeded by my acquaintance 
 in buckskin, who declared that he never had any use 
 for a wife, no how but that once in his life he feltsorf 
 o' lonesome, and it seemed like he ought to get married. 
 " 1 don't think," said he, " that it would make me 
 any happier, but though somehow, I'd feel better 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 231 
 
 contented, so I went to see a young woman in the 
 neighbourhood she was a right likely gal too, and 
 her father was well off but somehow I didn't like 
 the signs, and so I quit the track and that's all the 
 courten that ever I did, to my knowledge." 
 
 "There is a lady in waiting," said the manager, 
 " who has been as unsuccessful as yourself per- 
 haps you may like the signs better in that quarter." 
 " 1 reckon its as good luck as any," rejoined the 
 gentleman, " I wouldn't give a ''coon-skin* to boot 
 between her and any of the rest ;" and seizing the 
 hands of the pensive beauty, he whirled her off 
 with a swing, which kept her dancing in the air 
 until they were out of sight. 
 
 Many other persons of both sexes were examined; 
 but their loves were common place, and their pleas 
 frivolous or unfounded. Pride and avarice ap- 
 peared to be the greatest foes to matrimony. It 
 would be tedious to detail the numberless instances, 
 in which young persons, otherwise estimable, had, 
 in obedience to these unruly passions, done vio- 
 lence to the best affections of their hearts. The fear 
 of marrying beneath themselves, on the one hand, 
 and the ambition to acquire wealth on the other, 
 constituted prolific sources of celibacy. 
 
 Parental authority was frequently alleged by the 
 ladies to have been exerted in opposition to their 
 matrimonial views but it appeared to have been 
 
 * Raccoon. 
 
232 THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 
 
 used successfully only where the lover was poor, 
 and where the lady's passion was not sufficiently 
 strong to contend against the parent's prudence. 
 
 Many suitable matches had been broken off by 
 maneuvering. This seemed to be equally effectual, 
 whether used in friendship or in hostility. We 
 heard of many old ladies, who having sons or daugh- 
 ters, or nephews, or nieces, to provide for, resolute- 
 ly set their faces against all matrimonial alliances 
 whatever, by which a fortune or a beauty could be 
 taken out of the market ; and many others who, 
 without such interest, opposed all matches which 
 were not made by themselves. 
 
 I observed, moreover, that every gentleman 
 averred that he could have married, if he had been 
 so disposed ; and that not a single lady alleged that 
 she had been prevented by the want of offers. 
 
 The last lady who was put to the ordeal, was the 
 daughter of a rich confectioner, who fancied her- 
 self a fine lady, because she had fed upon jellies and 
 conserves. It seemed as if all the sweetmeats and 
 sugarplums, which she had swallowed, in the course 
 of her life, had turned to vinegar, and converted 
 her into a mass of acidity. She forgot that sweet 
 things such as girls and plum cakes grow stale 
 by keeping ; and turned up her nose at lovers of 
 all sorts and sizes, until she became unsaleable. 
 On hearing her doom, she cast a glance of indigna- 
 tion at the judge, and throwing her eyes superci- 
 
THE BACHELORS' ELYSIUM. 233 
 
 liously over the assembly, fixed them on me, and 
 darting towards me, with the rapidity of a tigress, 
 seemed determined to make me her partner or her 
 prey. Alarmed at the prospect of a fate, which 
 appeared more terrible than any thing I had ever 
 fancied, I sprang aside, and rushing towards the 
 judge, was about to claim his protection, when I 
 awoke. 
 
 20* 
 
234 
 
 PETE FEATHERTON 
 
 Every country has its superstitions, and will 
 continue to have them, so long as men are blessed 
 with lively imaginations, and while any portion of 
 mankind remain ignorant of the causes of natural 
 phenomena. That which cannot be reconciled 
 with experience, will always be attributed to su- 
 pernatural influence ; and those who know little, 
 will imagine much more to exist than has ever 
 been witnessed by their own senses. I am not dis- 
 pleased with this state of things, for the journey of 
 life would be dull indeed, if those who travel it 
 were confined for ever to the beaten highway, 
 worn smooth by the sober feet of experience. To 
 turnpikes, for our beasts of burden, I have no ob- 
 jection ; but 1 cannot consent to the erection of 
 railways for the mind, even though the architect 
 be " wisdom, whose ways are pleasant, and whose 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 235 
 
 paths are peace." It is sometimes agreeable to 
 stray off into the wilderness which fancy creates, 
 to recline in fairy bowers, and to listen to the mur- 
 murs of imaginary fountains. When the beaten 
 road becomes tiresome, there are many sunny 
 spots where the pilgrim may loiter with advantage 
 many shady paths, whose labyrinths may be 
 traced with delight. The mountain, and the vale, 
 on whose scenery we gaze enchanted, derive new 
 charms, when their deep caverns and gloomy re- 
 cesses are peopled with imaginary beings. 
 
 But above all, the enlivening influence of fancy 
 is felt, when it illumines our firesides, giving to the 
 wings of time, when they grow heavy, a brighter 
 plumage, and a more sprightly motion. There are 
 seasons, when the spark of life within us seems to 
 burn with less than its wonted vigour; the blood 
 crawls heavily through the veins ; the contagious 
 dullness seizes on our companions, and the sluggish 
 hours roll painfully along. Something more than a 
 common impulse is then required to awaken the 
 indolent mind, and give a new tone to the flagging 
 spirits. If necromancy draws her magic circle, we 
 cheerfully enter the ring ; if folly shakes her cap 
 and bells, we are amused ; a witch becomes an in- 
 teresting personage, and we are even agreeably 
 surprised by the companionable qualities of a 
 ghost. 
 
 We, who live on the frontier, have little ac- 
 quaintance with imaginary beings. These gentry 
 
236 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 never emigrate ; they seem to have strong local at- 
 tachments, which not even the charms of a new 
 country can overcome. A few witches, indeed, 
 were imported into New England by the fathers ; 
 but were so badly used, that the whole race seems 
 to have been disgusted with new settlements. 
 With them, the spirit of adventure expired, and the 
 weird women of the present day wisely cling to 
 the soil of the old countries. That we have but 
 few ghosts will not be deemed a matter of surprise 
 by those who have observed how miserably desti- 
 tute we are of accommodations for such inhabit- 
 ants. We have no baronial castles, nor ruined 
 mansions ; no turrets crowned with ivy, nor an- 
 cient abbeys crumbling into decay; and it would be 
 a paltry spirit, who would be content to wander in 
 the forest, by silent rivers and solitary swamps. 
 
 It is even imputed to us as a reproach by en- 
 lightened foreigners, that our land is altogether po- 
 pulated with the living descendants of Adam 
 creatures with thews and sinews, who eat when 
 they are hungry, laugh when they are tickled, and 
 die when they are done living. The creatures of 
 romance, say they, exist not in our territory. A 
 witch, a ghost, or a brownie, perishes in America, 
 as a serpent is said to die the instant it touches the 
 uncongenial soil of Ireland. This is true, only in 
 part. If we have no ghosts, we are not without 
 miracles. Wonders have happened in these 
 United States. Mysteries have occurred in the 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 237 
 
 valley of the Mississippi. Supernatural events 
 have transpired on the borders of " the beautiful 
 stream ;" and in order to rescue my country from 
 undeserved reproach, 1 shall proceed to narrate an 
 authentic history, which I received from the lips of 
 the party principally concerned. 
 
 A clear morning had succeeded a stormy night 
 in December ; the snow laid ankle-deep upon the 
 ground, and glittered on the boughs, while the 
 bracing air, and the cheerful sunbeams, invigorated 
 the animal creation, and called forth the tenants of 
 the forest from their warm lairs and hidden lurking 
 places. 
 
 The inmates of a small cabin on the margin of 
 the Ohio, were commencing with the sun the busi- 
 ness of the day. A stout, raw-boned forester plied 
 his keen axe, and, lugging log after log, erected a 
 pile in the ample hearth, sufficiently large to have 
 rendered the last honours to the statelies^ox. A 
 female was paying her morning visit to the cow- 
 yard, where a numerous herd of cattle claimed her 
 attention. The plentiful breakfast followed ; corn- 
 bread, milk, and venison, crowned the oaken 
 board, while a tin coffee-pot of ample dimensions 
 supplied the beverage which is seldom wanting at 
 the morning repast of the substantial American 
 peasant. 
 
 The breakfast over, Mr. Featherton reached down 
 a long rifle from the rafters, and commenced certain 
 preparations, fraught with danger to the brute in- 
 
238 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 habitants of the forest. The lock was carefully 
 examined, the screws tightened, the pan wiped, the 
 flint renewed, and the springs oiled ; and the keen 
 eye of the backwoodsman glittered with an omi- 
 nous lustre, as its glance rested on the destructive 
 engine. His blue-eyed partner, leaning fondly on 
 her husband's shoulder, essayed those coaxing and 
 captivating blandishments, which every young wife 
 so well understands, to detain her husband from 
 the contemplated sport. Every pretext which her 
 ingenuity supplied, was urged with affectionate 
 pertinacity ; the wind whistled bleakly over the 
 hills, the snow lay deep in the valleys, the deer 
 would surely not venture abroad in such bitter 
 cold weather, his toes might be frost-bitten, and 
 her own hours would be sadly lonesome in his ab- 
 sence. The young hunter smiled in silence at the 
 arguments of his bride, for such she was, and con- 
 tinued kjs preparations. 
 
 He was indeed a person with whom such argu- 
 ments, except the last, would not be very likely to 
 prevail. Pete Featherton, as he was familiarly 
 called by his acquaintances, was a bold rattling 
 Kentuckian, of twenty-five, who possessed the cha- 
 racteristic peculiarities of his countrymen good 
 and evil in a striking degree. His red hair and 
 sanguine complexion announced an ardent tempe- 
 rament ; his tall form, and bony limbs, indicated an 
 active frame inured to hardships ; his piercing eye 
 and tall cheek-bones, evinced the keenness and re- 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 239 
 
 solution of his mind. He was adventurous, frank, 
 and social boastful, credulous, illiterate, and at 
 times, wonderfully addicted to the marvellous. 
 He loved his wife, was true to his friends, never 
 allowed a bottle to pass untasted, nor turned his 
 back upon a frolic. 
 
 He believed that the best qualities of all coun- 
 tries were centered in Kentucky; but had a whim- 
 sical manner of expressing his national attachment. 
 He was firmly convinced that the battle of the 
 Thames was the most sanguinary conflict of the 
 
 age, and extolled Colonel J n as "a severe 
 
 colt." He would admit that Napoleon was a 
 great genius ; but insisted that he was " no part of 
 a priming" to Henry Clay. When entirely " at 
 himself," to use his own language, that is to 
 say, when duly sober, Pete was friendly and ra- 
 tional, and a better tempered soul never shoulder- 
 ed a rifle. But let him get a dram too much, and 
 there was no end to his extravagance. It was then 
 that he would slap his hands together, spring per- 
 pendicularly into the air with the activity of a 
 rope dancer, and after uttering a yell, which the 
 most accomplished Winnebago might be proud to 
 own, swear that he was the " best man in the coun- 
 try, and could whip his weight in wild cats!" 
 and after many other extravagances, conclude that 
 he could " ride through a crab-apple orchard 
 on a streak of lightning." 
 
 In addition to this, which one would think was 
 
240 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 enough for any reasonable man, Pete would brag, 
 that he had the best rifle, the prettiest wife'', and 
 the fastest nag in all Kentuck ; and that no man 
 dare say to the contrary. It is but justice to re- 
 mark, that there was more truth in this last boast 
 than is usually found on such occasions, and that 
 Pete had no small reason to be proud of his horse, 
 his gun, and his rosy-cheeked companion. 
 
 These, however, were the happy moments 
 which are few and far between; for every poet will 
 bear us witness from his own experience, that the 
 human intellect is seldom indulged with those bril- 
 liant inspirations, which gleam over the turbid 
 stream of existence, as the meteor flashes through 
 the gloom of the night. When the fit was off, 
 Pete was as listless a soul as one would see of a 
 summer's day strolling about with a grave aspect, 
 a drawling speech, and a deliberate gait, a stoop of 
 the shoulders, and a kind of general relaxation of 
 the whole inward and outward man in a state of 
 entire freedom from restraint, reflection, and want, 
 and without any impulse strong enough to call 
 forth his manhood as the panther, with whom he 
 so often compared himself, when his appetite for 
 food is sated, sleeps calmly in his lair, or wanders 
 harmlessly through his native thickets. 
 
 It will be readily perceived, that our hunter was 
 not one who could be turned from his purpose by 
 the prospect of danger or fatigue ; and a few mi- 
 nutes sufficed to complete his preparations. His 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 341 
 
 feet were cased in moccasins and wrappers of buck- 
 skin : and he was soon accoutred with his quaintly 
 carved powder horn, pouch, flints, patches, balls 
 and long knife ; and throwing " Brown Bess," 
 for so he called his rifle over his shoulder, he 
 sallied forth. 
 
 But in passing a store hard by, which supplied 
 the country with gunpowder, whiskey and other 
 necessaries, he was hailed by some of his neigh- 
 bours, one of whom challenged him to swap rifles. 
 Pete was one of those, who would not receive a 
 challenge without throwing it back. Without the 
 least intention, therefore, of parting with his fa- 
 vourite rifle, he continued to banter back mak- 
 ing offers like a skilful diplomatist, which he knew 
 would not be accepted, and feigning great eagerness 
 to accede to any reasonable proposition, while in- 
 wardly resolved to reject all, he magnified the 
 perfections of Brown Bess. 
 
 " She can do any thing but talk," said he" If 
 she had legs, she could hunt by herself. It is a 
 pleasure to tote her and I na-ter-ally believe, there 
 is not a rifle south of Green river, that can throw a 
 a ball so far, or so true." 
 
 These discussions consumed much time, and 
 much whiskey for the rule on such occasions is, 
 that he who rejects an offer to trade, must treat the 
 company, and thus every point in the negotiation 
 costs a pint of spirits. 
 
 At length, bidding adieu to his companions, Pete 
 21 
 
242 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 struck into the forest. Lightly crushing the snow 
 beneath his active feet, he beat up the coverts, and 
 traversed all the accustomed haunts of the deer. 
 He mounted every hill and descended into every 
 valley not a thicket escaping the penetrating 
 glance of his practised eye. Fruitless labour ! Not 
 a deer was to be seen. Pete marvelled at this un- 
 usual circumstance, and was the more surprised 
 when he began to find, that the woods were less 
 familiar to him than formerly. He thought he knew 
 every tree within ten miles of his cabin ; but, now, 
 although he certainly had not wandered so far, 
 some of the objects around him seemed strange, 
 while others again were easily recognised ; and 
 there was, altogether, a singular confusion of cha- 
 racter in the scenery, which was partly familiar, and 
 partly new ; or rather, in which the component 
 parts were separately well known, but were so 
 mixed up, and changed in relation to each other, as 
 to baffle even the knowledge of an expert woods- 
 man. The more he looked, the more he was 
 bewildered. He came to a stream which had hereto- 
 fore rolled to the west; but now its course pointed 
 to the east; and the shadows of the tall trees, 
 which, according to Pete's philosophy, ought, at 
 noon, to fall to the north, all pointed to the south. 
 He cast his eye upon his own shadow, which had 
 never deceived him when, lo ! a still more extra- 
 ordinary phenomenon presented itself. It was 
 travelling round him like the shade on a dial, only 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 243 
 
 a thousand times faster, as it veered round the 
 whole compass in the course of a single minute. 
 
 It was very evident, too, from the dryness of the 
 snow, and the brittleness of the twigs, which snap- 
 ped off as he brushed his way through the thickets, 
 that the weather was intensely cold ; and yet the 
 perspiration was rolling in large drops from his 
 brow. He stopped at a clear spring, and thrusting 
 his hands into the cold water, attempted to carry a 
 portion of it to his lips ; but the element recoiled 
 and hissed, as if his hands and lips had been com- 
 posed of red hot iron. Pete felt quite puzzled 
 when he reflected on all these contradictions in 
 the aspect of nature ; and he began to consider 
 what act of wickedness he had been guilty of, which 
 could have rendered him so hateful, that the deer 
 fled, the streams turned back, and the shadows 
 danced round their centre at his approach. 
 
 He began to grow alarmed, and would have 
 turned back, but was ashamed to betray such weak- 
 ness, even to himself; and being naturally bold, he 
 resolutely kept his way. At last, to his great joy, 
 he espied the tracks of deer imprinted in the snow 
 and, dashing into the trail, with the alacrity of a 
 well trained hound, he pursued in hopes of over- 
 taking the game. Presently, he discovered the tracks 
 of a man, who had struck the same trail in advance 
 of him, and supposing it to be one of his neighbours, 
 he quickened his pace, as well to gain a companion 
 in sport, as to share the spoil of his fellow hunter. 
 
244 PETE TEATHERTON. 
 
 Indeed, in his present situation and feelings, Pete 
 thought he would be willing to give half of what 
 he was worth, for the bare sight of a human face. 
 
 " I don't like the signs, no how," said he, casting 
 a rapid glance around him ; and then throwing his 
 eyes downwards at his own shadow, which had 
 ceased its rotatory motion, and was now swinging 
 from right to left like a pendulum "I dont like the 
 signs, I feel sort o' jubus. But I'll soon see, whe- 
 ther other people's shadows act the fool like mine." 
 
 Upon further observation, there appeared to be 
 something peculiar in the human tracks before him, 
 which were evidently made by a pair of feet, of 
 which one was larger than the other. As there 
 was no person in the settlement who was thus de- 
 formed, Pete began to doubt whether it might not 
 be the Devil, who, in borrowing shoes to conceal 
 his cloven hoofs, might have got those that were not 
 fellows. He stopped and scratched his head, as 
 many a learned philosopher has done, when placed 
 between the horns of a dilemma less perplexing 
 than that which now vexed the spirit of our hunter. 
 It was said long ago that there is a tide in the 
 affairs of men, and although our friend Pete had 
 never seen this sentiment in black and white, yet it 
 is one of those truths, which are written in the 
 heart of every reasonable being, and was only co- 
 pied by the poet from the great book of nature. It 
 readily occurred to Pete on this occasion. And as 
 he had enjoyed through life a tide of success, he re- 
 
TPETE FEATHERTON. 245 
 
 fleeted whether the stream of fortune might not 
 have changed its course, like the brooks he had 
 crossed, whose waters, for some sinister reason, 
 seemed to be crawling up-hill. But, again, it oc- 
 curred to him, that to turn back, would argue a 
 want of that courage, which he had been taught to 
 consider as the chief of the cardinal virtues. 
 
 " I can't back out," said he. " I never was 
 raised to it, no how; and if so-be the Devil's 
 a mind to hunt in this range, he shan't have all the 
 game." 
 
 He soon overtook the person in advance of him, 
 who, as he had suspected, was a perfect stranger. 
 He had halted, and was quietly seated on a log, ga- 
 zing at the sun, when Pete approached, and saluted 
 him with the usual "How are you, stranger?" 
 The latter made no reply, but continued to gaze at 
 the sun, as if totally unconscious that any other 
 person was present. He was a small, thin, old man, 
 with a grey beard of about a month's growth, and a 
 long, sallow, melancholy visage, while a tarnished 
 suit of snuff-coloured clothes, cut after the quaint 
 fashion of some religious sect, hung loosely about 
 his shrivelled person. 
 
 Our hunter, somewhat awed, now coughed 
 threw the butt end of the gun heavily upon the 
 ground and, still failing to elicit any attention, 
 quietly seated himself on the other end of the same 
 log, which the stranger occupied. Both remained 
 silent for some minutes Pete with open mouth, and 
 21* 
 
246 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 glaring eye-balls, observing his companion in mute 
 astonishment, and the latter looking at the sun. 
 
 "It's a warm day, this," said Pete, at length; 
 passing his hand across his brow, as he spoke, and 
 sweeping off the heavy drops of perspiration that 
 hung there. But receiving no answer, he began to 
 get nettled. His native assurance, which had been 
 damped by the mysterious deportment of the person 
 who sat before him, revived ; and screwing his cou- 
 rage to the sticking point, he arose, approached the 
 silent man, and slapping him on the back, ex- 
 claimed 
 
 " Well, stranger ! don't the sun look mighty droll, 
 away out there in the north ?" 
 
 As the heavy hand fell on his shoulder, the stran- 
 ger slowly turned his face towards Pete, who re- 
 coiled several paces ; then rising, without paying 
 our hunter any further attention, he began to pur- 
 sue the trail of the deer. Pete prepared to follow, 
 when the other, turning upon him with a stern 
 glance, enquired 
 
 "Who are you tracking?" 
 
 *' Not you," replied the hunter, whose alarm had 
 subsided, when the enemy began to retreat ; and 
 whose pride piqued by the abruptness with which 
 he had been treated, enabled him to assume his 
 usual boldness of manner. 
 
 ** What do you trail then.?" 
 
 I trail deer." 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 247 
 
 " You must not pursue them further, they are 
 mine." 
 
 The sound of the stranger's voice broke the 
 spell, which had hung over Pete's natural impu- 
 dence, and he now shouted 
 
 "Your deer! That's droll too! Who ever 
 heard of a man claiming the deer in the woods?" 
 
 " Provoke me not, I tell you they are mine." 
 
 " Well, now, you're a comical chap ! Why, 
 man ! the deer are wild ! Thy're jist nateral to the 
 woods here, the same as the timber. You might 
 as well say the wolves, and the painters are yours, 
 and all the rest of the wild varmants." 
 
 " The tracks, you behold here, are those of wild 
 deer, undoubtedly ; but they are mine. 1 roused 
 them from their bed, and am driving them to my 
 home, which is not of this country." 
 
 " Couldn't you take a pack or two of wolves 
 along ?" said Pete, sneeringly. " We can spare 
 you a small gang. It's mighty wolfy about here." 
 
 "If you follow me any further, it is at your peril !" 
 said the stranger. 
 
 " You don't suppose I'm to be skeered, do you ? 
 You musn't come over them words agin. There's 
 no back out in none of my breed." 
 
 " I repeat " 
 
 " You had best not repeat, I allow no man to 
 repeat in my presence," interrupted the irritated 
 woodsman. "I'm Virginia born, and Kentucky 
 
 
 
248 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 raised, and, drot my skin ! if 1 take the like of that 
 from any man that ever wore shoe leather." 
 
 " Desist ! rash man, from altercation. I despise 
 your threats." 
 
 " 1 tell you what, stranger !" said Pete, endea- 
 vouring to imitate the coolness of the other, " as to 
 the matter of a deer or two I don't vally them to 
 the tantamount of this here cud of tobacco ; but I'm 
 not to be backed out of my tracks. So, keep off, 
 stranger ! Don't come fooling about me. I feel 
 mighty wolfy about the head and shoulders. Keep 
 off! I say, or you might get hurt." 
 
 With this, the hunter, to use his own language, 
 " squared himself, and sot his triggers," fully de- 
 termined, either to hunt the disputed game, or to 
 be vanquished in combat. To his surprise, the 
 stranger without appearing to notice his prepara- 
 rations, advanced, and blew with his breath upon 
 his rifle. 
 
 " Your gun is charmed !" said he. " From this 
 time forward, you will kill no deer." And so say- 
 ing, he deliberately resumed his journey. 
 
 Pete Featherton remained a moment or two, lost 
 in confusion. He then thought he would pursue 
 the stranger, and punish him as well for his threats, 
 as for the insult intended to his gun ; but a little re- 
 flection induced him to change his decision. The 
 confident manner, in which that mysterious being 
 haa spoken, together with a kind of vague assurance 
 within his own mind, that the spell had really 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 249 
 
 taken effect, so unmanned and stupified him, that he 
 quietly " took the back track," and sauntered home- 
 wards. He had not gone far, before he saw a fine 
 buck, half concealed among the hazel bushes which 
 beset his path, and resolving to know at once how 
 matters stood between Brown Bess and the pretend- 
 ed conjurer, he took a deliberate aim, fired, and 
 away bounded the buck unharmed ! 
 
 With a heavy heart, our mortified forester re-en- 
 tered his dwelling, and replaced his degraded wea- 
 pon in its accustomed berth under the rafters. 
 
 " You have been long gone," said his wife ; 
 " but where is the venison you promised me ?" 
 
 Pete was constrained to confess he had shot no- 
 thing. 
 
 " That is strange !" said the lady. " 1 never 
 knew you fail before." 
 
 Pete framed twenty excuses. He had felt unwell ; 
 his rifle was out of fix and there were not many 
 deer stirring. 
 
 Had not Pete been a very young husband, he 
 would have known, that the vigilant eye of a wife 
 is not to be deceived by feigned apologies. Mrs. 
 Featherton saw, that something had happened to 
 her helpmate, more than he was willing to confess ; 
 and being quite as tenacious as himself, in her reluc- 
 tance against being" backed out of her tracks," she 
 advanced firmly to her object, and Pete was com- 
 pelled to own, " That he believed Brown Bess was 
 somehow-- sort o' charmed," 
 
250 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Featherton !" said his sprightly bride, 
 " are you not ashamed to tell me such a tale as that ! 
 Ah, well ! I know how it is. You have been down 
 at the store, shooting at a mark for half pints !" 
 
 " No, indeed !" replied the husband emphatically, 
 " I wish I may be kissed to death, if I've pulled a 
 trigger for a drop of liquor this day." 
 
 "Well, do now that's a good dear! tell me 
 where you have been, and what has happened ? For 
 never did Pete Featherton, and Brown Bess, fail to 
 get a venison any day in the year." 
 
 Soothed by this well-timed compliment, and will- 
 ing, perhaps, to have the aid of counsel in this try- 
 ing emergency, Pete narrated minutely to his wife, 
 all the particulars of his meeting with the mysterious 
 stranger. Unfortunately, the good lady was as won- 
 der-struck as himself, and unable to give any advice. 
 She simply prescribed bathing his feet, and going to 
 bed ; and Pete, though he could not perceive how 
 this was to affect his gun, passively submitted. 
 
 On the following day, when Pete awoke, the 
 events which we have described, appeared to him 
 as a dream ; and resolving to know the truth, he 
 seized his gun, and hastened to the woods. But, 
 alas ! every experiment produced the same vexa- 
 tious result. The gun was charmed ! and the 
 hunter stalked harmlessly through the forest. Day 
 after day, he went forth and returned, with no bet- 
 ter success. The very deer themselves became 
 sensible of his inoffensiveness, and would raise 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 251 
 
 their heads, and gaze mildly at him as he passed ; 
 or throw back their horns, and bound carelessly 
 across his path ! Day after day, and week after 
 week, passed without bringing any change; and 
 Pete began to feel very ridiculously. He could 
 imagine no situation more miserable than his own. 
 To walk through the woods, to see -the game, to 
 come within gun-shot of it, and yet to be unable to 
 kill a deer, seemed to be the ne plus ultra of 
 human wretchedness. There was a littleness, an 
 insignificance, attached to the idea of not being 
 able to kill a deer, which to Pete's mind was 
 downright disgrace. More than once he was 
 tempted to throw his gun into the river ; but the 
 excellence of the weapon, and the recollection of 
 former exploits, as often restrained him; and he 
 continued to stroll through the woods, firing now 
 and then at a fat buck, under the hope that the 
 charm would some time or other expire by its own 
 limitation ; but the fat bucks continued to frisk 
 fearlessly in his path. 
 
 At length, Pete bethought himself of a celebrated 
 Indian doctor, who lived at no great distance. 
 An Indian doctor, be it known, is not necessarily 
 a descendant of the aborigines. The title, it is 
 true, originates in the confidence which many of 
 our countrymen repose in the medical skill of the 
 Indian tribes. But to make an Indian doctor, a 
 red skin is by no means indispensable. To have 
 been taught by a savage, to have seen one, or, at 
 
252 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 all events, to have heard of one, is all that is ne- 
 cessary to enable an individual to practise this lu- 
 crative and popular branch of the healing art. 
 Your Indian doctor is one who practises without a 
 diploma and without physic ; who neither nau- 
 seates the stomach with odious drugs, nor mars the 
 fair proportions of nature with the sanguinary lan- 
 cet. He believes in the sympathy which is sup- 
 posed to exist between the body and the mind, 
 which, like the two arms of a Syphon, always 
 preserve a corresponding relation to each other ; 
 and the difference between him and the re 
 gular physician is, that they operate at different 
 points of the same figure the one practising on 
 the immaterial spirit, while the other boldly grap- 
 ples with the bones and muscle. I cannot deter- 
 mine which is in the right ; but must award to the 
 Indian doctor at least this advantage, that his art is 
 the most widely beneficial ; for while your doctor 
 of medicine restores a los.t appetite, his rival can, 
 in addition, recover a strayed or stolen horse. If 
 the former can bring back the faded lustre of a fair 
 maiden's cheek, the latter can remove the spell 
 from a churn, or a rifle. 
 
 To a sage of this order, did Pete disclose his 
 misfortune, and apply for relief. The doctor exa- 
 mined the gun ; and having measured the calibre of 
 the bore, with the same solemnity with which he 
 would have felt the pulse of a patient, directed the 
 applicant to call again. At the appointed time the 
 
PETE FEATHERTON. 253 
 
 hunter returned, and received two balls one of 
 pink, the other of a silver hue. The doctor in- 
 structed him to load his piece with one of these 
 bullets, which he pointed out, and proceed through 
 the woods to a certain hollow, at the head of 
 which was a spring. Here he would find a white 
 fawn, at which he was to shoot. It would be 
 wounded, but would escape ; and he was to pursue 
 its trail, until he found a buck, which he was to 
 kill with the other ball. If he accomplished all 
 this accurately, the charm would be broken. f . 
 
 Pete, who was well acquainted with all the lo- 
 calities, carefully pursued the route which had 
 been indicated, treading lightly along, sometimes 
 elated with the prospect of speedily breaking the 
 spell sometimes doubting the skill of the doctor 
 and ashamed alternately of his doubts and of his 
 belief. At length he reached the lonely glen ; and 
 his heart bounded as he beheld the white fawn 
 quietly grazing by the fountain. The ground was 
 open ; and he was unable to get within his usual 
 distance, before the fawn raised her head, looked 
 mournfully around, and snuffed the breeze, as if 
 conscious of the approach of danger. His heart 
 palpitated. It was a long shot, and a bad chance ; 
 but he dared not advance from his concealment. 
 
 " Luck's a lord," said he, as he drew up 
 his gun, and pulled the trigger. The fawn bound- 
 ed aloft at the report, and then darted away 
 through the brush, while the hunter hastened to 
 22 
 
254 PETE FEATHERTON. 
 
 examine the signs. To his great joy, he found the 
 blood profusely scattered ; and now flushed with 
 the confidence of success, he stoutly rammed down 
 the other ball, and pursued the trail of the wound- 
 ed fawn. Long did he trace the crimson drops 
 upon the snow, without beholding the promised 
 victim. Hill after hill he climbed, vale after vale 
 he passed searching every thicket with penetrat- 
 ing eyes ; and he was about to renounce the chase, 
 the wizard, and the gun, when, lo ! directly in his 
 path stood a noble buck, with numerous antlers 
 branching over his fine head ! 
 
 "Ah, ha! my jolly fellow ! I Ve found you out 
 at last !" said the delighted hunter, " you 're the 
 very chap 1 've been looking after. Your blood 
 shall wipe off the disgrace from my charming Bess, 
 that never missed fire, burned priming, nor cleared 
 the mark in her born days, till that vile Yankee 
 witch cursed her ! Here goes ! " 
 
 He shot the buck. His rifle was restored to 
 favour, and he never again wanted venison. 
 
255 
 
 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 On one of those clear nights in December, when 
 the cloudless, blue sky is studded with millions of 
 brilliant luminaries, shining with more than ordinary 
 lustre, a young gentleman was seen rapidly pacing 
 one of the principal streets of Pittsburgh. Had he 
 been a lover of nature, the beauty of the heavens 
 must have attracted his observation ; but he was 
 too much wrapt up in his thoughts or in his cloak 
 to throw a single glance towards the silent orbs, 
 that glowed so beauteously in the firmament. A 
 piercing wind swept through the streets, moaning 
 and sighing, as if it felt the pain that it inflicted. The 
 intense coldness of the weather had driven the usual 
 loiterers of the night from their accustomed loun- 
 ging places. Every door and shutter was closed 
 against the common enemy, save where the 
 
 " Blue spirits and red, 
 Black spirits and grey," 
 
256 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 which adorn the shelves of the druggist, mingled 
 their hues with the shadows of the night ; or where 
 the window of the confectioner, redolent of light, 
 and fruit, and sugar plumbs, shed its refulgence up- 
 on the half petrified wanderer. The streets were 
 forsaken, except by a fearless, or necessitous few, 
 who glided rapidly and silently along, as the spec- 
 tres of the night. Aught else than love or murder 
 would scarcely have ventured to stalk abroad on 
 such a night ; and yet it would be hardly fair to set 
 down the few, unfortunate stragglers, who faced the 
 blast on this eventful evening, as lovers or assassins. 
 Pleasure sends forth her thousands, and necessity 
 her millions, into all the dangers and troubles of 
 this boisterous world. 
 
 On reaching the outlet of an obscure alley, the 
 young gentleman paused, cast a suspicious glance 
 around, as if fearful of observation, and then darted 
 into the gloomy passage. A few rapid steps brought 
 him to the front of a wretched frame building, ap- 
 parently untenanted, or occupied only as a ware- 
 house, through whose broken panes the wind whis- 
 tled, while the locked doors seemed to bid defiance 
 to any ingress, but that of the piercing element. It 
 was in truth a lonely back building, in the heart of 
 the town ; but so concealed by the surrounding 
 houses, that it might as well have been in the silent 
 bosom of the forest. A narrow flight of stairs, as- 
 cending the outside of the edifice, led to an upper 
 story. Ascending these, the youth, opening the 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 257 
 
 door with the familiarity of an accustomed visiter, 
 emerged from the gloom of the night, into the light 
 and life of the Billiard Room. 
 
 It was a large apartment, indifferently lighted, 
 and meanly furnished. In the centre stood the 
 billiard table, whose allurements had enticed so 
 many on this evening to forsake the quiet and vir- 
 tuous comforts of social life, and to brave the biting 
 blast, and the not less " pitiless peltings" of pa- 
 rental or conjugal admonition. Its polished mahoga- 
 ny frame, and neatly brushed cover of green cloth, 
 its silken pockets, and party-coloured ivory balls, 
 presenting a striking constrast to the rude negli- 
 gence of the rest of the furniture; while a large 
 canopy suspended over the table, and intended to 
 collect and refract the rays of a number of well 
 trimmed lamps, which hung within its circumfer- 
 ence, shed an intense brilliance over that little spot, 
 and threw a corresponding gloom upon the sur- 
 rounding scene. Indeed if that gay altar of dissipa- 
 tion had been withdrawn, the temple of pleasure 
 would have presented rather the desolate appear- 
 ance of the house of mourning. 
 
 The stained and dirty floor was strewed with 
 fragments of segars, play-bills, and nut shells ; the 
 walls blackened with smoke, seemed to have wit- 
 nessed the orgies of many a midnight revel. A 
 few candles, destined to illumine the distant recesses 
 of the room, hung neglected against the walls 
 bowing their long wicks, and marking their stations 
 22* 
 
258 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 by streams of tallow, which had been suffered to 
 accumulate through many along winter night. The 
 ceiling was hung with cobwebs, curiously intermin- 
 gled with dense clouds of tobacco smoke, and 
 tinged by the straggling rays of light, which occa- 
 sionally shot from the sickly tapers. A set of 
 benches, attached to the walls, and raised suffi- 
 ciently high to overlook the table, accommodated 
 the loungers, who were not engaged at play, and 
 who sat or reclined solemnly puffing their segars, 
 idly sipping their brandy and water or industri- 
 ously counting the chances of the game; but all 
 observing a profound silence, which would have 
 done honour to a turbaned divan, and and was well 
 suited to the important subjects of their contempla- 
 tion. Little coteries of gayer spirits laughed and 
 chatted aside, or made their criticisms on the play- 
 ers in subdued accents ; any remarks on that sub- 
 ject being forbiden to all but the parties engaged ; 
 while the marker announced the state of the game, 
 trimmed the lamps, and supplied refreshments to 
 the guests. 
 
 Mr. St. Clair, the gentleman whom we have 
 taken the liberty of tracing to this varied scene, 
 was cordially greeted on his entrance by the 
 party at the table, who had been denouncing the 
 adverse elements which had caused the absence 
 of several of their choicest spirits. The game at 
 which they were then playing being one which ad- 
 mitted of an indefinite number of players, St. Clair 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 259 
 
 was readily permitted to take a ball ; and, engaging 
 with ardour in the fascinating amusement, was soon 
 lost to all that occurred beyond the little circle of 
 its witchery. 
 
 The intense coldness of the night was so severe- 
 ly felt in the badly warmed apartment which we 
 have attempted to describe, that the party broke 
 up earlier than usual. One by one they dropped 
 off, until St. Clair and another of the players were 
 left alone. These, being both skilful, engaged 
 each other single-handed, and became so deeply 
 interested, as scarcely to observe the defection of 
 their companions, until they found the room entire- 
 ly deserted. The night was far spent. The mark- 
 er, whose services were no longer required, was 
 nodding over the grate ; the candles were wasting 
 in their sockets, and although a steady brilliance 
 still fell upon the table, the back ground was as 
 dark as it was solitary. 
 
 The most careless observer might have remark- 
 ed the great disparity of character exhibited in the 
 two players, who now matched their skill in this 
 graceful and fascinating game. St. Clair was a 
 genteel young man of about live and twenty. His 
 manners had all the ease of one accustomed to the 
 best society ; his countenance was open and prepos- 
 sessing; his whole demeanour frank and manly. 
 There was a careless gaiety in his air, happily 
 blended with an habitual politeness and dignity of 
 carriage, which added much to the ordinary graces 
 
260 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 of youth and amiability. His features displayed 
 no trace of thought or genius ; for Mr. St. Clair 
 was one of that large class, who please without de- 
 sign and without talent, and who, by dint of light 
 hearts, and graceful exteriors, thrive better in this 
 world, than those who think and feel more acutely. 
 Feeling he had, but it was rather amiable than 
 deep ; and his understanding, though solid, was of 
 that plain and practical kind, which, though adapt- 
 ed to the ordinary business of life, seldom expands 
 itself to grasp at any object beyond that narrow 
 sphere. It was very evident that he had known 
 neither guile nor sorrow. In his brief journey 
 through life, he had as yet trod only in flowery 
 paths ; and having passed joyously along, was not 
 aware that the snares which catch the feet of the 
 unwary, lie ambushed in the sunniest spots of our 
 existence. He was a man of small fortune, and 
 was happily married to a lovely young woman, to 
 whom he was devotedly attached ; and who, when 
 she bestowed her hand, had given him the entire 
 possession of a warm and spotless heart. They 
 had lately arrived at Pittsburg, and being about to 
 settle in some part of the western country, had de- 
 termined to spend the ensuing spring and summer 
 in this city, where Mrs. St. Clair might enjoy the 
 comforts of good society until her husband prepar- 
 ed their future residence for her reception. 
 
 His opponent was some ten years older than 
 himself; a short, thin, straight man- with a keen 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 261 
 
 eye and sallow complexion. He was one of those 
 persons who may be seen in shoals at the taverns 
 and gambling houses of a large town, and who 
 mingle with better people in stage coaches and 
 steam boats. He had knocked about the world, as 
 his own expression was, until, like an old coin 
 whose original impression has been worn off, he 
 had few marks left by which his birth or country 
 could be traced. But, like that same coin, the sur- 
 face only was altered, the base metal was unchang- 
 ed. He aped the gentility which he did not pos- 
 sess, and was ambitious of shining both in dress and 
 manners; but nature, when she placed him in a 
 low condition, had never intended he should rise 
 above it. 
 
 It is unfortunate for such people, that, like hypo- 
 crites in religion, demagogues in politics, and empi- 
 rics of all sorts, they always overact their parts, 
 and by an excessive zeal betray their ignorance or 
 knavery. Thus the person in question, by misap- 
 plying the language of his superiors in education, 
 betrayed his ignorance, and by going to the ex- 
 treme of every fashion, was always too well dress- 
 ed for a gentleman. In short, he was a gambler 
 who roamed from town to town, preying upon 
 young libertines, and old debauchees ; and employ- 
 ing as much ingenuity in his vocation, as would set 
 up half a dozen lawyers, and as much industry as 
 would make the fortunes of half a dozen mecha- 
 nics. 
 
262 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 Such were the players who were left together, 
 like the last champions at a tournament who, 
 after vanquishing all their competitors, now turned 
 their arms against each other. For a while they 
 displayed a courtesy, which seemed to be the effect 
 of a respect for each other's skill. It was natural 
 to St. Clair; in the gambler it was assumed. The 
 latter having found the opportunity he had long ea- 
 gerly sought, soon began to practise the arts of his 
 profession. The game of billiards, requiring great 
 precision of eye, and steadiness of hand, can only 
 be played well by one who is completely master of 
 his temper; and the experienced opponent of St- 
 Clair essayed to touch a string, on which he had 
 often worked with success. 
 
 " You are a married man, I believe ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes, sir," 
 
 " That was bad play you had nearly missed the 
 ball." 
 
 " You spoke to me just as 1 was striking," said 
 St. Clair good humouredly. 
 
 "Oh! 1 beg pardon. Where did you learn to 
 play billiards ?" ti , 
 
 " In Philadelphia." 
 
 " Do they understand the game ?" 
 
 " 1 have seen some fine players there." 
 
 " Very likely. But 1 doubt whether they play 
 the scientific game. New Orleans is the only place. 
 There they go it in style. See there now ! That 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 263 
 
 was a very bad play of yours. You played on the 
 wrong ball." 
 
 " No, sir, I was right." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir. I profess to understand this 
 game. There was an easy cannon on the table, 
 when you aimed to pocket the white ball." 
 
 " You are mistaken," said St. Clair. 
 
 " Oh, very well ! I meant no offence. Now mark 
 how I shall count off these balls. Do you see that ? 
 There's play for you ! You say you are a married 
 man ?" 
 
 " I said so. What then ?" 
 
 " 1 thought as much by your play." 
 
 " What has that to do with it ?" 
 
 " Why, you married men are accustomed to early 
 hours, and get sleepy earlier than we do." 
 
 " I did not think I had shown any symptoms of 
 drowsiness." 
 
 " Oh, no ! 1 meant no allusion. There's another 
 bad play of yours." 
 
 " You will find, I play sufficiently well, before 
 we are done." 
 
 " Oh ! no doubt. I meant nothing. You play an 
 elegant game. But then, you married men get 
 scared, when it grows late. No man can play bil- 
 liards, when he is in a hurry to go home. A mar- 
 ried gentleman can't help thinking of the sour looks, 
 and cross answers, he is apt to get, when he goes 
 home after midnight." 
 
 " 1 will thank you to make no such allusions to 
 
264 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 me," said St. Clair, " I am neither scared nor sleepy, 
 but able to beat you as long as you please." 
 
 "Oh, very well! 1 don't value myself on my 
 playing. Shall we double the bet ? and have ano- 
 ther bottle of wine?" 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 " Agreed. Now do your best or I shall beat 
 you." 
 
 Pestered by this impertinence, St. Clair lost se- 
 veral games. His want of success added to his im- 
 patience ; and his tormenter continued to vex him 
 with taunting remarks until his agitation became 
 uncontrollable. He drank to steady his nerves ; but 
 drink only inflamed his passion. He doubled, tre- 
 bled, quadrupled the bet to change his luck ; but in 
 vain. Every desperate attempt urged him towards 
 his ruin ; and it was happy for him, that his natural 
 good sense enabled him to stop, before his fate was 
 consummated though not until he had lost a large 
 sum. 
 
 Vexed with his bad fortune, St. Clair left the 
 house of dissipation, and turned his reluctant steps 
 towards his own dwelling. His slow and thought- 
 ful pace was now far different, from the usual light- 
 ness of his graceful carriage. It was not, that he 
 feared the frown of his lovely wife ; for to him her 
 brow had always been unclouded, and her lips had 
 only breathed affection. She was one of those 
 gentle beings, whose sweetness withers not with the 
 hour or the season ; but endures through all vicis- 
 situdes. 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 265 
 
 It was the recollection of that fervent and for- 
 bearing love, that now pressed like a leaden weight 
 upon the conscience of the gambler, when he re- 
 flected upon the many little luxuries, and innocent 
 enjoyments, of which that lovely woman had de- 
 prived herself, while he had squandered vast sums 
 in selfish dissipation. Having never before lost so 
 much at play, this view of the case had not occur- 
 red to him ; and it now came home to his bosom 
 with full force bringing pangs of the keenest self- 
 reproach. He recalled the many projects of do- 
 mestic comfort they had planned together, some of 
 which must now be delayed by his imprudence. 
 That very evening they had spoken of the rural 
 dwelling they intended to inhabit ; and LOUISA'S 
 taste had suggested a variety of improvements, with 
 which it should be embellished. When he left her, 
 he promised to return soon ; and now, after a long 
 absence, he came, the messenger if not of ruin 
 at least of disappointment. The influence of wine, 
 and the agitation of his mind, had wrought up the 
 usually placid feelings of St. Clair, into a state of 
 high excitement. His imagination wandered to the 
 past and to the future ; and every picture, that he 
 contemplated, added to his pain. 
 
 " I will go to Louisa," said he. " I will confess 
 all. Late as it is, she is still watching for me. Poor 
 girl ! She little thinks, that while she has been count- 
 ing the heavy hours of my absence, I have been 
 23 
 
266 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 madly courting wretchedness for myself, arid pre- 
 paring the bitter cup of affliction for her." 
 
 In this frame of mind, he reached his own door, 
 and tapped gently for admittance. He was sur- 
 prised that his summons was not immediately an- 
 swered; for the watchful solicitude of his wife had 
 always kept her from retiring in his absence. He 
 knocked again and again and at last, when his 
 patience was nearly exhausted, a slip-shod house- 
 maid came shivering to the door. He snatched the 
 candle from her hand, and ascended to his cham- 
 ber. It was deserted ! 
 
 " Where is Mrs. St. Clair ?" said he to the maid 
 who had followed him. 
 
 " Gone" " Gone ! Where ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, she went away with a gentleman." 
 "Away with a gentleman ! Impossible!" 
 "Yes, sir, indeed she went off with a gentleman 
 in a carriage." 
 
 " When ? Where did she go ?" 
 " I don't know where she went, sir. She never 
 intimated a word to me. She started just after you 
 left home." 
 
 " Did she leave no message ? 
 " No, sir, not any. She was in a great hurry." 
 St. Clair motioned the girl to retire, and sunk 
 into a chair. 
 
 " She has left me," he exclaimed, " cruel, faith- 
 less Louisa ! Never did 1 believe you would have 
 forsaken me ! No, no it can not be. Louisa 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 267 
 
 eloped ! The best, the kindest, the sincerest of 
 human beings? Impossible!" 
 
 He rose, and paced the room tortured with 
 pangs of unutterable anguish. He gazed round the 
 apartment, and his dwelling, once so happy, seemed 
 desolate as a tomb. He murmured the name of 
 Louisa, and a thousand joys rose to his recollection. 
 All all were blasted ! For she, in whose love he had 
 confided, that pure, angelic being, whose very ex- 
 istence seemed to be entwined with his own, had 
 never loved him ! She preferred another ! He 
 endeavoured to calm his passions, and to reason de- 
 liberately ; but in vain. Who could have reasoned 
 at such a moment? He mechanically drew out his 
 watch ; it was past two o'clock. Where could 
 Louisa be at such an hour? she had no intimates, 
 and few acquaintances, in the city. Could any one 
 have carried her away by force ? No, no the truth 
 was too plain! Louisa was a faithless woman 
 and he a forsaken, wretched, broken-hearted man ! 
 
 1 n an agony of grief, he left his house, and wandered 
 distractedly through the streets, until, chance di- 
 rected, he reached the confluence of the rivers. To 
 this spot he had strolled with his Louisa in their 
 last walk. There they had stood, gazing at the 
 Monongahela and the Alleghany uniting their streams 
 and losing their own names in that of the Ohio ; and 
 Louisa had compared this " meeting of the waters" 
 to the mingling of two kindred souls, joining to part 
 no more until both shall be plunged in the vast 
 
268 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 ocean of eternity. To the lover and St. Clair 
 was still a fervent lover there is no. remembrance 
 so dear, as the recollection of a tender and poetic 
 sentiment, breathed from the eloquent lips of affec- 
 tion ; and the afflicted husband, when he recalled 
 the deep and animated tone of feeling, with which 
 this natural image was uttered by his wife, could 
 not doubt but that it was the language of her heart. 
 All his tenderness and confidence revived ; and he 
 turned mournfully, with a full but softened heart, 
 determined to seek his dwelling, and wait, as pa- 
 tiently as he could, until the return of day should 
 bring some explanation of Louisa's conduct. 
 
 At this moment, a light appeared, passing rapidly 
 from the bank of the Alleghany towards the town. 
 In an instant it was lost and again it glimmered 
 among the ancient ramparts of Fort du Quesne 
 and then disappeared. He advanced cautiously 
 towards the ruined fort, and, clambering over the 
 remains of the breast-work, entered the area care- 
 fully examining the whole ground by the clear moon- 
 light. But no animate object was to be seen. A 
 confused mass of misshapen ridges, and broken 
 rocks were alone to be discovered the vestiges of 
 a powerful bulwark, which had once breasted the 
 storm of war. 
 
 " It is deserted," said the bereavedhusband, " like 
 my once happy dwelling. The flag is gone the 
 music is silent the strong towers have fallen, and 
 all is desolate!" 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 269 
 
 Perplexed by the sudden disappearance of the 
 light, and indulging a vague suspicion that it was in 
 some way connected with his own misfortune, he 
 continued to explore the ruins. A faint ray of light 
 now caught his eye, and he silently approached it. 
 He soon reached the entrance of an arched vault, 
 formerly a powder magazine, from which the light 
 emanated. The doorway was closed by a few 
 loose boards, leaned carefully against it, and evident- 
 ly intended only to afford a brief concealment ; but 
 a crevice, which had been inadvertently left, per- 
 mitted the escape of that straggling beam of light, 
 which had attracted his attention, and which pro- 
 ceeded from a small taper placed in a dark lantern. 
 Two persons sat before it, in one of whom, the as- 
 tonished St. Glair recognised his late companion, 
 the gambler ! The other was a coarse, ill-dressed 
 ruffian, with a ferocious and sinister expression of 
 countenance, which, at once, bespoke his character. 
 They were busily examining a number of large keys, 
 which seemed newly made. 
 
 " Bad, awkward, clumsy work !" said the gam- 
 bler ; " but no odds about that, if they do but fit." 
 
 " It's ill working in the night, and with bad tools," 
 rejoined the other. " Me and Dick has been at 'em 
 for a week, steady and if them keys won't do, I'll 
 be hanged, If I can make any better." 
 
 " Hav'n't I been working in the night too, my 
 boy ?" said the gambler. " 1 have made more mo- 
 
270 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 ney for us since dark, than a clumsy rascal like you 
 could earn in a month." 
 
 "Clumsy or no, you put us into the danger al- 
 ways, and play gentleman yourself." 
 
 " Well, that's right. Don't 1 always plan every 
 thing? And don't I always give you a full share? 
 Come, don't get out of heart. That key will do 
 and so will that. " 
 
 St. Clair could listen no longer. Under any 
 other circumstances, the scene before him would 
 have excited his curiosity ; but the discovery, that 
 he had been duped by a sharper a mere grovelling 
 felon added to the sorrows that already filled his 
 bosom, stung him so keenly, that he had not pa- 
 tience nor spirits to push his discoveries any further. 
 
 " It was for the company of such a wretch," said 
 he, as he again mournfully bent his steps homeward, 
 " that 1 left my Louisa ! Perhaps she may have 
 guessed the trulh. Some eaves-droppers may have 
 whispered to her, that I was the associates of gam- 
 biers and house-breakers ! Shocked at my duplicity 
 and guilt, she has fled from contamination! No, 
 no ! She would not have believed it. She would 
 have told me. She would have heard my explana- 
 tion. Her kind heart would have pitied and forgiven 
 me. Perhaps my neglect has alienated her affec- 
 tion. 1 have left her too often alone, and in doubt. 
 She has suffered what 1 have felt to-night, the pangs 
 of suspense and jealousy. She could bear it no 
 longer, my cruelty has driven her for ever from me !" 
 
THE BILLIARD TABLE. 271 
 
 He again entered his habitation. How changed ! 
 No hand was extended to receive him ; no smile to 
 welcome him. All was cheerless, cold, and silent. 
 A candle, nearly exhausted to the socket, was burn- 
 ing in the parlour, shedding a pale light over the 
 gloom of the apartment : but that bright, peculiar 
 orb, that had given warmth and lustre to this little 
 world, was extinguished ! St. Clair shuddered, as 
 he looked round. Every object reminded him of 
 the happiness he had destroyed ; and he felt him- 
 self a moral suicide. Half dead with cold, fatigue, 
 and distress, he approached the fire when a note, 
 which had fallen from the card-rack to the floor, 
 caught his eye. The address was to himself, and in 
 Louisa's hand writing. He tore it open and read as 
 follows : 
 
 " That agreeable woman, Mrs. B. who has paid 
 us so many kind attentions, has just sent for me. 
 She is very ill, and fancies that no one can nurse 
 her so well as myself. Of course, I can not refuse, 
 and only regret, that I must part with my dear 
 Charles for a few hours. Good night. 
 
 Your devoted 
 
 LOUISA." 
 
 The feelings of St. Clair can be better imagined 
 than described, as he thus suddenly passed from a 
 state of doubt and despair, to the full tide of joy. 
 He kissed the charming billet, and enacted several 
 other extravagances, which our readers will excuse 
 
272 THE BILLIARD TABLE. 
 
 from relating. He retired, at length, to his couch 
 where his exhausted frame soon sunk to repose. 
 
 He rose early the next morning. Louisa was 
 already in the parlour to welcome him with smiles. 
 He frankly related to her all that had happened on 
 the preceding night. Louisa's affectionate heart 
 sympathised in the pain he had suffered, and tears 
 stole down her cheek which was pale with watch- 
 ing. 
 
 " Do not tell me," said St. Glair, " that I have 
 only suffered that which you have often endured. 
 No you will not reproach me but I know it, I 
 feel it ; and I here renounce gaming for ever ! Never 
 again shall you have cause to complain of my dissi- 
 pation or neglect." 
 
 He kept his word ; and acknowledged that the 
 peace and joy of,his after days were cheaply pur- 
 chased with the miseries of that eventful night. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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