^ SWALLOW BAHN 'ir'i^^^t-^S-' e t c c , I \ S¥ALLO¥ BARN, OE A SOJOUEN IN THE OLD DOMINION. BY J. P. KENNEDY. REVISED EDITION. U'lt QCtotnts 3:IIustralion5 i^ .Strotl^fr. NEW-YORK: G. r. PUTNAM & COMPANY, 10 PARK PLACE. 1853. K3S' s 1353 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by (jEORGE p. PcTNi»M. in the Clerk's Office t)f I.ig District Court fcr the Southern District of NeAv-Vork. JOHN. F. TROW. 49 AnnStrekt. CONTENTS. •♦♦»• CHAPTER. A word in advance from the Author to the Reader, Introductory Epistle, . I. Swallow Barn, 11. A Country Gentleman, III. Family Portraits, . IV. Family Paragons, v. Ned Hazard, YI. Pursuits of a Philosopher, VII. Traces of the Feudal System, VIII. The Brakes, IX. An Eclogue, X. Colloquies, XI. Pranks, XII. A Confession, . XIIL A Man of Pretensions, XIV. My Grand Uncle, XV. TheOldMiU, XVI. Proceedings at Law, . XVII. Strange Symptoms, XVIII. The N'ational Anniversary, XIX. The County Court, XX. Opinions and Sentiments, XXI. Philpot Wart, XXII. The Philosopher Unbent, XXIII. Trial by View, XXIV. Merriment and Sobriety, XXV. The Old School, . XXVI. The Raking Hawk, . PAGE. 7 18 27 31 38 44 51 63 70 76 80 88 95 105 120 130 137 145 152 157 166 175 180 188 197 210 216 227 6 CONTENTS. 1 i CHAPTEE. PAGE. xxvn. The Award, . 238 XXVIII. The GobUn Swamp, 248 XXIX. Story Telling, . 263 Mike Brown, 265 XXX. An Interlude, . . 295 XXXI. Summer Mornings, 307 XXXII. A Country Gathering, . 312 XXXIII. The Dinner Table, 324 ' XXXIV. A Breaking-up, . 346 XXXV. Knight Errantry, 851 XXXVL A Joust at Utterance, . 359 ' XXXVII. Moonshine. 369 ' XXXVIII. The Last Minstrel, . 374 XXXIX. Signs of a Hero, .386 XL. A Council of War, . 393 XLL "Woodcraft, 397 XLII. One Act of a Farce, ... . 412 . XLIII. The Fate of a Hero, . 420 XLIV. Oratory, . 435 XLV. Stable Wisdom, 441 XLVI. The Quarter, . 449 XLVII. A Negro Mother, 461 Abe, . 464 XLVIIL Clouds, 491 XLIX. Pleasant Prospects, . 602 Postscript, 604 A WORD IN ADVANCE, FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. Swallow Barn was written twenty years ago, and was pub- lished in a small edition, which was soon exhausted. From that date it has disappeared from the bookstores, being carelessly consigned by the author to that oblivion which is common to books and men — out of sight, out of mind. Upon a recent reviewal of it, after an interval sufl&ciently long to obliterate the partialities with which one is apt to regard his own productions, I have thought it was worthy of more attention than I had bestowed upon it, and was, at least, entitled to the benefit of a second edition. In truth, its republication has been so often advised by friends, and its original reception was so prosperous, that I have almost felt it to be a duty once more to set it afloat upon the waters, for the behoof of that good-natured company of idle readers who are always ready to embark on a pleasure excursion in any light craft that offers. I have, therefore, taken these volumes in hand, and given them a somewhat critical revisal. Twenty years work sufficient change up- on the mind of an author to render him, perhaps more than others, a fastidious critic of his own book. If the physiologists are right, he is not the same person after that lapse of time ; and all that his present and former self may claim in common, are those properties 8 A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. which belong to his mental consciousness, of which his aspiration after fame is one. The present self may, therefore, be expected to examine more rigorously the work of that former and younger person, for whom he is held responsible. This weighty consider- ation will be sufficient to account for the few differences which may be found between this and the first edition. Some quaintness of the vocabulary has been got rid of — some dialogue has been stript of its redundancy — some few thoughts have been added — and others retrenched. I shall be happy to think that the reader will agree with me that these are improvements : — I mean the reader who may happen to belong to that small and choice corps who read these volumes long ago — a little troop of friends of both sexes, to whom I have reason to be grateful for that modicum of good opinion which cheered my first venture in authorship. Health and joy to them all — as many as are now alive ! I owe them a thanksgiving for their early benevolence. Swallow Barn exhibits a picture of country life in Virginia, as it existed in the first quarter of the present century. Between that period and the present day, time and what is called " the pro- gress," have made many innovations there, as they have done every where else. The Old Dominion is losing somewhat of the raciness of her once peculiar, and — speaking in reference to the locality described in these volumes — insulated cast of man- ners. The mellow, bland, and sunny luxuriance of her old-time society — its good fellowship, its hearty and constitutional com- panionableness^ the thriftless gayety of the people, their dogged but amiable invincibility of opinion, and that overflowing hospi- tality which knew no ebb, — these traits, though far from being impaired, are modified at the present day by circumstances which have been gradually attaining a marked influence over social life as well as political relation. An observer cannot fail to note that the manners of our country have been tending towards a unifor- A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. 9 mity which is visibly eflfacing all local differences. The old states, especially, are losing their orignal distinctive habits and modes of life, and in the same degree, I fear, are losing their exclusive American character. A traveller may detect but few sectional or provincial varieties in the general observances and customs of society, in comparison with what were observable in the past 1 generations, and the pride, or rather the vanity, of the present 1 day is leading us into a very notable assimilation with foreign I usages The country now apes the city in what is supposed to \be the elegancies of life, and the city is inclined to value and ydopt the fashions it is able to import across the Atlantic, and ilius the whole surface of society is exhibiting the traces of a process by which it is likely to be rubbed down, in time, to one letel, and varnished with the same gloss. It may thus finally arrive at I comfortable insipidity of character which may not be willingly reckoned as altogether a due compensation for the loss of that rougii but pleasant flavor which belonged to it in its earlier era. Thert is much good sense in that opinion which ascribes a whole- some influence to those homebred customs, which are said to strengthen local attachments and expand them into a love of country. "What belonged to us as characteristically American, seems already to be dissolving into a mixture which affects us un- pleasantly as a tame and cosmopolitan substitute for the old warmth and salient vivacity of our ancestors. We no longer pre- sent in our pictures of domestic life so much as an earnest lover of our nationality might desire of what abroad is called " the red bird's wing" — something which belongs to us and to no one else. The fruitfulness of modern invention in the arts of life, the gene- ral fusion of thought through the medium of an extra-territorial literature, which from its easy domestication among us is scarcely regarded as foreign, the convenience and comfort of European customs which have been incorporated into our scheme of living, 10 A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. — all these, aided and diffused by our extraordinary facilities of travel and circulation, have made sad work, even in the present generation, with those old 7iationalisms that were so agreeable to the contemplation of an admirer of the picturesque in charac- ter and manners. Looking myself somewhat hopelessly upon this onward gliding of the stream, I am not willing to allow these sketches of mine entirely to pass away. They have already begun to assume the tints of a relic of the past, and may, in another generation, become archaeological, and sink into the chapter of antiquities. Present- ing, as I make bold to say, a faithful picture of the people, the modes of life, and the scenery of a region full of attraction, ard exhibiting the lights and shades of its society with the truth- fulness of a painter who has studied his subject on the spot, tiey may reasonably claim their accuracy of delineation to be se< off as an extenuation for any want of skill or defect of finish which a fair criticism may charge against the artist. Like some siga-post painters, I profess to make a strong likeness, even if it should be thought to be hard^ — and what better workmen might call a daub, — as to which I must leave my reader to judge for himself when he has read this book. The outward public award on this point was kind, and bestowed quite as much praise as I could bave desired — much more than I expected — when the former edition appeared. But " the progress" has brought out many competitors since that day, and has, perhaps, rendered the public taste more scrupulous. A book then was not so perilous an offering as ii is now in the great swarm of authorships. Wc run more risk, just now, of being let alone, — unread, — untalked of — though not, happily, unpuffcd by a few newspapers, wlio are favorites with the publisher, and owe him some courtesies. I wish it to be noted that Swallow Barn is not a novel. I con- fess tliis in advance, althougli I may lose ]\v it. It was begun on A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. 11 the plan of a series of detached sketches linked together by the hooks and eyes of a traveller's notes ; and although the narrative does run into some by-paths of personal adventure, it has still preserved its desultory, sketchy character to the last. It is, there- fore, utterly unartistic in plot and structure, and may be described as variously and interchangeably partaking of the complexion of a book of travels, a diary, a collection of letters, a drama, and a his- tory, — and this, serial or compact, as the reader may choose to compute it. Our old friend Polonius had nearly hit it in his rigmarole of " pastoral-comical, tragical-comical-historical-pasto- ral" — which, saving " the tragical," may well make up my schedule : and so I leave it to the " censure" of my new reader. INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. TO ZACHAKY HUDDLESTONE, ESQ., PEESTON RIDGE, NEW- YORK. Dear Zack : I CAN imagine your surprise upon the receipt of this, when you first discover that I have really reached the Old Dominion. To requite you for my stealing off so quietly, I hold myself bound to an explanation, and, in revenge for your past friendship, to inflict upon you a full, true, and particular account of all my doings, or rather my seeings and thinkings, up to this present writing. You know my cousin Ned Hazard has been often urging it upon me, — so often that he began to grow sick of it, — as a sort of family duty, to come and spend some little fragment of my life amongst my Virginia relations, and I have broken so many promises on that score, that, in truth, I began to grow ashamed of myself Upon the first of this month a letter from Ned reached me at Jjongsides, on the North River, where I then was with my mother and sisters. Ned's usual tone of correspondence is that of easy, confiding intimacy, mixed up, now and then, with a slashing rail- lery against some imputed foibles, upon which, as they were al- together imaginary, I could afford to take his sarcasm in good 14 INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. part. But in this epistle he assumed a new ground, giving me some home thrusts, chiding me roundly for certain waxing bachel- orisms^ as he called them, and intimating that a crust was evi- dently hardening upon me. A plague upon the fellow ! You know, .^aohary, that neither of us is so many years ahead of him. My reckoning takes in but live years, eleven months and fifteen daj^s—a^id cerialnly, not so mach by my looks. He insinuated that I had arrived at that inveteracy of opinion for which travel was the only cure ; and that, in especial, I had fallen into some unseemly prejudices against the Old Dominion which were unbe- coming the character of a philosopher, to which, he affirmed, I had set up pretensions ; and then came a most hyperbolical innuendo— that he had good reason to know that I was revolving the revival of a stale adventure in the war of Cupid, in which I had been aforetime egregiously baffled, " at Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds." Any reasonable man would say, that was absurd on his own showing. The letter grew more provoking — it flouted my opinions, laughed at my particularity, caricatured and derided my figure for its leanness, set at nought my complexion, satirized my temper, and gave me over corporeally and spiritually to the great bear-herd, as one predestined to all kinds of ill luck with the women, and to be led for ever as an ape. His epistle, how- ever, wound up like a sermon, in a perfect concord of sweet sounds, beseeching me to forego my idle purpose ; (Cupid, forsooth !) to weed out all my prejudicate affections, as well touching the Old Dominion as the other conceits of my vain philosophy, and to hie me, with such speed as my convenience might serve withal, to Swallow Barn, where he made bold to pledge me an entertain- ment worthy of my labor. It was a brave offer, and discreetly to be perpended. I bal- anced the matter, in my usual see-saw fashion, for several days. It does mostly fall out, my dear Zack (to speak philosophically), INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. 15 that this machine of man is pulled in such contrary ways, by in- clinations and appetites setting diversely, that it shall go well with him if he he not altogether balanced into a pernicious ec|uili- brium of absolute rest. 1 had a great account to run up against my resolution. Longsides has so many conveniences ; and the servants have fallen so well into my habitudes ; and my arm-chair had such an essential adaptation to my felicity ; and even my ra- zors were on such a stationary foundation — one for every da}'- of the week — as to render it impossible to embark them on a journey; to say nothing of the letters to write, and the books to read, and all the other little cares that make up the sum of immobility in a man who does not care much about seeing the world ; so that, in faith, I had a serious matter of it. And then, after all, I was, in fact, plighted to my sister Louisa to go with her up the river, you know where. This, between you and me, was the very thing that brought down the beam. That futile, nonsensical flirtation ! But for this fantastic conceit crossing my mind with the bitterness of its folly, I should indubitably have staid at home. There are some junctures in love and war both, where your lying is your only game ; for as to equivocating, or putting the question upon an if or a hut^ it is a downright confession. If I had refused Ned's summons, not a whole legion of devils could have driven it out of his riveted belief, that I had been kept at home by that maggot of the brain which he called a love affair. And then I should never have heard the end of it ! " I'll set that matter right, at least," quoth I, as I folded up his letter. " Ned has reason, too," said I, suddenly struck with the novelty of the proposed journey, which began to show in a pleasant light upon my imagination, as things are apt to do, when a man has once relieved his mind from a state of doubt : — " One ought to travel before he makes up his opinion : there are two sides to every question, and the world is right or wrong ; I'm 16 INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. sure I don't know which. Your traveller is a man of privileges and authoritative, and looks well in the multitude : a man of mark, and authentic as a witness. And as for the Old Dominion, I'll warrant me it's a right jolly old place, with a good many years on its head yet, or I am mistaken. — By cock and pye, I'll go and see it . — What ho ! my tablets," Behold me now in the full career of my voyage of discovery, exploring the James River in the steamboat, on a clear, hot fif- teenth of June, and looking with a sagacious perspicacity upon the commonest sights of this terra incognita. I gazed upon the receding headlands far sternward, and then upon the sedgy banks where the cattle were standing leg-deep in the water to get rid of the flies : and ever and anon, as we followed the sinuosities of the river, some sweeping eminence came into view, and on the crown thereof was seen a plain, many-windowed edifice of brick, with low wings, old, ample and stately, looking over its wide and sun-burnt domain in solitary silence : and there were the piny promonto- ries, into whose shade we sometimes glided so close that one might have almost jumped on shore, where the wave struck the beach with a sullen plash : and there were the decayed fences jutting beyond the bank into the water, as if they had come down the hill too fast to stop themselves. All these things struck my fancy as peculiar to the region. It is wonderful to think how much more distinct arc the im- pressions of a man who travels pen in hand, than those of a mere business voyager. Even the crows, as we sometimes scared them from their banquets with our noisy enginery, seemed to have a more voluble, and, I may say, eloquent caw here in Virginia, than in the dialectic climates of the North. You would have laughed to see into what a state of lady-like rapture I had worked myself, in my eagerness to get a peep at Jamestown, with all my eflfer- vescence of romance kindled up by the renown of the unniatehablo INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. 17 Smith. The steward of the boat poinied it out when we had nearly passed it — and lo ! there it was — the buttress of an old steeple, a barren fallow, some melancholy heifers, a blasted pine, and, on its top, a desolate hawk's nest. What a splendid field for the fancy ! What a carte blanche for a painter ! With how many things might this little spot be filled ! What time bright Phoebus — you see that Jamestown has made me poetical — had thrown the reins upon his horse's neck, and got down from his chafed saddle in the western country, like a tired mail-carrier, our boat was safely moored at Rocket's, and I entered Richmond between hawk and buzzard — the very best hour, I maintain, out of the twenty-four, for a picturesque tourist. 18 INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. At that hour nature draws her pictures en silhoitette : every thing jet black against a bright horizon ; nothing to be seen but profiles, with all the shabby fiUings-up kept dark. Shockoe Hill was crested with what seemed palaces embowered in groves and gar- dens of richest shade ; the chimneys numberless, like minarets ; and the Parthenon of Virginia, on its appropriate summit, stood in another Acropolis, tracing its broad pediment upon the sky in exaggerated lines. There, too, was the rush of waters tumbling around enchanted islands, and flashing dimly on the sight. The hum of a city fell upon my ear ; the streets looked long and the houses high, and every thing brought upon my mind that misty impression which, Burke says, is an ingredient of the sublime, — and which, I say, every stranger feels on entering a city at twilight. I was set down at " The Union," where, for the first hour, being intent upon my creature comforts, my time passed well enough. The abrupt transition from long-continued motion to a state of rest makes almost every man sad, exactly as sudden speed makes us joyous ; and for this reason, I take it, your traveller in a strange place is, for a space after his halt, a sullen, if not a melancholy animal. The proofs of this were all around me; for here was I — not an unpractised traveller either — at my first rest- ing place after four days of accelerated progression, for the first time in my life in Richmond, in a large hotel, without one cog- nizable face before me ; full of excellent feelings without a power of utterance. What would I have given for thee, or Jones, or even long Dick Hardesty ! In that ludicrous conflict between the social nature of the man and his outward circumstances, which every light-hearted voyager feels in such a situation as mine, I grew desponding. Talk not to me of the comfort of mine own inn ! I hold it a thing altogether insufficient. A burlesque solitariness sealed up the fountains of speech, of the crowd who INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE, 19 were seatec. at the supper-table ; and the same uneasy sensation of pent-up sympathies was to be seen in the groups that peopled the purlieus of the hotel. A square lamp that hung midway over the hall, was just lit up, and a few insulated beings were sauntering backward and forward in its light : some loitered in pairs, in low and reserved conversation ; others stalked alone in incommuni- cable ruminations, with shaded brows, and their hands behind their backs. One or two stood at the door humming familiar •catches in unconscious medleys, as they gazed up and down the street, now clamorous with the din of carts and the gossip of serving-maids, discordant apprentice boys and over-contented blacks. Some sat on the pavement, leaning their chairs against the wall, and puffing segars in imperturbable silence : all compos- ing an orderly and disconsolate little republic of humorsome spirits, most pitifully out of tune. I was glad to take refuge in an idle occupation ; so I strolled about the city. The streets, by degrees, grew less frequented. Family parties were gathered about their doors, to take the evening breeze. The moon shone bright upon some bevies of active chil- dren, who played at racing games upon the pavements. On one side of the street, a contumacious clarionet screamed a harsh bravado to a thorough-going violin, which, on the opposite side, in an illuminated barber-shop, struggled in the contortions of a Virginia reel. And, at intervals, strutted past a careering, saucy negro, with marvellous lips, whistling to the top of his bent, and throwing into shade halloo of schoolboy, scream of clarionet, and screech of fiddle. Towards midnight a thunder gust arose, accompanied with sharp lightning, and the morning broke upon me in all the luxu- riance of a cool and del'cious atmosphere. You must know that when I left home, my purpose w.\f to make my way direct to Swallow Barn. Now, what think you of my skill as a traveller. *20 INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. when I tell you, that until I woke in Richmond on this enchant- ing morning, it never once occurred to me to inquire where this same Swallow Barn was ! I knew that it was in Virginia, and somewhere about the James River, and therefore I instinctively wandered to Richmond ; but now, while making my toilet, my thoughts being naturally bent upon my next movement, it very reasonably occurred to me that I must have passed my proper destination the day before, and, full of this thought, I found my- self humming the line from an old song, which runs, '• Pray what the devil brings you here !" The communicative and obliging bar-keeper of the Union soon put me right. He knew Ned Haz- ard as a frequent visitor of Richmond, and his advice was, that I should take the same boat in which I came, and shape my course back as far as City Point, where he assured me that I might find some conveyance to Swallow Barn, which lay still farther down the river, and that, at all events, " go where I would, I could not go wrong in Virginia." What think you of that ? Now I hold that to be, upon personal experience, as true a word as ever was set down in a traveller's breviary. There is not a by-path in Virginia that will take a gentleman, who has time on his hands, in a wrong direction. This I say in honest compliment to a state which is full to the brim of right good fellows. The boat was not to return for two days, and I therefore employed the interval in looking about the city. Don't be fright- ened ! — for I neither visited hospitals, nor schools, nor libraries, and therefore will not play the tourist with you: but if you wish to see a beautiful little city, built up of rich and tasteful villas, and embellished with all the varieties of town and country, scattered with a refined and exquisite skill — come and look at Shockoe Hill in the month of June. — You may believe, then, I did not regret my aberration. At the appointed day T ro-cmbarkcd. and in ilup time was put INTRODUCTORY' EPlSTLi:. 21 down ah City Point. Here some further delay awaited nie This is not the Land of hackney coaches, and I found myself somewhat embarrassed in procuring an onward conveyance. At a small house to which I was conducted, I made my wishes known, and the proprietor kindly volunteered his services to set me for- ward. It was a matter of some consideration. The day was well advanced, and it was as much as could be done to reach Swal- low Barn that night. An equipage, however, was at last procured for me, and off I went. You would have laughed " sans intermis- sion" a good hour if you had seen me upon the road. I was set up n an old sulky, of a dingy hue, without springs, with its body sunk between a pair of unusually high wheels. It was drawn by an asthmatic, superannuated racer with a huge Roman nose and a most sorrowful countenance. His sides were piteously scalded with the traces, and his harness, partly of rope and partly of leather thongs, corresponded with the sobriety of his character. He had fine long legs, however, and got over the ground with surprising alacrity. At a most respectful distance behind me trotted the most venerable of outriders — an old free negro, formerly a retain- er in some of the feudal establishments of the low countries. His name was Scipio. His face, which was principally composed of a pair of protuberant lips, whose luxuriance seemed intended as an indemnity for a pair of crushed nostrils, was well set off with a head of silver wool that bespoke a volume of gravity. He had, from some aristocratic conceit of elegance, indued him- self for my service in a ragged regimental coat, still jagged with some points of tarnished scarlet, and a pair of coarse linen trow- sers, barely reaching the ankles, beneath which two bony feet occupied shoes, each of the superficies and figure of a hoe, and on one of these was w^iimsically buckled a rusty spur. His horse was a short, thick-set pony, with an amazingly rough trot, which kept Scipio's legs in a state of constant warfare against the 22 INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. animal's sides, whilst the old fellow bounced up and down in his saddle with the ambitious ostentation of a groom in the vigor of manhood, and proud of his horsemanship. Scipio frequently succeeded, by dint of hard spurring, to get close enough to me to open a conversation, which he conducted with such a deferential courtesy and formal politeness, as greatly to enhance my opinion of his breeding. His face was lighted up with a lambent smile, and he touched his hat with an antique grace at every accost ; the tone of his voice was mild and subdued, and in short, Scipio had all the unction of an old gentleman. He had a great deal to say of the " palmy days" of Virginia, and the generations which in his time had been broken up, or, what in his conception was equivalent, had gone " over the mountain." He expatiated with a wonderful relish upon the splendors of the old-fashioned style in that part of the country ; and told me very pathetically, how the estates were cut up, and what old people had died off, and how much he felt himself alone in the present times, — which particulars he interlarded with sundry sage remarks, im- porting an affectionate attachment to the old school, of which he considered himself no unworthy survivor. He concluded these disquisitions with a reflection that amused me by its pro- fundity — and which doubtless he had picked up from some popular orator : " When they change the circumstance, they alter the case." My expression of assent to this aphorism awoke all his van- ity, — for after ponderjng a moment upon it, he shook his head archly as he added, — " People think old Scipio a fool, because he's got sense," — and, thereupon, the old follow laughed till the tears came into his eyes. In this kind of colloquy we made some twenty miles before the shades of evening overtook us, and Scipio now informed me that we might soon expect to reach Swallow Barn. The road was smooth and canopied with dark foliage, and, as the last blush of INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. 23 twilight faded away, we swept rapidly round the head of a swamp where a thousand frogs were celebrating their vespers, and soon after reached the gate of the court-yard. Lights were glimmering through diflferent apertures, and several stacks of chimneys were visible above the horizon ; the whole mass being magnified into the dimensions of a great castle. Some half-dozen dogs bounding to the gate, brought a host of servants to receive me, as I alighted at the door. Cousins count in Virginia, and have great privileges. Here was I in the midst of a host of them. Frank Meriwether met me as cordially as if we had spent our whole lives together, and my cousin Lucretia, his wife, came up and kissed me in the genuine coun- try fashion. Of course, I repeated the ceremony towards all the female branches that fell in my way. and, by the by, the girls are pretty enough to make the ceremony interesting, although I think they consider me somewhat oldish. As to Ned Hazard, I need not tell you he is the quintessence of good humor, and received me with that famous hearty honesty of his, which you would have predicted. At the moment of my arrival, a part of the family were strewed over the steps of a little porch at the front door, basking in the moonlight ; and before them a troop of children, white and black, trundled hoops across the court-yard, followed by a pack of com- panionable curs, who seemed to have a part of the game ; whilst a piano within the house served as an orchestra to the players. My arrival produced a sensation that stopped all this, and I was hur- ried by a kind of tumultuary welcome into the parlor. If you have the patience to read this long epistle to the end, I would like to give you a picture of the family as it appeared to me that night ; but if you are already fatigued with my gossip, as I have good reason to fear, why you may e'en skip this, and go about your more important duties. But it is not often you may 24 1NTRODUCTOR.Y EPISTLE. meet such scenes, and as thej produce some kindly impressions I think it worth while to note this. The parlor was one of those specimens of architecture of which there are not many survivors, and in another half century, they will, perhaps, be extinct. The walls were of panelled wood, of a greenish white, with small windows seated in deep embrasures, and the mantel was high, embellished with heavy mouldings that ex- tended up to the cornice of the room, in a figure resembling a square fortified according to Yauban. In one corner stood a tall triangular cupboard, and opposite to it a clock equally tall, with a healthy, saucy-faced full moon peering above the dial-plate. A broad sofa ranged along the wall, and was kept in countenance by a legion of leather-bottomed chairs, which sprawled their bandy legs to a perilous compass, like a high Dutch skater squaring the yard. A huge table occupied the middle of the room, whereon reposed a service of stately china, and a dozen covers flanking some lodg- ments of sweetmeats, and divers curiously wrought pyramids of butter tottering on pedestals of ice. In the midst of this array, like a lordly fortress, was placed an immense bowl of milk, sur- rounded by sundry silver goblets, reflecting their images on the polished board, as so many El Dorados in a fairy Archipelago. An uncarpeted floor glistened with a dim, but spotless lustre, in token of careful housekeeping, and around the walls were hung, in grotesque frames, some time-worn portraits, protruding their pale faces through thickets of priggish curls. The sounding of a bell was the signal for our evening repast. My cousin Lucretia had already taken the seat of worship behind a steaming urn and a strutting coflfee-pot of chased silver, that had the air of a cock about to crow, — it was so erect. A little rosy gentleman, the reverend Mr. Chub, [a tutor in the family,) said a hasty and half-smothered grace, and then we all arranged ourselves at the table. An aged dame in spectacles, with the INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. 25 maimerly silence of a dependent, placed herself in a post at the board, that enabled her to hold in check some little moppets who were perched on high chairs, with bibs under their chins, and two barefooted bo3's who had just burst into the room overheated with play. A vacant scat remained, which, after a few moments, was occupied by a tall spinster, with a sentimental mien, who glided into the parlor with some stir. She was another cousin, Zachary, according to the Virginia rule of consanguinity, who was introduced to me as Miss Prudence Meriwether, a sister of Frank's, — and as for her age. — that's neither here nor there. The evening went off, as you might guess, with abundance of good feeling and unaffected enjoyment. The ladies soon fell into their domestic occupations, and the parson smoked his pipe in silence at the window. The young progeny teased '• uncle Ned" with importunate questions, or played at bo-peep at the parlor door, casting sly looks at me, from whence they slipt off, with a laugh, whenever they caught my eye. At last, growing tired, they rushed with one accord upon Hazard, flinging themselves across his knees, pulling his skirts, or clambering over the back of his chair, until, worn out by sport, they dropped successively upon the floor, in such childish slumber, that not even their nurses woke them when they were picked up, like sacks, and carried off to bed upon the shoulders. It was not long before the rest of us followed, and I found myself luxuriating in a comfortable bed which would have accom- modated a platoon. Here, listening to the tree-frog and the owl, I dropped into a profound slumber, and knew nothing more of this under world, until the sun shining through my window, and the voluble note of the mocking-bird, recalled me to the enjoy- ment of nature and the morning breeze. So, you have all my adventures up to the moment of my arri- val. And as I have set out with a premeditated purpose to regis- 2 26 INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE. ter what I see and hear — an inky and therefore a black intent, say you — you shall hear from me again presently : but whether in some descriptive pictures of this old dominion, or in dramatic sketches, or in a journal, or in some rambling letters, I cannot yet foretell. I shall wait upon my occasions. Perhaps I shall give you something compounded of all these. And if a book be the upshot — ^who's afraid? You may read or let it alone, as you please. " That's the humor of it " — as Nym says. It may be some time before we meet ; till then, I wear you in my heart. Mark Littleton. Swallow Barn^ June 20, 1829. CHAPTER I. SWALLOW BARN, Swallow Barn is an aristocratical old edifice which sits, like a brooding hen, on the southern bank of the James River. It looks down upon a shady pocket or nook, formed by an indenta- tion of the shore, from a gentle acclivity thinly sprinkled with oaks whose magnificent branches afibrd habitation to sundry friendly colonies of squirrels and woodpeckers. This time-honored mansion was the residence of the family of Hazards. But in the present generation, the spells of love and mortgage have translated the possession to Frank Meriwether, who having married Lucretia, the eldest daughter of my late Uncle Walter Hazard, and lifted some gentlemanlike incumbran- ces which had been sleeping for years upon the domain, was thus inducted into the proprietary rights. The adjacency of his own estate gave a territorial feature to this alliance, of which the fruits were no less discernible in the multiplication of negroes, cattle, and poultry, than in a flourishing clan of Meriwethers. The main building is more than a century old. It is built with thick brick walls, but one story in height, and surmounted by a double-faced or hipped roof, which gives the idea of a ship bottom upwards. Later buildings have been added to this, as the wants or ambition of the family have expanded. These are 28 SWALLOW BARN. all constructed of wood, and seem to have been built in defiance of all laws of congruity. just as convenience required. But they form altogether an agreeable picture of habitation, suggesting the idea of comfort in the ample space they fill, and in their conspicuous adaptation to domestic uses. The hall door is an ancient piece of walnut, which has grown too heavy for its hinges, and by its daily travel has furrowed the floor in a quadrant, over which it has an uneasy journey. It is shaded by a narrow porch, with a carved pediment upheld by mas- sive columns of wood, somewhat split by the sun. An ample court-yard, inclosed by a semi-circular paling, extends in front of the whole pile, and is traversed by a gravel road leading from a rather ostentatious iron gate, which is swung between two pillars of brick surmounted by globes of cut stone. Between the gate and the house a large willow spreads its arched and pendent dra- pery over the grass. A bridle rack stands within the inclosurc, and near it a ragged horse-nibbled plum-tree — the current belief being that a plum-tree thrives on ill usage — casts its skeleton shadow on the dust. Some Lombardy poplars, springing above a mass of shrubbery, partially screen various supernumerary buildings at a short dis- tance in the rear of the mansion. Amongst these is to bo seen the gable end of a stable, with the date of its erection stiffly em- blazoned in black bricks near the upper angle, in figures set in after the fashion of the work on a girl's sampler. In the same quarter a pigeon-box, reared on a post and resembling a huge tee-totum, is visible, and about its several doors and windows a family of pragmatical pigeons are generally strutting, bridling, and bragging at each other from sunrise until dark. Appendant to this homestead is an extensive tract of land which stretches some three or four miles along the river, present- ing alternately abrupt promontories mantled with pine and dwarf SWALLOW BARN. 29 oak, and small inlets terminating in swamps. Some sparse por- tions of forest vary the landscape, which, for the most part, ex- hibits a succession of fields clothed with Indian corn, some small patches of cotton or tobacco plants, with the usual varieties of stubble and fallow grounds. These are inclosed by worm fences of shrunken chestnut, where lizards and ground-squirrels are per- petually running races along the rails. A few hundred steps from the mansion, a brook glides at a snail's pace towards the river, holding its course through a wilder- ness of laurel and alder, and creeping around islets covered with green mosses. Across this stream is thrown a rough bridge, which it would delight a painter to see ; and not far below it an aged sycamore twists its roots into a grotesque framework to the pure mirror of a spring, which wells up its cool waters from a bed of gravel and runs gurgling to the brook. There it aids in fur- nishing a cruising ground to a squadron of ducks who, in defiance of all nautical propriety, are incessantly turning up their sterns to the skies. On the grass which skirts the margin of the spring, I observe the family linen is usually spread out by some three or four negro women, who chant shrill music over their wash-tubs, and seem to live in ceaseless warfare with sundry little besmirched and bow-legged blacks, who are never tired of making somersets, and mischievously pushing each other on the clothes laid down to dry. Beyond the bridge, at some distance, stands a prominent ob- ject in the perspective of this picture, — the most venerable appen- dage to the establishment — a huge barn with an immense roof hanging almost to the ground, and thatched a foot thick with sun- burnt straw, which reaches below the eaves in ragged flakes. It has a singularly drowsy and decrepit aspect. The yard around it is strewed knee-deep with litter, from the midst of which arises a long rack resembling a chevaux de frise, which is ordinarily ;o SWALLOW BARN. filled with fodder. This is the customary lounge of half a score of oxen and as many cows, who sustain an imperturbable com- panionship with a sickly wagon, whose parched tongue and droop- ing swingle-trees, as it stands in the sun, give it a most forlorn and invalid character ; whilst some sociable carts under the sheds, with their shafts perched against the walls, suggest the idea of a set of gossiping cronies taking their ease in a tavern porch. Now and then a clownish hobble-de-hoy colt, with long fetlocks and disordered mane, and a thousand burs in his tail, stalks through this company. But as it is forbidden ground to all his tribe, he is likely very soon to encounter a shower of corn-cobs from some of the negro men : upon which contingency he makes a rapid retreat across the bars which imperfectly guard the en- trance to the yard, and with an uncouth display of his heels bounds away towards the brook, where he stops and looks back with a saucy defiance : and after affecting to drink for a noment, gallops away with a braggart whinny to the fields. CHAPTER 11. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. The master of this lordly domain is Frank Meriwether. He is now in the meridian of life — somewhere about forty-five. Good cheer and an easy temper tell well upon him. The first has given him a comfortable, portly figure, and the latter a contemplative turn of mind, which inclines him to be lazy and philosophical. He has some right to pride himself on his personal appear- ance, for he has a handsome face, with a dark blue eye and a fine intellectual brow. His head is growing scant of hair on the crown, which induces him to be somewhat particular in the man- agement of his locks in that locality, and these are assuming a decided silvery hue. It is pleasant to see him when he is going to ride to the Court House on business occasions. He is then apt to make his ap- pearance in a coat of blue broadcloth, astonishingly glossy, and with an unusual amount of plaited ruffle strutting through the folds of a Marseilles waistcoat. A worshipful finish is given to this costume by a large straw hat, lined with green silk. There is a magisterial fulness in his garments which betokens condition in the world, and a heavy bunch of seals, suspended by a chain of gold, jingles as he moves, pronouncing him a man of superflui- ties. 32 A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. It is considered rather extraordinary that he has never set up for Congress : but the truth is, he is an unambitious man, and has a great dislike to currying favor — as he calls it. And. be- sides, he is thoroughly convinced that there will always be men enough in Virginia willing to serve the people, and therefore does not see why he should trouble his head about it. Some years ago, however, there was really an impression that he meant to come out. By some sudden whim, he took it into his head to visit Washington during the session of Congress, and returned, after a fortnight, very seriously distempered with politics. He told curious anecdotes of certain secret intrigues which had been discovered in the affairs of the capital, gave a clear insight into the views of some deep-laid combinations, and became, all at once, painfully florid in his discourse, and dogmatical to a degree that made his wife stare. Fortunately, this orgasm "Soon sub- sided, and Frank relapsed into an indolent gentleman of the op' position ; but it had the effect to give a much more defided cast to his studies, for he forthwith discarded the " Richmond Whig " from his newspaper subscription, and took to " The Enquirer," like a man who was not to be disturbed by doubts. And as it was morally impossible to believe all that was written on both sides, to prevent his mind from being abused, he from this time forward took a stand against the re-election of Mr. Adams to the Presidency, and resolved to give an implicit faith to all alleged facts which set against his administration. The consequence of this straight-forward and confiding deportment was an unexpected complimentary notice of him by the Executive of the State. He was put into the commission of the peace, and having thus be- come a public man against his will, his opinions were observed to undergo some essential changes. He now thinks that a good citizen ought neither to solicit nor decline office ; that the magis- tracy of Virginia is the sturdiest pillar which supports the fabric A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. S3 of the Constitution ; and that the people, " though in their opin- ions they may be mistaken, in their sentiments they are never wrong ;" — with some such other dogmas as, a few years ago, he did not hold in very good repute. In this temper, he has of late embarked on the millpond of county affairs, and nothwithstand- ing his amiable character and his doctrinary republicanism. I am told he keeps the peace as if he commanded a garrison, and ad- ministers justice like a Cadi. He has some claim to supremacy in this last department ; for during three years he smoked segars in a lawyer's office in Rich- mond, which enabled him to obtain a bird's-eye view of Black- stone and the Revised Code. Besides this, he was a member of a Law Debating Society, which ate oysters once a week in a cel- lar ; and he wore, in accordance with the usage of the most prom- ising law students of that day, six cravats, one over the other, and yellow-topped boots, by which he was recognized as a blood of the metropolis. Having in this way qualified himself to assert and maintain his rights, he came to his estate, upon his arrival at age, a very model of landed gentlemen. Since that time his avoca- tions have had a certain literary tincture ; for having settled him- self down as a married man, and got rid of his superfluous fop- pery, he rambled with wonderful assiduity through a wilderness' of romances, poems, and dissertations, which are now collected in his library, and, with their battered blue covers, present a lively type of an army of continentals at the close of the war, or a hos- pital of invalids. These have all, at last, given way to the news- papers — a miscellaneous study very attractive and engrossing to country gentlemen. This line of study has rendered Meriwether a most perilous antagonist in the matter of legislative proceed- ings. A landed proprietor, with a good house and a host of servants. is naturally a hospitable man. A guest is one of his daily wants 2* 34 A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. A friendly face is a necessary of life, without wliicli the heart is apt to starve, or a luxury without which it grows parsimonious. Men who are isolated from society by distance, feel these wants by an instinct, and are grateful for the opportunity to relieve them. In Meriwether, the sentiment goes beyond this. It has, besides, something dialectic in it. His house is open to every body, as freely almost as an inn. But to see him when he has had the good fortune to pick up an intelligent, educated gentle- man, — and particularly one who listens well ! — a respectable, assentatious stranger ! — All the better if he has been in the Le- gislature, or better still, if in Congress. Such a person caught within the purlieus of Swallow Barn, may set down one week's entertainment as certain — ^inevitable, and as many more as he likes — the more the merrier. He will know something of the quality of Meriwether's rhetoric before he is gone. Then again, it is very pleasant to see Frank's kind and con- siderate be&ring towards his servants and dependents. His slaves appreciate this, and hold him in most affectionate reverence, and, theref )re, are not only contented, but happy under his do- minion. Meriwether is not much of a traveller. He has never been in New England, and very seldom beyond the confines of Vir- ginia. He makes now and then a winter excursion to Richmond, which, I rather think, he considers as the centre of civilization \ and towards autumn, it is his custom to journey over the moun- tain to the Springs, which he is obliged to do to avoid the un- healthy season in the tide-water region. But the upper country is not much to his taste, and would not be endured by him if it were not for the crowds that resort there for the same reason which operates upon liim ; and I may add, — though he would not confess it —for the opportunity this concourse affords him for dis- cussion of opinions. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. 35 He thinks lightly of the mercantile interest, and, in fact, un- dervalues the manners of the large cities generally. He believes that those who live in them are hollow-hearted and insincere, and wanting in that substantial intelligence and virtue, which he affirms to be characteristic of the country. He is an ardent admirer of the genius of Virginia, and is frequent in his commen- dation of a toast in which the state is compared to the mother of the Gracchi : — indeed, it is a familiar thing with him to speak of the aristocracy of talent as only inferior to that of the landed in- terest, — the idea of a freeholder inferring to his mind a certain constitutional pre-eminence in all the virtues of citizenship, as a matter of course. The solitary elevation of a country gentleman, well to do in the world, begets some magnificent notions. He becomes as in- fallible as the Pope ; gradually acquires a habit of making long speeches ; is apt to be impatient of contradiction, and is always very touchy on the point of honor. There is nothing more con- clusive than a rich man's logic any where, but in the country, amongst his dependents, it flows with the smooth and unresisted course of a full stream irrigating a meadow, and depositing its mud in fertilizing luxuriance. Meriwether's sayings, about Swal- low Barn, import absolute verity. But I have discovered that they are not so current out of his jurisdiction. Indeed, every now and then, we have quite obstinate discussions when some of the neighboring potentates, who stand in the same sphere with Frank, come to the house ; for these worthies have opinions of their own, and nothing can be more dogged than the conflict be- tween them. They sometimes fire away at each other with a most amiable and unconvinceable hardihood for a whole evening, ban- dying interjections, and making bows, and saying shrewd things with all the courtesy imaginable. But for unextinguishable per- tinacity in argument, and utter impregnability of belief, there is 36 A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. no disputant like your country-gentleman who reads the news- papers. When one of these discussions fairly gets under weigh, it never comes to an anchor again of its own accord : — it is either blown out so far to sea as to be given up for lost, or puts into port in distress for want of documents, — or is upset by a call for the boot-jack and slippers — which is something like the previous f[uestion in Congress. If my worthy cousin be somewhat over-argumentative as a politician, he restores the equilibrium of his character by a con- siderate coolness in religious matters. He piques himself upon being a high-churchman, but is not the most diligent frequenter of places of worship, and very seldom permits himself to get into a dispute upon points of faith. If Mr. Chub, the Presbyterian tutor in the family, ever succeeds in drawing him into this field, as he occasionally has the address to do, Meriwether is sure to fly the course ; he gets puzzled with scripture names, and makes some odd mistakes between Peter and Paul, and then generally turns the parson over to his wife, who, he says, has an astonishing memory. He is somewhat distinguished as a breeder of blooded horses ; and, ever since the celebrated race between Eclipse and Henry, has taken to this occupation with a renewed zeal, as a matter affecting the reputation of the state. It is delightful to hear him expatiate upon the value, importance, and patriotic bearing of this employment, and to listen to all his technical lore touching the mystery of horse-craft. He has some fine colts in training, which are committed to the care of a pragmatical old negro, named Carey, who, in his reverence for the occupation, is the perfect shadow of his master. He and Frank hold grave and momentous consultations upon the affairs of the stable, in such a sagacious strain of equal debate, that it would puzzle a spectator to tell which was the leading member in the council. Carey thinks he A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. 37 knows a great deal more upon the subject than his master, and their frequent intercourse has begot a familiarity in the old negro which is almost fatal to Meriwether's supremacy. The old man feels himself authorized to maintain his positions accord- ing to the freest parliamentary form, and sometimes with a violence of asseveration that compels his master to abandon his ground, purely out of faint-heartedness. Meriwether gets a little nettled by Carey's doggedness, but generally turns it off in a laugh. I was in the stable with him, a few mornings after my arrival, when he ventured to expostulate with the venerable groom upon a pro- fessional point, but the controversy terminated in its customary way. " Who sot you up. Master Frank, to tell me how to fodder that 'ere cretur, when I as good as nursed you on my knee ?" '• "Well, tie up your tongue, you old mastiff," replied Frank, as he walked out of the stable, " and cease growling, since you will have it your own way ;" — and then, as we left the old man's pre- sence, he added, with an affectionate chuckle — " a faithful old cur, too, that snaps at me out of pure honesty ; he has not many years left, and it does no harm to humor him !" CHAPTER IIL FAMILY PORTRAITS. Whilst Frank Meriwether amuses himself with his quiddities, and floats through life upon the current of his humor, his dame, my excellent cousin Lucretia, takes charge of the household affairs, as one who has a reputation to stake upon her administra' tion. She has made it a perfect science, and great is her fame in the dispensation thereof! Those who have visited Swallow Barn will long remember the morning stir, of which the murmurs arose even unto the cham- bers, and fell upon the ears of the sleepers ; — the dry-rubbing of floors, and even the waxing of the same until they were like ice ; — and the grinding of coffee-mills ; — and the gibber of ducks, and chickens, and turkeys ; and all the multitudinous concert of homely sounds. And then, her breakfasts ! I do not wish to be counted extravagant, but a small regiment might march in upon her without disappointment ; and I would put them for excellence and variety against any thing that ever was served upon platter. Moreover, all things go like clock-work. She rises with the lark, and infuses an early vigor into the whole household. And yet she is a thin woman to look upon, and a feeble ; with a sallow complexion, and a pair of animated black eyes which impart a portion of fire to a countenance otherwise demure from the paths w IMi'ilil!i. iiii.:!;-' :.it>ii1 ^ N|i1|ftV' >,^.^^^ Sd down stairs like a phantom, and you are aware of her com- ing Dy a low jingle of keys. One moment she is whipping cream, and the next threatening the same operation on some unlucky youngster of the kitchen who chances to meddle with her labors. You may hear her clattering eggs in a bowl, scolding servants, and screaming at Bip, who is perpetually in her way, amongst the sweetmeats : all of which matters, though enacted with a vinegar aspect, it is easy to sec are very agreeable to her self- love. There is no reverence like that of children for potentates of this description. Her very glance has in it something discon- certing to the young fry ; and they will twist their dumpling faces into every conceivable expression of grief, before they will dare to squall out in her presence. Even Rip is afraid of her. "When the old woman's mad, she is a horse to whip !" he told Ned and myself one morning, upon our questioning him as to the particulars of an uproar in which he had been the principal actor. FAMILY r O R T RAITS, 43 These exercises on the part of the old lady are neither rare nor unwholesome, and are winked at by the higher authorities. Mrs. Winkle's complexion is the true parchment, and her roice is somewhat cracked. She takes Scotch snuff from a silver box, and wears a pair of horn spectacles, which give effect to the peculiar peakedness of her nose. On days of state she appears in all the rich coxcombry of the olden time ; her gown being of an obsolete fashion, sprinkled with roses and sun-flowers, and her lizard arms encased in tight sleeves'* as far as the elbow, where they are met by silken gloves without fingers. A starched tucker is pinned, with a pedantic precision, across her breast ; and a prim cap of muslin, puckered into a point with a grotesque conceit, adorns her head. — Take her altogether, she looks very stately and bitter. Then, when she walks, it is inconceivable how aristocratically she rustles, — especially on a Sunday. CHAPTER IV. FAMILY PARAGONS. My picture of the family at Swallow Barn would be incomplete if I did not give a conspicuous place to my two young cousins, Lucy and Victorine, It is true they are cousins only in the second remove, but I have become sufficiently naturalized to the soil to perceive the full value of the relation ; and as they ac- knowledge it very affectionately to me — for I was promoted to " Cousin Mark" almost in the first hour after my arrival — I should be unreasonably reluctant if I did not assert the full right of blood. Lucy tells "me she is only fifteen, and that she is one year and one month older than Vic, " for all that Yic is taller than she." Now, Lucy is a little fairy with blue eyes and light hair, and partially freckled and sun-burnt — being a very pretty likeness of Rip, who, I have said, is an imp of homeli- ness ; a fact which all experience shows to be quite consistent with the highest beauty. Victorine is almost a head taller, and possesses a stronger frame. She differs, too, from her sister by her jet-black eyes and dark hair ; though they resemble each other in the wholesome tan which exposure to the atmosphere has spread alike over the cheeks of both. These two girls are educated entirely at home, and are grow- ing up together in the most confiding mutual affection. There FAMILY PARAGONS. 45 is nothing more lovely than two sisters in this relation, tranquilly and unconsciously gliding onwards to womanhood amongst the familiar images and gentle influences of the household circle ; their kindly impulses set in motion by the caresses of friends ; their tastes directed by the simple and pure enjoyments of a refined home in the country, where nature supplies so many beau tiful objects to attract the eye, and afiection so much pleasant guidance to inform the heart ; where lessons of love are received from parental teaching, or absorbed, rather, from looks that are more eloquent than words ; where useful instruction loses all its weariness in the encouragement of that fond applause which is assiduous to reward patient toil or to cheer the effort which has paused in the fear of failure. No over-stimulated ambition is likely there to taint the mind with those vices of rivalry which, in schools, often render youth selfish and unamiable, and suggest thoughts of concealment and stratagem as aids in the race of pre- eminence. Home, to a young girl, is a world peopled with kindly faces and filled only with virtues. She does not know, even by report, the impure things of life. She has heard and read of its miseries, for which her heart melts in charity, and she grows up in the faith that she was born to love the good and render kind offices to the wretched ; but she conceives nothing of the wickedness of a world which she has never seen, and lives on to womanhood in a happy and guarded ignorance, which is not broken until her mind has acquired a strength sufficient to dis- cern and repel whatever there may be dangerous in knowledge. " Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hom-s" Poh ! — bless me ! — These children have actually brought me to lecturing and quoting verse. Let me get back to my appro- priate function of narrative. 46 F A M I L Y P A R A G O N S . Lucy is rather meditative for her age — calm and almost matronly. She is a little housekeeper, and affects to have cares. Victorine is more intrepid, and attracts universal regard by the jollity of her temperament, which is equally the index of her innocence and her healthful organization. They pursue the same studies, and I see them every morning at their tasks, often read- ing from the same book with their arms around each other's waist. They have profound confidences in which they think themselves very secure and exclusive ; but I can often tell them their whole secret by watching their by-play ; — which shrewdness of mine is so inexplicable to them, that they think I am some- thing of a conjurer. I frequently walk with them in the evening on the river bank. They are invariably attended upon these rambles by two large white pointers, who gambol around them with a most affectionate playfulness, and are constantly soliciting the applause of their pretty mistresses by the gallant assiduities which are characteristic of this race of faithful animals. Meriwether is accustomed to have these girls read to him some portion of every day. By this requisition, which he puts upon the ground of an amusement for himself, he has beguiled them into graver studies than are generally pursued at that time of life. It is quite charming to notice the unwearying devotion they bestow upon this labor, which they think gives pleasure to their father. He, of course, looks upon them as the most gifted creatures in existence. And truly, they have gained so much upon me, that I don't think he is far wrong. A window in the upper story of one of the wings of the build- ing overlooks a flower-garden, and around this window grows a profusion of creeping vino which is trained with architectural precision along the wall to the roof It is a prim, decorous plant, with icy leaves of perdurable green, without a flower of its own to give variety to its staid drapery. Here and there, how- r FAMILY PARAGONS. 47 ever, an intruding rose has stolen a nest amongst its plexures, and looks pleasantly forth from this sober tapestry. In this window, about noon-tide, may be daily seen the profuse tresses of a head of flaxen hair scrupulousl}'- adjusted in glossy volume ; and ever and anon, as it moves to some thoughtful impulse, is disclosed a studious brow of fairest white. And sometimes, more fully revealed, may be seen the entire head of the lady as she sits intent upon the perusal of a book. The lady Prudence is in iier bower, and pursues some theme of fancy in the delicious realm of poesy, or with pencil and brush shapes and gilds the wings of gaudy butterflies, or, peradventure, enricheth her album with dainty sonnets. And sometimes, in listless musing, she rests her chin upon her gem-bedizened hand, and fixes her soft blue eye upon the flower-beds where the humming-bird is poised before the honeysuckle. But howsoever engaged, it is a dedi- cated hour. I have said profanely, once before, that " a tall spinster" sat at the family board, and now here she sits in her morning guise, silent and alone, pondering over the creations of genius and the dreams of art. Prudence Meriwether is an only sister of Frank's, and holds a station somewhat eminent amongst the household idols. She is rather comely to look upon — very neat in person, and is con- sidered high authority in matter of dress. But Time, who notches mortal shapes with as little mercy as the baker, in his morning circuit, notches his tally-stick, has calendared his visits even upon this goodly form. A shrewd observer may note in sun- dry evidences of a fastidious choice of colors, and of what, — to coin a word, — I might call a scrupulous toiletry^ that the lapse of human seasons has not j^assed unheeded by this lady. He may detect, sometimes, an overdone vivacity in her accost, and an exaggerated thoughtlessness ; sometimes, in her tone of con- versation, a little too much girlishness, which betrays a suspicion 48 FAMILY PARAGONS. of its opposite : and there are certain sober lines journeying from the mouth cheekward, which are ruminative, in spite of her light-heartedness. These are quite pleasant signs to an astute, experienced, perspicacious bachelor, like myself, who can read them with a learned skill ; they speak of that mellow time when a woman captivates by complaisance, and overcomes her adver sary rather by marching out of her fort to challenge attack, than by standing a siege within it. There is a dash of the picturesque in the character of this lady. Towards sunset she is apt to stray forth amongst the old oaks, and to gather small bouquets of wild flowers, in the pursuit of which she contrives to get into very pretty attitudes ; or she falls into raptures at the shifting tints of the clouds on the west- ern sky, and produces quite a striking pictorial effect by the skil- ful choice of a position which shows her figure in strong relief against the evening light. And then in her boudoir may be found exquisite sketches from her pencil, of forms of love and beauty, belted and buckled knights, old castles and pensive ladies, Madonnas and cloistered nuns, — the offspring of an artistic imagination heated with romance and devotion. Her attire is, sometimes, studiously simple and plain, and her bearing is de- mure and contemplative ; but this is never long continued, for, in spite of her discipline, she does not wish to be accounted as one inclined to be serious in her turn of mind. I have seen her break out into quite a riotous vivacity. This is very likely tr ensue when she is brought into fellowship with a flaunting mad cap belle who is carrying all before her : she then " overbears her continents," and becomes as flaunting a madcap as tho other. If Prudence has a fault — which proposition I prudently put with an if^ as a doubtful question — it is in setting the domestic virtues at too high a value. One may, perhaps, be too inveterately F A M I L Y r A E. A G O N S . 49 charitable. I think the establishment of three Sunday schools, a colonization society membership, a management in a tract asso- ciation, and an outward and visible patronage of the cause of temperance, by the actual enrolment of her name amongst those who have taken the pledge, smack a little of supererogation, though I don't wish to set up my judgment too peremptorily on this point. And I think, also, one may carry the praise of the purity of country life, and of the benefits of solitude and self- constraint, to an extent which might appear merciless towards those whose misfortune it is to live in a sphere where these virtues annot be so fully cultivated. If a tendency in this direction be I blemish in the composition of our lady, it is a very slight one, md is amply compensated by the many pleasant aberrations she makes from this phase of her character. She converses with ^reat ease upon all subjects — even with a dangerous facility, I may say, which sometimes leads her into hyperbole : her diction 3Ccasionaliy becomes high-flown, and expands into the incompre- hensible — but that is only when she is excited. Her manner, at times, might be called oratorical, particularly when, in imitation Df her brother, she bewails the departure of the golden age, or ieclaims upon the prospect of its revival among the rejuvenescent glories of the Old Dominion. She has an awful idea of the per- ect respectability, I might almost say splendor,' of her lineage, md this is one of the few points upon which I know her to be touchy. Apart from these peculiarities, which are but fleecy clouds iupon a summer sky, even enhancing its beauty, or mites upon a snow-drift, she is a captivating specimen of a ripened maiden, just standing on that sunshiny verge from which the prospect beyond presents a sedate autumnal landscape gently subsiding into undistinguishable and misty confusion of hill and dale array- ed in golden-tinted gray. It is no wonder, therefore, that with 50 FAMILY TARAGONS, her varied perfections, and the advantages of her position, th James River world should insensibly have elevated Prudenc Meriwether to the poetical altitude of the '• cynosure of neigh boring eyes." CHAPTER V. NED HAZARD. Ned Hazard has become my inseparable companion. He has a fine, flowing stream of good spirits, which is sometimes interrupted by a slight under-current of sadness ; it is even a ludicrous pensiveness, that derives its comic quality from Ned's constitutional merriment. He is now about thirty-three, with a tolerably good person, a little under six feet, and may be seen generally after breakfast, whilst old Carey is getting our horses for a morning ride, in an olive frock, black stock, and yellow waistcoat, with a G-erman forage-cap of light cloth, having a frontlet of polished leather, rather conceitedly drawn over his dark, laughing eye. This head-gear gives a picturesque effect to his person, and suits well with his weather-beaten cheek, as it communicates a certain reck- less expression that agrees with his character. The same trait is heightened by the half swagger with which he strikes his boot with his riding-whip, or keeps at bay a beautiful spaniel, called Wilfui, which haunts his person like a familiar. Indeed, I have grown to possess something of this canine attachment to him myself, and already constitute a very important member of his suite, It is a picture worth contemplating, to see us during one of those listless intervals. For, first, there is Ned lounging along I 52 NED II A Z A K D . I the court-yard with both hands in his side pockets, and either i telling me some story, or vexing a great turkey-cock, by imitating both his gobble and his strut ; — before him walks Wilful, strictly regulating his pace by his master's, and turning his eye, every now and then, most affectionately towards him ; then ]\Ieriwether's j two pointers may be seen bounding in circles round him ; — a lit- tle terrier, who assumes the consequence of a watch-dog. is sure ' to solicit Ned's notice by jumping at his hand ; and, last in the train, is myself, who have learned to saunter in Ned's track with the fidelity of a shadow. It may be conjectured from this pic- ture that Ned possesses fascinations for man and beast. He is known universally by the name of Ned Hazard, which, of itself, I take to be a good sign. This nicknaming has a flavor of favoritism, and betokens an amiable notoriety. There is something jocular in Ned's face, which I believe is the source of his popularity with all classes ; but this general good acceptation is preserved by the variety of his accjuirements. He can accom- modate himself to all kinds of society. He has slang for the stable-boys, proverbs for tlie old folks, and a most oratorical overflow of patriotism for the politicians. To the children of Swallow Barn he is especially captivating. He tells them stories ■ with the embellishment of a deep tone of voice that makes them quake in their shoes ; and with the assistance of a cane and cloak, surmounted by a hat, he will stalk amongst them, like a grizzly giant, so hideously erect, that the door is a mere pigeon-hole to. him ; — at which the young cowards laugh so fearfully, that I hav»: often thought they were crying. A few years ago he was seized with a romantic fever which manifested itself chiefly in a conceit to visit South America, and play knight-errant in the quarrel of the Patriots. It was the most sudden and unaccountable thing in the world ; for no one could trace the infection to any probable cause ; — still, it grew k NED HAZARD. 53 upon Ned's fancy, and appeared in so many brilliant phases, that there was no getting it out of his brain. As may be imagined, this matter produced a serious disquiet in the family, so that Frank Meriwether was obliged to take the subject in hand ; and, finding all his premonitions and expostulations unavailing, was forced to give way to the current of Ned's humor, hoping that experience would purge the sight that had been dimmed by the light of a too vivid imagination. It was therefore arranged that Ned should visit this theatre of glory, and stand by the award of his own judgment upon the view. He accordingly sailed from New- York in the Paragon, bound for Lima, and, in due time, doubled Cape Horn. So, after glancing at the Patriots in all their positions, attitudes and relations, — with an eye military and civil, — and being well bitten with fleas, and apprehended as a spy, and nearly assassinated as a heretic, he carefully looked back upon the whole train of this fancy, even from its first engendering, with all the motives, false conclusions, misrepresentations, and so forth, which had a hand in the adopting and pursuing of it, and then came to a sober conclusion that he was the most egregious fool that had ever set out in quest of a wild goose. " What the devil could have put such a thing into my head, and kept me at it for a whole year, it puzzles me to tell !" was his own comment upon this freak, when I questioned him about it. However, he came home the most disquixotted cavalier that ever hung up his shield at the end of a scurvy crusade ; and to make amends for the inconvenience and alarm he had occasioned, — for my cousin Lucretia expected to hear of his being strangled, like Laocoon, in the folds of a serpent, — he brought with him an amusing journal, which is now bound in calf, and holds a conspicuous place in the library at Swallow Barn. This trip into the other hemisphere has furnished him with an assortment of wonders, both of the sea and the land, the theme of divers long stories, which Ned tells 54 NED HAZARD. like a traveller. He is accused of repeating them to the same auditors, and Frank Meriwether has a provoking way of raising his hands, and turning his eyes towards the ceiling, and saying in an under-tone, just as Ned is setting out : " A traveller there was wlio told a good tale ; By my troth ! it was true, but then it was stale." This invariably flushes Ned's face ; and with a modest expos- tulation, in a voice of great kindness, he will say, " My dear sir, I assure you I never told you this before — you are thinking of a difi'erent thing." " Then, Uncle Ned" — as Kip said, on one of thes- occasions, while he was lying on the floor and kicking up his heels — " you are going to make as you go." — These things are apt to disconcert him, and occasion a little out-break of a momen- tary peevish, but irresistibly comic thoughtfulness, which I have said before formed a constituent of his temper. It is, however, but for a moment, and he takes the joke like a hero. It is now customary in the family, when any thing of a marvellous nature is mentioned, to say that it happened round the Horn. Ned is evidently shy of these assaults, and rather cautious how he names the Horn if Meriwether be in company. I have gleaned some particulars of Hazard's education, which, as they serve to illustrate his character, I think worth relating. When he was ten or eleven years old, he was put under the government of a respectable teacher, who kept an academy on the border of the mountain country, where he spent several years of his life. In this rustic gymnasium, under the supervision of Mr. Crab, who was the principal of the establishment, he soon became con- Bpicuous for liis hardiness and address in the wayward adventures and miniature wars which diversified tlie history of this littl community. He was always an apt scholar, though not the most assiduous ; but his frank and upright qualities rendered him equally N E D II A Z A R D . 55 a farorlte with the master and the pupils. He speaks of the attachments of this period of his life with the unction of unabated fondness. In one of our late rambles, he gave me the following sketch of the circumstances under which he quitted these scenes of his youth. His father was about removing him to college, and the separation was to be final. I have endeavored to preserve i| his own narrative, because I think it more graphic than mine would be ; and at the same time it will show the gentle strain of affection that belongs to his nature. " The condition of a schoolboy," said Ned," forces upon the mind the import of a state of probation, more soberly than any other position in life. All that the scripture tells us about the transi- toriness of human affairs, — of man being a traveller, and life a shadow, — is constitutionally part and parcel of the meditations of the schoolboy. He lives amidst discomforts ; his room is small and ill-furnished ; his clothes are hung upon a peg, or stowed I away in a chest, where every thing that should be at the top, is i sure to lodge at the bottom ; his coat carries its rent from term I to term, and his stockings are returned to him undarned from the j washerwoman ; his food is rough and unsavory ; he shivers in I a winter morning over a scant and smoky fire ; he sleeps in sum- mer in the hottest room of the house : — All this he submits to with patience, because he feels that he is but for a season, and that a reversion of better things awaits him. '• My preceptor Mr. Crab was, outwardly, an austere man ; but his was the austerity which the best natures are apt to contract from long association with pupils. His intercourse with the boys was one of command, and he had but few opportunities of min- gling in the society of his equals. This gave a rather severe re- serve to his manners ; but, at bottom, he had kindly feelings which awkwardly manifested themselves in frequent favors, con- ferred without any visible signs of courtesy. His wife was a fat, 56 , NEDHAZARD. shortwinded old lady, with a large round face, embellished above with a large ruffled cap, and below, with a huge double chin. This "good lady was rather too fat to move about, so she main- tained a sovereign station in an ample arm-chair, placed near the door that led to the kitchen, where she was usually occupied in paring apples to be baked up into tough jacks for our provender, aud issuing commands for the regulation of her domestic police, in shrill, stirring and authoritative tones. They had a reasonable number of young scions growing around them, who, however, were so mingled in the mass of the school as nearly to have lost all the discriminating instincts which might indicate their origin. " We were too troublesome a company to enlist much of the domestic charities from our tutor ; still, however, in the few gleams of family endearment which fell to our lot, I had contracted a kind of household attachment to the objects that surrounded me. Our old master had the grave and solemn bearing of a philosopher : but sometimes, of winter nights, when our tasks were done, he joined in our sports, — even got down on the carpet to play marbles with us, and took quite an eager interest in hearing our hum- ming tops when we stealthily set them to bellowing in the room. These condescensions had a wonderful eflfect upon us all, for, being rare, they took us somewhat by surprise, and gave us something of the same kind of pleasure which a child experiences in patting a gentle and manageable lion. '•' I had always looked forward, with a boyish love of change, to the period when I was to be called to other scenes. And this expectation, whilst it rendered me indifferent to personal comforts, seemed also to warm my feelings towards my associates. I could pardon many trespasses in those from whom I was soon to be sepa- rated. My time, therefore, passed along in a careless merriment, in which all trivial ills were overborne and indemnified in the an* ticipations of the future. N E D II A Z A R D . 67 " The summons to quit this little sylvan theatre was contained in a letter brought from my father by Daniel the coachman. It directed me to return without delay, and intimated, amidst a world of parental advice, that I was to be removed almost immediately to college. Notwithstanding the many secret yearnings I had felt for the approach of this period, I confess it overmastered me when it came. Daniel had brought me my pony, — a little, short- necked, piggish animal, which in the holidays I used to ride almost to bed — and he himself was ready to attend me on one of the coach-horses. I had no time to revolve the matter, — so with a spirit part gay and part melancholy, and with an alacrity of step assumed to conceal my emotions and to avoid the interchange with my school-fellows of words I was too much choked to utter, I went about my preparations. I collected my straggling ward- robe from the detached service of my comrades, to whom, scant as it was, I had lent it piece-meal ; carefully paid off sundry small debts of honor, contracted at the forbidden game of all- fours ; and distributed largesses, with a prodigal hand, amongst the negroes, with whom I had, for a long time, carried on an active commerce in partridge-traps, fishing tackle, and other com- modities. I can remember now with what feelings I performed this last office, as I stood at the barn door, where the farm servants were threshing grain, and protracted, as long as I was able, that mournful shaking of hands with which the rogues gave me their parting benedictions ; — for I always had a vagabond fondness for the blacks about the establishment. After this I went into the parlor, where our tender and plethoric mistress was employed in one of her customary morning duties of cleaning up the breakfast apparatus, and received a kiss from her, as she held a napkin in one hand and a tea-cup in the other. I bestowed the same token of grace upon all the little Crabs that were crawling about the room, and, in the same place, took my leave of the old / 58 NED HAZARD. monarch himself, who, relaxing into a grim manifestation of sorrow, took me with both hands, and conducting me to the window, placed himself in a seat, where he gave me a grave and friendly admonition, — saying many kind things to me, in a kinder tone than I had ever heard from him before. Amongst the rest, he bade me reflect, that the world was wide, and had many fountains of bitter waters, whereof — as I was an easy, good-natured fellow — it was likely to be my lot to drink more largely than others ; — he begged me to remember the many wholesome lessons he had given me, and to forget whatever might seem to me harsh in his own conduct. Then, in the old-fashioned way, he put his hands upon my head, and bestowed upon me an earnest and devout blessing, whilst the tears started in both of our eyes. This last act he concluded by taking from his pocket a small copy of the Bible, which he put into my hands with a solemn exhortation that I should consult it in all my troubles, for every one of which, he told me, I should find appropriate consolation. I promised, as well as my smothered articulation permitted, to obey his in- structions to the letter ; and, from the feelings of that moment deemed it impossible I ever could have forgotten or neglected them I fear that I have not thought of them as much since, as they de serve. The little Bible I still keep as an affectionate remem brance of my very good old friend. i " My cronies, all this time, had been following me from placJ to place. — watching me as I packed up every article of m baggage, and asking me hundreds of unmeaning questions, out c the very fulness of their hearts. Their time came next. W had a general embrace ; and after shaking hands with ever urchin of the school-room and every imp of the kitchen, I mountc my plump nag, and on one of those rich mornings of the India summer, when the sun struggles through a soft mist, and sparkl. on tlie Ijoar-frost, I broke ground on my liomeward voyag NED HAZARD. 59 Daniel, with my black leather trunk resting on his pommel — to be carried to the tavern where the mail stage was to receive it — led the way through the lane that conducted us beyond the pre- cincts of this abode of learning and frolick, and I followed, look- ing back faint-heartedly upon the affectionate and envious rank and file of the school-room, who were collected in one silent and wistful group at the door, with their hard-visaged commander towering above their heads, and shading his brow from the sun with his hand, as he watched our slow progress. Every other face, white or black, upon the premises, was peering above the paling that inclosed the yard, or gleaming through the windows of the kitchen. Not a dry eye was there amongst us; and I could hear my old master say to the boys, " there goes an honest chap, full of gallantry and good will." In truth, this parting touched me to the heart, and I could not help giving way to my feelings, and sobbing aloud ; until at last, reaching a turn in the road that concealed us from the house, the sound of a distant cheering from the crowd we had left, arose upon the air, and wafted to" me the good wishes of some of the best friends I have ever parted from." After the period referred to in this narrative, Ned was sent to Princeton. That college was then in the height of its popu- larity, and was the great resort of the southern students. Here he ran the usual wild and unprofitable career of college life. His father was lavish, and Ned was companionable, — two relative virtues which, in such circumstances, are apt to produce a luxu- riant fruit. He was famous in the classical coteries at Mother Priestley's, where they ate buckwheat cakes, and discussed the state of parties, and where, having more blood than argument, they made furious bets on controverted questions, and drank juleps to keep up the opposition. Amidst the distractions of that period there was one concern 60 NED HAZARD. in which Ned became distinguished. They were never without a supply of goddesses in the village, to whom the students devoted themselves in the spirit of chivalry. They fell into despair by classes ; and as it was impracticable to allot the divinities singly, these were allowed each some six or seven worshippers from the college ranks, who revolved around them, like a system of roys- tering planets, bullying each other out of their orbits, and cutting all manner of capers in their pale light. But love, in those days, was not that tame, docile, obedient minion that it is now. It was a matter of bluster and bravado, to swear round oaths for. and to be pledged in cups at Gifford's. They danced with the beauties at all the merry-makings, and, in fact, metamorphosed Cupid into a bluff Hector, and dragged him by the heels around every tavern of the village. As the mistresses were appurtenant to the class, they were changed at the terms, and given over to the successors ; whereby it generally fell out, that what advantage the damsels gained in the number of their admirers, was more than balanced by the disadvantage of age. But a collegian's arithmetic makes no difference between seventeen and thirty. Nay, indeed, some of the most desperate love affairs happened between the sophomores and one or two perdurable belles, who had been besonneted through the college for ten years before. It was Ned's fortune to drop into one of these pit-falls, and he was only saved from an actual elopement by a rare accident which seemed to have been sent on purpose by his good genius ; for, on the very evening when this catastrophe was to have been brought about, he fell into a revel, and then into a row, and then into a deep sleep, from which he awoke the next morning, shockingly mortified to find that he had not only forgotten his appointment, but also his character as a man of sober deportment. The lady's NED HAZARD. 61 pride took alarm at the occurrence, and Ned very solemnly took to mathematics. Now and then, the affairs of this bustling little community were embellished with a single combat, which was always regarded as a highly interesting incident ; and the abstruse questions of the duello were canvassed in councils held at midnight, in which, I learn, the chivalrous lore displayed by Ned Hazard was a mat- ter of college renown. Engrossed thus, like the states of .the dark ages, in the cares of love, war, and politics, it is not to be wondered at, that the arts and sciences should have fallen into some disesteem. This period of Ned's life, indeed, resembled those feudal times, when barons fought for lady love, — swaggered, and swore by their saints, — and frightened learning into the nests of the monks. Still, however, there was a generous love of fame lurking in his constitution, which, notwithstanding all the enticements that waylaid his success, showed itself in occasional fits of close and useful study. It pains me to say, that Hazard's days of academic glory were untimely cropped ; but my veracity as a chronicler compels me to avow, even to the disparagement of my friend, that before his course had run to its destined end, he made shipwreck of his for- tunes, and received from the faculty a passport that warranted an unquestioned egress from Nassau Hall ; — the same being con- ferred in consideration of counsel afforded, as a friend true and trusty, to a worthy cavalier, who had answered the defiance of a gentleman of honor, to " a joust at utterance." Thus shorn of his college laurels, Ned crept quietly back to Swallow Barn, where his inglorious return astounded the sooth- sayers of the neighborhood. For awhile he took to study like a Pundit, — though I have heard that it did not last long, — and in the lonely pursuits of this period he engendered that secret love 62 NED HAZARD. of adventure and picturesque incident, that took him upon his celebrated expedition round the Horn. But it in no degree conquered his mirthful temper. His mind is still a fairy land, inhabited by pleasant and conceited images, winged charmers, laughing phantoms, and mellow spectres of frolick. He is regarded in the family as the next heir to Swallow Barn ; but the marriage of his sister, and soon afterwards, the demise of his father, disclosed the incumbered condition of the freehold, to which he had before been a stranger. He has still, however, a comfortable patrimony ; and Frank Meriwether hav- ing by arrangement taken possession of the inheritance, together with the family, Ned has ample liberty to pursue his own whims ^ in regard to his future occupation in life. Frank holds the estate, for the present, under an honorable pledge to relieve it of its burdens by a gradual course of thrifty husbandry, which he seems to be in a fair way of accomplishing ; so that Ned may be said still to have a profitable reversion in the domain. But he has grown, in some degree, necessary to Meriwether, and has therefore, of late, fixed his residence almost entirely at Swallowi Barn. CHAPTER VI. PURSUITS OF A nilLOSOrilER. From the house at Swallow Barn, there is to be seen, at no great distance, a clump of trees, and in the midst of these an humble building is discernible, which seems to court the shade in which it is modestly embowered. It is an old structure built of logs. Its figure is a cube, with a roof rising from all sides to a point, and surmounted by a wooden weathercock which somewhat re- sembles a fish, and somewhat a fowl. This little edifice is a rustic shrine devoted to Cadmus, and here the sacred rites of the alphabet are daily solemnized by some dozen knotty-pated and freckled votaries not above three feet high, both in trowsers and petticoats. This is one of the many temples that stud the surface of our republican empire, where liberty receives her purest worship, and where, though in humble and lowly guise, she secretly breathes her strength into the heart and sinews of the nation. Here the germ is planted that fructifies through generations, and produces its hundred-fold. At this altar the spark is kindled that propagates its fire from breast to breast, like the vast conflagrations that light up and purify the prairie of the west. 64 PURSUITS OF A nilLOSOPIIElt. The school-house has been an appendage to Swallow Barn ev€r since the infancy of the last generation. Frank Meriwether has, in his time, extended its usefulness by opening it to the ac- commodation of his neighbors ; so that it is now a theatre where- on a bevy of pigmy players are wont to enact the serio-comic in- terludes which belong to the first process of indoctrination. A troop of these little sprites are seen, every morning, wending their way across the fields, armed with tin-kettles, in which are deposited their apple-pies or other store for the day, and which same kettles are generally used, at the decline of the day, as drums or cymbals, to signalize their homeward march, or as re- ceptacles of the spoil pilfered from blackberry bushes, against which these barefooted Scythians are prone to carry on a preda- tory war. Throughout the day a continual buzz is heard from this quarter, even to the porch of the mansion-house. Hazard and myself occasionally make them a visit, and it is amusing to ob- serve how, as we approach, the murmur becomes more distinct, until, reaching the door, we find the whole swarm running over their long, tough syllables, in a high concert pitch, with their el- bows upon the desks, their hands covering their ears, and their naked heels beating time against the benches — as if every urchin believed that a polysyllable was a piece of discord invented to torment all ears but his own. And, high above this din, the master's note is sounded in a lordly key, like the occasional touch of the horn in an orchestra. This little empire is under the dominion of parson Chub. He is a plump, rosy old gentleman, rather short and thick set, with the blood-vessels meandering over his face like rivulets, — a pair of prominent blue eyes, and a head of silky hair, not unlike the covering of a white spaniel. He may be said to be a man of run suns of a riiJLosoriiEii. 65 jolly dimensions, with an evident ^,dste for good living ; somewhat sloven in his attire, for his coat, — which is not of the newest, — is decorated with sundry spots that are scattered over it in con- stellations. Besides this, he wears an immense cravat, which, as it is wreathed around his short neck, forms a bowl beneath his chin, and, — as Ned says, — gives the parson's head the appearance of tliat of John the Baptist upon a charger, as it is sometimes represented in the children's picture books. His beard is griz- zled with silver stubble, which the parson reaps about twice a week, — if the weather be fair. Mr. Chub is a philosopher after the order of Socrates. He was an emigrant from the Emerald Isle, where he suffered much tribulation in the disturbances, as they are mildly called, of his much-enduring country. But the old gentleman has weathered the storm without losing a jot of that broad healthy benevolence with which nature has enveloped his heart, and whose ensign she has hoisted in his face. The early part of his life had been easy and prosperous, until the rebellion of 1798 stimulated his republicanism into a fever, and drove the full-blooded hero headlong into the quarrel, and put him, in spite of his peaceful profession, to standing by his pike in behalf of his principk^. By this unhappy boiling over of the caldron of his valor he fell under the ban of the ministers, and tasted his share of government mercy. His house was burnt over his head, his horses and hounds (for, by all accounts, he was a perfect Ac- teon) were '• confiscate to the state," and he was forced to fly. This brought him to America in no very compromising mood with royalty. Here his fortunes appear to have been various, and he was tossed to and fro by the battledore of fate, until he found a snug harbor at Swallow Barn ; where, some years ago, he sat down in GO PUIl.^L'iTS OF A I 11 I LO.SOril KR. that quiet repose which a worried and badgered patriot is best fitted to enjoy. He is a good scholar, and having confined his reading entirely to the learning of the ancients, his republicanism is somewhat after the Grecian mould. He has never read any politics of later date than the time of the Emperor Constantino, — not even a newspaper : — so that he may be said to have been contemporary with -^schines rather than Lord Castlereagh, until that eventful epoch of his life when his blazing roof-tree awakened him from his anachronis- tical dream. This notable interruption, however, gave him bat a feeble insight into the moderns, and he soon relapsed to Thucy- dides and Livy, with some such glimmerings of the American Revolution upon his remembrance as most readers have of the exploits of the first Brutus. The old gentleman has a learned passion for folios. He had been a long time urging Meriwether to make some additions to his collections of literature, and descanted upon the value of some of the ancient authors as foundations, both moral and physical, to the library. Frank gave way to the argument, partly to grati- fy the parson, and partly from the proposition itself having a smack that touched his fancy. The matter was therefore com- mitted entirely to Mr. Chub, who forthwith set out on a voyage of exploration to the north. I believe he got as far as Boston. He certainly contrived to execute his commission with a curiou- felicity. Some famous Elzivirs were picked up, and many other antiques that nobody but Mr. Chub would ever think of open-; ing. The cargo arrived at Swallow Barn in the dead of winter. During the interval between the parson's return from his expedi- tion and the coming of the books, the reverend little schoolmaster: is said to have been in a remarkably unquiet state of body, which almost prevented hiin from sleeping, and that the sight of the* PURSUITS OF A niiLosoniER. 67 long expected treasures had the happiest effect upon him. There was ample accommodation for this new acquisition of ancient wis- dom provided before its arrival, and Mr. Chub now spent a whole week in arranging the volumes on their proper shelves, having, ap report affirms, altered the arrangement at least seven times during that period. After this matter was settled, he regularly spent his evenings in the library. Frank Meriwether was hardly behind the parson in this fancy, and took, for a short time, to abstruse reading. They both, consequently, deserted the little family circle every evening after tea, and might have continued to do so all the winter but for a discovery made by Hazard. Ned had seldom joined the two votaries of science in their phi- losophical retirement, and it was whispered in the family that the parson was giving Frank a quiet course of lectures in the ancient philosophy, for Meriwether was known to talk a good deal, about that time, of the old and new Academicians. But it happened upon one dreary winter night, during a tremendous snowstorm, which was banging the shutters and doors of the house, that Ned. having waited in the parlor for the philosophers until midnight, set out to invade their retreat, — not doubting that he should find them deep in study. When he entered the library, both candles were burning in their sockets, with long, untrimmed wicks ; the fire was reduced to its last embers, and, in an arm-chair on one side of the table, the parson was discovered in a sound sleep over Jeremy Taj^lor's Ductor Dubitantium ; whilst Frank, in another chair on the opposite side, was snoring over a folio edition of Montaigne. And upon the table stood a small stone pitcher containing a residuum of whisky-punch, now grown cold. Frank started up in great consternation upon hearing Ned's footstep beside him, and, from that time, almost entirely deserted the 68 PURSUITS UF A nULOSOPHER. library. Mr. Chub, however, was not so easily drawn away from the career of his humor, and still shows his hankering after his leather-coated friends. It is an amusing point in the old gentleman's character to observe his freedom in contracting engagements that depend upon his purse. He seems to think himself a rich man, and is continu- ally becoming security for some of the neighbors. To hear him talk, it would be supposed that he meant to renovate the affairs of the whole county. As his intentions are so generous, Meri- wether does not fail to back him when it comes to a pinch ; — by reason of which the good squire has more than once been obliged to pay the penalty. Mr. Chub's character, as it will be seen from this description of him, possesses great simplicity. This has given rise to some practical jokes against him, which have caused him much annoy- ance. The tradition in the family goes, that, one evening, the worthy divine, by some strange accident, fell into an excess in his cups ; and that a saucy chamber-maid found him dozing in his chair, with his pipe in his mouth, having the bowl turned down- ward, and the ashes sprinkled over his breast. He was always distinguished by a broad and superfluous ruffle to his shirt, and, on this occasion, the mischievous maid had the effrontery to set it on lire. It produced, as may be supposed, a great alarm to the parson, and, besides, brought him into some scandal ; for he was roused up in a state of consternation, and began to strip himself of his clothes, not knowing what he was about. I don't know how far he exposed himself, but the negro women, who ran to his relief, made a fine story of it. Hazard once reminded him of this adventure, in my presence, and it was diverting to see with what a comic and quiet sheepish- ness he bore the joke. He half closed his eyes and puckered up PURSUITS OF A PHILOSOPHER GO his mouth as Ned proceeded ; and when the story came to the conclusion, he gave Ned a gentle blow on the breast with the back of his hand, crying out, as he did so, " Hoot toot, — Mister Ned !" —Then he walked to the front door, where he stood whis- tling. «t CHAPTER VII. TRACES OF THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. Virginia has the sentiments and opinions of an independent nation. She enjoyed in the colonial state a high degree of the favor of the mother country ; and the blandishments of her climate, together with the report of her fertile soil and her hidden territo- rial resources, from the first attracted the regard of the British emigrants. Her early population, therefore, consisted of gentle- men of good name and condition, who brought within her confines < a solid fund of respectability and wealth. This race of men grewi vigorous in her genial atmosphere ; her cloudless skies quickened. and enlivened their tempers, and, in two centuries, gradually matured the sober and thinking Englishman into that spiritedil imaginative being who now inhabits the lowlands of this state.: When the Revolution broke out, she was among the first of ltd champions, ardent in the assertion of the principles upon whi< it turned, and brave in the support of them. Since that perioj her annals have been singularly brilliant with the fame of orato^ and statesmen. Four Presidents have been given to the Uni< from her nursery. The first, the brightest figure of history ; tl others also master-spirits, worthy to be ranked amongst the great( of their day. In the light of tliese men and of their galla^ oont^mnoraries, she ha? found a glory *' stimulate her ambitic T 11 ACES OF THE FEUDAL SYr^TEM. 71 and to minister to her pride. It is not wonderful that in these circumstances she should deem herself a predominant star in the Union. It is a feature in her education and policy to hold all other interests subordinate to her own. Her wealth is territorial ; her institutions all savor of the soil ; her population consists of landholders, of many descents, unmixed with foreign alloy. She has no large towns where men may meet and devise improvements or changes in the arts of life. She may be called a nation without a capital. From this cause she has been less disturbed by popular commotions, less influenced by popular fervors, than other communities. Her laws and j habits, in consequence, have a certain fixedness, which even reject ( I many of the valuable improvements of the day. In policy and , I government she is, according to the simplest and purest form, a ■ j republic : in temper and opinion, in the usages of life, and in 1 ( the qualities of her moral nature, she is aristocratic. - j The gentlemen of Virginia live apart from each other. They ! j are surrounded by their bondsmen and dependents ; and the cus- j tomary intercourse of society familiarizes their minds to the relation of high and low degree. They frequently meet in the interchange of a large and thriftless hospitality, in which the forms of society are foregone for its comforts, and the business of life thrown aside for the enjoyment of its pleasures. Their halls are large, and their boards ample ; and surrounding the great family hearth, with its immense burthen of blazing wood casting a broad and merry glare over the congregated household and the numerous retainers, a social winter party in Virginia affords a tolerable picture of feudal munificence. Frank Meriwether is a good specimen of the class I have de- scribed. He seeks companionship with men of ability, and is a zealous disseminator of the personal fame of individuals who have won any portion of renown in the state. Somotinies, I even 72 TRACES OF THE FEUDAL ST STEM .1 think he exaggerates a litth', when descanting upon the prodigic? of genius that have been reared in the Old Dominion : and he manifestly seems to consider that a young man who has aston ished a whole village in Virginia by the splendor of his talents must, of course, be known throughout the United States ; — for be frequently opens his eyes at me with an air of astonishment whon I happen to ask him who is the marvel he is speaking of. I observe, moreover, that he has a constitutional fondness for paradoxes, and does not scruple to adopt and republish any apo thegm that is calculated to startle one by its novelty. He has a correspondence with several old friends, who were with him at college, and who have now risen into an extensive political note riety in the state : — these gentlemen furnish him with many new currents of thought, along which he glides with a happy velocity. He is essentially meditative in his character, and somewhat given to declamation ; and these traits have communicated a certain measured and deliberate gesticulation to his discourse. I have frequently seen him after dinner stride backward and forward across the room, for some moments, wrapped in thought, and the: fling himself upon the sofa, and come out with some weighty doubt, expressed with a solemn emphasis. In this form he lately began a conversation, or rather a speech, that for a moment quite disconcerted me. " After all," said he, as if he had been talking to me before, although these were the first words he uttered — then making a parenthesis, so as to qualify what he was going ti say — •' I don't deny that the steamboat is destined to produci valuable results — but after all, I much question — (and here h the evils of oonsolldatidn consists in the very obstacles to our ii TRACES OF THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. 73 tercourse. Splattertbwaite Pubbs of Dinwiddie — (or some such name, — Frank is famous for quoting the opinions of his contem- poraries. This Splattertbwaite, I take it, was some old college chum who had got into the legislature, and I dare say made pungent speeches.) Dubbs of Dinwiddie made a good remark — That the home material of Virginia was never so good as when her roads were at their worst.*' And so Frank went on with quite a harangue, to which none of the company replied one word, for fear we might get into a dispute. Every body seems to un- derstand the advantage of silence when Meriwether is inclined to be expatiatory. This strain of philosophizing has a pretty marked influence in the neighborhood, for I perceive that Frank's opinions are Yery much quoted. There is a set of under-talkers about these large country establishments, who are very glad to pickup the crumbs of wisdom which fall from a rich man's table ; second- hand philosophers, who trade upon other people's stock. Some of these have a natural bias to this venting of upper opinions, by reason of certain dependencies in the way of trade and favor: others have it from affinity of blood, which works like a charm over a whole county. Frank stands related, by some tie of mar- riage or mixture of kin, to an infinite train of connections, spread over the state ; and it is curious to learn what a decided hue this gives to the opinions of the district. We had a notable example of this one morning, not long after my arrival at Swallow Barn. Meriwether had given several indications, immediately after breakfast, of a design to pour out upon us the gathered rumina- tions of the last twenty-four hours, but we had evaded the storm with some caution, when the arrival of two or three neighbors, — plain, homespun farmers, — who had ridden to Swallow Barn to execute some papers before Frank as a magistrate, furnished him with an occasion that was not to be lost. After dispatching their 74 TRACES OF THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. business, he detained them, ostensibly to inquire about their crops, and other matters of their vocation, — but, in reality, to give them that very flood of politics which we had escaped. We, of course, listened without concern, since we were assured of an auditory that would not flinch. In the course of this disquisition, he made use of a figure of speech which savored of some pre- vious study, or, at least, was highly in the oratorical vein. " Mark me, gentlemen," said he, contracting his brow over his fine thoughtful eye, and pointing the forefinger of his left hand directly at the face of the person he addressed, " Mark me, gentlemen, — you and I may not live to see it, but our children will see it, and wail over it — the sovereignty of this Union will be as the rod of Aaron ; — it will turn into a serpent, and swallow up all that struggle with it." Mr. Chub was present at this solemn denunciation, and was very much afiected by it. He rub- bed his hands with some briskness, and uttered his applause in a short but vehement panegyric, in which were heard only the de- tached words — " Mr. Burke — Cicero." The next day Ned and myself were walking by the school- house, and were hailed by Rip, from one of the windows, who, in a sly under tone, as he beckoned us to come close to him, told us, " if we wanted to hear a regular preach, to stand fast." We could look into the schoolroom unobserved, and there was ouri patriotic pedagogue haranguing the boys with a violence of action i that drove an additional supply of blood into his face. It was- apparent that the old gentleman had got much beyond the depth i of his hearers, and was pouring out his rhetoric more from orator- ical vanity than from any hope of enlightening his audience. Ati the most animated part of his strain, he brought himself, by a kind of climax, to the identical sentiment uttered by Meriwether the day before. He warned his young hearers — the oldest of them was not above fourteen — " to keep a lynx-eyed gaze upon TRACES OF THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. 75 that serpent-like ambition wliicli would convert the government at Washington into Aaron's rod, to swallow up the independence of their native state." This conceit immediately ran through all the lower circles at Swallow Barn. Mr. Tongue, the overseer, repeated it at the blacksmith's shop, in the presence of the blacksmith and Mr. Absalom Bulrush, a spare, ague-and-feverish husbandman who occupies a muddy slip of marsh land, on one of the river bottoms, which is now under mortgage to Meriwether ; and from these it has spread far and wide, though a good deal diluted, until in its circuit it has reached our veteran groom Carey, who considers the sentiment as importing something of an awful nature. With the smallest encouragement, Carey will put on a tragi-comic face, shake his head very slowly, turn up his eyeballs, and open out his broad, scaly hands, while he repeats with labored voice, " Look out. Master Ned ! Aaron's rod a black snake in Old Vir- ginny !" Upon which, as we fall into a roar of laughter, Carey stares with astonishment at our irreverence. But having been set to acting this scene for us once or twice, he now suspects us of some joke, and asks " if there is'nt a copper for an old negro," which if he succeeds in getting, he runs off, telling us " he is too 'cute to make a fool of himself" Meriwether does not dislike this trait in the society around him. I happened to hear two carpenters, one day, who were making some repairs at the stable, in high conversation. One of them was expounding to the other some oracular opinion of Frank's touching the political aspect of the country, and just at the moment when the speaker was most animated, Meriwether himself came up. He no sooner became aware of the topic in discussion than he walked off in another direction, — affecting not to hear it, although I knew he heard every word. He told me afterwards that there was '•' a wholesome tone of feeling amongst the people in that part of the country." CHAPTER VIII. THE BRAKES. About four miles below Swallow Barn, on tlie same bank of the river, is a tract of land known by the name of The Brakes. The principal feature in this region is an extensive range of low lands, reaching back from the river, and bounded by distant forest, from the heart of which tower, above the mass of foliage, a num- ber of naked branches of decayed trees, that are distinctly visible in this remote perspective. These lowlands are checkered by numberless gullies or minute water-courses, whose direction is marked out to the eye by thickets of briers and brambles. From this characteristic the estate has derived its name. A hill rises from this level ground, and on its top is placed a large plain building, with wings built in exact uniformity, and con- nected with the centre by low but lengthened covered ways. The whole structure is of dark brick, with little architectural embellish- ment. It was obviously erected wlien the ornamental arts were not much attended to, although there is an evident aim at something of this kind in the fancy of the chimneys which spring up from th< sharp gable-ends of the building, and also in the conceited pyramids into which the roofs of the low square wings have been rearec The artist, however, has certainly failed in producing cflFect, if hii THE BRAKES. 77 ambition soared above the idea of a sober, capacious, and gentle- manlike mansion. Seen from the river, the buildings stand partly in the shade of a range of immense lombardy poplars, which retreat down the hill in the opposite direction until the line diminishes from the view. Negro huts are scattered about over the landscape in that profusion which belongs to a Virginia plantation. This establishment constitutes the family residence of Mr. Isaac Tracy, known generally with his territorial addition, — of The Brakes. Mr. Tracy is now upwards of seventy years of age. He has been for many years past a widower, and seems to stand like a landmark in the stream of time, which is destined to have every thing gliding past it, itself unchanged. The old gentleman was a stark royalist in the days of the Kevolution, and only contrived to escape the confiscation of his estate by preserving a strict and cautious neutrality during the war. He still adheres to the ancient costume, and '^ is now observed taking his rides in the morning, in a long-waisted coat, of a snuff color, and having three large figured gilt buttons set upon the cuffs, which are slashed after an antiquated fashion. He wears, besides, ruffles over his hands, and has a certain trig and quaint appearance given by his tight, dark-colored small-clothes, and long boots with tops of brown leather, so disposed as to show a little of his white stockings near the knee. His person is tall and emaciated, with a withered and rather severe ext^srior, A formality, correspondent with his appearance, is conspicuous in his manners, which are remarkable for their scrupulous and sprightly politeness ; and his household is conducted with a degree of precision that throws a certain air of stateliness over the whole family. He has two daughters, of whom the youngest has already counted perhaps her twenty-third year, and an only son somewhat 78 THE BRAKES. younger. Catharine, the eldest of this family, has the reputation of being particularly well educated ; but her acquirement is probably enhanced, in the common estimation, by a thoughtful and rather formal cast of character, — a certain soberness in the discharge of the ordinary duties of life, — and a grave turn of conversation, such as belongs to women who, from temperament, are not wont to enjoy with any great relish, nor perceive with observant eyes, the pleasant things of existence. Bel, the younger sister, is of a warmer complexion. Nature has given her an exuberant flow of spirits, which, in spite of a stiff and rigid education imposed upon her by her father, frequently breaks through the trammels of discipline, and shows itself in the various forms which a volatile temper assumes in the actions of an airy and healthful girl. Still, however, her sentiments are what nurture has made them, notwithstanding her physical elements. She has been accustomed to the cautious and authori- tative admonitions of her father, which have inculcated a severe and exaggerated sense of personal respect, and a rather too rigorous estimate of the proprieties and privileges of her sex. These girls early lost their mother ; and their father, at that period advanced in years, had already parted with his fondness for society. The consequence was that The Brakes, during the minority of the children, was a secluded spot, cut off from much of that sort of commerce with the world which is almost essential to enliven and mature the sympathies of young persons. Both Catharine and Bel are pretty, but after different models. The eldest is a placid, circumspect, inaccessible kind of beauty. Bel, on the other hand, is headlong and thoughtless, with quick impulses, that give her the charm of agreeable expression, althougli her features are irregular, and would not stand a critical examina- tion. Her skin is not altogether clear; her mouth is large, and lier eyes of a dark gray hue. T H E B R A K E g , 79 Ralph, the brother, is a tall, ill made, awkward man, with black eyes, and black hair curled in extravagant profusion over his head. He contracted slovenly habits of dress at college, and has not since abandoned them ; has a dislike to the company of women, fills up his conversation with oaths, and chews immense quantities of tobacco. He has an unmusical voice, and a swaggering walk, and generally wears his hat set upon one side of his head. He professes to be a sportsman, and lives a good deal out of doors, not being fond, as he says, of being stuck up in the parlor to hear the women talk. Ralph, however, is said to be a good fellow at bottom, which means that he does not show his best qualities in front. He is famous for his horsemanship, and avows a strong partiality for Bel on account of her skill in the same art, which. Ralph says, comes altogether from his teaching. This family has always been on terms of intimacy at Swallow Barn, and of late years their intercourse has been much increased by the companionship which has been cultivated between the ladies of the two houses. Frank Meriwether holds the character of Mr. Tracy in great respect, and always speaks of him in a tone of affection, although the old gentleman, Ned says, is a bad listener and a painful talker, two qualities which sort but ill with the prevailing characteristics of Meriwether. There are some points of family history, affecting the relations of these two gentlemen, which I shall find occasion hereafter to disclose. CHAPTER IX. AN ECLOGUE. You have now, my dear Zack, the fruits of mj first experiences, here at Swallow Barn, offered to yon in a series of sketches, which will, at least, show you that I have not been idle in my traveller-vocation during my first fortnight. These labors of mine will reach you regularly chaptered and ticketed, after the most approved fashion of book-making, and will convince you that I am in earnest in my purpose. So far you have been oiter- tained — ^you see, I take that for granted, assuming to myself the f airs of an author — ^with a set of pictures from still life — (still enough, even to the point of drowsiness, you will say) — a little gallery of landscapes and portraits, which, in my judgment, were necessary as preliminaries to what I may write in future. You now understand exactly where I am, and what kind of good people I have around me, and will be all the better prepared for the little romance of domestic life which I am about to weave out of my every-day occurrences. What my romance will come to, it is impossible to foretell, as it is to grow up out of the events of the day. These sometimes naturally develop themselves through the regular stages of a story and a plot, but oftener run . oft" into nothing How it is to faro in my case, you will find out AN ECLOGUE. 81 only by the reading. So, abandoning myself to my destiny in this particular, I resume my task at this ninth chapter, which, being of a bucolical character, I have entitled '• an eclogue." Hazard and I often take long rambles together — spending a whole morning, sometimes, on foot. In these idle wanderings we fall into strange caprices. The tide of animal spirits rises above the level which sober people call discretion, and we are apt to get, without being aware of it, into the empyrean of foolery. I believe many wise men, if they would make an honest confession, often find themselves in such a case ; — the best fellows in the world, if not the wisest, — and I am not sure that the best and wisest are so wide apart, as many think they are — but the best constructed men, I am quite convinced, are familiar with these vagaries. A genial, happy spirit has a great tendency to leap out of the circle of conventional proprieties, and now and then to make a somerset. I have read of seemingly very grave men doing this, — and liked them the better for it. When Ned and I get into the woods, it is rather a favorite amusement to practise ludicrous caricatures of the drama, which Ned calls imitations of the most distinguished actors. Some- times we deliver pompous harangues as if we were in a senate, and keep up a debate in a very impressive way, with abundance of parliamentary phrase and action. A few mornings ago, about the first of July, we found our- selves abroad on one of these excursions. The weather was un- usually pleasant and Ned was more buoyant than I had yet seen him, which gave an unwonted license to the range of his flights. Of course, I became almost as absurd as himself — for it is my nature to take such contagions violently. We strained the 4* 82 A N t: C L O G U li . strings of propriety until they were ready to crack. Our mad- ness ran this morning upon our feats of singing. '• Mark," said Ned to me, " I am truly astonished that ycu can find amusement in this preposterous flourish of your voice. Are you not aware that you make a dismal compromise of your proper and inherent dignity — if it is inherent, which I don't believe — by bawling in this fashion in the woods 1 What would you think of yourself if any sober, solemn sort of person should happen to be near and to overhear that execrable attempt at a trill ? Your voice, especially in its A sharp and its B flat, is per- fectly horrid ; your manner is bad, and your attitude altogether too tame. Now listen and look, and be instructed" — Here Ned sent forth a vociferous stave, which he drew out into manifold quavers. " What do you think of that ?" said he, with a brisk and per- emptory look, as if he had done something to astound me, " Tut — that's a mere squall — a servile imitation of Garcia," I replied, " It wants force, expression, majesty. Lend me your ears" — And here I returned him a flourish, greatly improving on his style. " Mark, — I see you are vain of that. Perhaps you have a right to be until you hear me again — but not afterwards. So, sit down and be attentive. Let me have no interruptions of applause by clapping of hands — no bravos. . Restrain your transports, and bestow all your attention upon the pathos of this strain. I chal- lenge criticism" — With this prelude, Ned assumed the attitude of a hero of t opera, pressing his hands passionately upon his bosom, throwing his elbows forward and eyes upward, as he poured forth a loud j and long bravura strain, which raised an echo in the depths of the wood. Wc had, throughout this farce, adapted our vocal ex- al- 4 I A N K C L O G IT E . 83 travagancies to words not less ridiculous than the strain. Ned, in this effort, was expending the force of his burlesque humor in a series of repetitions, upon a couplet which was inspired by a lady whom I have mentioned in a former chapter. The words were, Bel Tracy against the field ! Against the field, Bel Tracy ! The name was reverberated through the woods in a multitiide of fantastical trills, set off with inordinately theatrical gestures. " A merry morning, Mr. Edward Hazard !" said Bel Tracy, reining up her horse immediately at his back. "If I am to be put against the field, I should prefer to have it kept secret." " My sister Bel," said Catherine, who was also on horseback close at hand, " feels greatly flattered by your considerate notice of her." '• The devil !" said Ned, hastily glancing bis eye at me, '• What a march they have stolen on us !" ^' Decidedly, a most delicate compliment," said Harvey Biggs, a gentleman in the train, " such an unpremeditated expression of preference !" " Humph !" uttered Balph Tracy, the fourth and last of the party. " You call that singing, I suppose, Ned ?" Ned was utterly confounded by this quadruple assault, which was made not without a spirited accompaniment of laughter. This cavalcade had been galloping with noiseless footfall along the sandy road, until they had got within a short distance of our position, where they had halted unobserved and had the full bene- fit of Ned's unlucky essay at the bravura ; and as he drew to a close, they came stealthily upon our rear and affected the surprise I have related. Ned looked sheepishly at the invaders, in a state of comic perturbation, — for no man can stand such a flagrant ex- 84 ANECLOGUE posure, even under the most favorable circumstances, much less when attended with such aggravation as the personal reference in this case presented — and after some little time necessary to col- lect his self-possession, bethinking himself of me to whom the whole company were strangers, he introduced me, saying, when he had done so — " You have caught us, Bel, at our rehearsal. Odd enough that you should steal behind the scenes at such a moment. I have told Littleton all about you, and how fond you are of Italian music, so we determined to prepare a serenade for you." " The music very soft and sentimental," interrupted Harvey — " Quite satisfactory, Edward," said Bel. — " I think we are lucky in having heard it here, as that will save you the trouble of repeat- ing it at The Brakes. My father's taste is not modern enough for such strains. Isn't it a pity, Mr. Littleton," she added, appealing to me, — "that Edward Hazard should be so merciless to his friends?" " Hazard has already created so strong an interest in me to make your acquaintance. Miss Tracy," I replied, " that I scarcely regret the ludicrous accident which has brought it about so soon." " Forgive me, Bel," said Hazard. " I own lam the most egregious bufifoon, and the most unlucky one, besides, in the coun- try. Littleton and I have been running riot all the morning — but whether in jest or earnest, I hope you will not think the worse of me that you are always uppermost in my thoughts." As he said, this he approached familiarly to her stirrup and offered his hand, which she took with great kindness. She re marked that they were then on their way to Swallow Barn, and would no longer interrupt our studies. Upon this she and Harvey Riggs rode forward at a gallop, Harvey lookinG; back over liis shoulder and calling out — " Ned, of course, I shan't report you to Meriwether. I shall be tender of your reputation." ANECLOGUE. 85' " The devil take his tenderness," said Ned, as they rode off; " he'll make the most of this." Catharine and Ralph followed more leisurely. Ned stood looking at the retreating party for some moments. Bel was mounted on a beautiful sleek bay mare, which sprang forward with a gay, spirited motion. Her graceful and neat iSg- ure showed to great advantage as she flew out of our sight almost at high speed. Her dress was a dark green riding habit, fanci- fully braided over the breast and accurately fitting her shape. She wore a light cap of the same color, with a frontlet sufficiently prominent to guard her face, and over her right shoulder floated a green veil which fluttered in the breeze like a gay pennon — but not more gay than the heart it followed. " Was there ever," said Ned, turning round to me, after this troop had disappeared, '• was there ever a more unlucky discovery than that ! Of all persons in the world, to be caught in the height of our tomfoolery by that little elf Bel Tracy ! Just to be taken in the high flood of our nonsense ! And with lier name, too, ringing through these grave and silent woods ! I should scarcely have regarded it if it had happened with any body else ; but she has such a superserviceable stock of conceit about ele- gance and refinement in her mind, that I don't doubt she will find in this silly adventure a pretext to abuse me for the next twelvemonth. And then, she will go home and tell that stifl:" old curmudgeon, her father, that I am the very antipodes of a polished man. Faith, she has said that before ! And Harvey Biggs — " I added Ned, musing — " will not improve the matter, because he will I have his joke upon it. And then sister Kate ! — she will pro- nounce my conduct undignified : — that's her word : and so will Bel, for that matter. Why, Mark, in the name of all the devils •' I hadn' t you your eyes about you ?" " Egad," said I, '= they surprised our camp without alarming 86 ANECLOGUE. the sentinels. But after all, what is it ? They can only say they met a pair of fools in the forest, and, certainly, they need not travel far to do that, any day !" " By the by, Mark," said Ned, changing his mood, and bright- ening up into a pleasanter state of feeling, "did you note Bel's horsemanship, — how light and fearless she rides ? And, like a fairy, comes at your bidding, too ! She reads descriptions of ladie> of chivalry, and takes the field in imitation of them. Her head is full of these fancies, and she almost persuades herself that this is the fourteenth century. Did you observe her dainty fist, ' min- iardly begloved,' — as the old minstrels have it? — she longs to have a merlin perched upon it, and is therefore endeavoring to train a hawk, that, when she takes the air, she may go in the guise of an ancient gentlewoman. She should be followed by her falconer." " And have a pair of grcyliounds in her train," said I. " Aye, and a page in a silk doublet," added Ned. '• And a gallant cavalier," I rejoined, "to break a lance for her, instead of breaking jokes upon her. I am almost tempted to champion her cause, against such a lurdau as you, myself But let us hasten back to Swallow Barn, for our presence will be needed." After this adventure we returned to the mansion-house, with some misgiving on the part of JHazard. He talked about it all the way. and dwelt somewhat fearfully upon the raillery of Harvey Biggs and Meriwether, who, he observed, were not likely to drop a joke before it was pretty well worn. The servants were loading off the horses as we arrived at tlu gate, and the family, with their visitors, were collected in the porch, with all eyes turned to us as we approached. There was a general uproar of laughter at Ned, who took it in trood part though v/ith not niajiy words. AN ECLOGUE. 87 When the mirth of the company had run through its course, Bel called Hazard up to her, and said : " You are a shabby fellow, Edward. I have two causes of quarrel with you. You have not been at The Brakes for a week or more — and you know we don't bear neglect : — and secondly, I don't think you have a right to be frightening Mr. Littleton with my name, however lawful it may be to amuse the gentle geese of the James River with it." '• Bel," replied Hazard, '• upon my honor, I never was more solemn in my life than at the very moment you rode upon us. And as to my remissness, I have had no sentiment on hand since Mark Littleton has been with me, and I did not know what I should say to you. Besides, I have a regard for Mark's health, and I was not disposed to interrupt it with one of your flirtations. He is a little taken already, for he has been praising you and your mare ever since you passed us. If he knew what a jockey you were in all things, he would give you very little encouragement." " Pray heaven," said Bel, " if he be a virtuous man, he be not spoiled by such a madcap jester as yourself ! Mr. Littleton, I hope you will not believe Edward, if he has been telling you any thing to my disadvantage; — I am never safe in his hands." " I will tell you what I told him, Bel," said Hazard, getting round close to her ear, where he whispered what was too low to be heard. " You are incorrigible !" cried Bel, laughing, and at the same time shaking her riding whip at him. And with these words she ran into the hall, and thence up stairs, followed by the rest of the ladies. '"Isn't she a merry creature ?" said Ned to me, in an affec- tionate tone, as we entered the door in the rear of the party. CHAPTER X. COLLOQUIES, The party from The Brakes caused a great uproar within the whilom tranquil precincts of Swallow Barn. The ladies had con- gregated in one of the chambers, from whence might be heard that fitful outbreak of exclamation and laughter rising above a busy murmur of prattle, which, as far as my experience goes, is characteristic of every gathering of women. Below, the hall re- echoed with the bluff greetings of the gentlemen, the harsh tramp of boots upon the uncarpeted floor, and that noisy, mirthful play of frolic spirits which is equally characteristic of such assembla- ges of men. I must say something of Harvey Riggs. Picture to your mind, a square-built, somewhat sturdy figure, of medium height, or rather below it ; a weather-beaten visage and dry complexion, pock-marked not a little ; the ripeness of forty brooding upon it and hatching a little nest of thoughtlings about the eyes, which are rather indefinitely of a greenish gray, short-sighted and spark- ling ; a small upturned nose, a large and well-shaped mouth, an uncommonly large head, rendered slightly gorgonic by a shock of disorderly iron-hued hair which curls upon the collar of his coat. Add to these a negligent style of dress, a coat rather too large, a black neckcloth much too loosely tied, with long ends pointing COLLOQUIES. 89 towards each shoulder, and a curious variety of color shown in the several garments ; and you will have all the prominent fea- tures of his exterior. You may recognize in the blandness of his manners, and the mellowness of his general expression, a man who has had a full share of conversation with the world ; who has seen it in its pleasant aspects, is familiar with revels, and has '• sat up late o' nights," and often enough been caught by the dawn at a card-table. His countenance — I use this word in its ancient significance as including his whole apparition — though one of un- questionable and almost unmitigated homeliness, is far from dis- pleasing ; which may be ascribed to its perfectly natural keeping, and absence of all pretension. It is not unusual to find men of this mould great favorites in female society. AYomen discriminate very shrewdly in personal qualifications, and have an instinctive appreciation of a warm- hearted good fellow, as Harvey is. Every body here likes him. His strong and earnest good sense, his learned skill in the ways of society, and a certain happy waggishness of temper, give him great advantages. He is a kinsman of the Tracy family, and has recently come from Richmond upon a visit to The Brakes, which he does very often, I am told ; being fond of his relations there, and equally fond of Ned Hazard. Some refreshments were placed upon the sideboard in the parlor opening upon the hall. It is a common custom here in Virginia, about an hour before dinner, to prepare a bowl of toddy, which is generally made of the finest old Jamaica spirit, or rum of St. Croix, and being well brewed is iced almost to the freezing point. This is taken by way of whetting the appetite, which is generally sharp enough without such strapping. But appetite or not, this toddy, as I can avouch, is quite a pleasant thing to han- dle. Harvey Riggs has a distinguished reputation in the concoc- tion of this beverage, and as it }vas now the time of day k) be 90 COLLOQUIES. looking after it. be was already at the sideboard engaged in his vocation. " Ned," said he, as with a small pitcher in each hand he was busy in pouring his brewage from one to the other, " how far do you call it from here to the spot where we treed you this morning ?'' " What do you mean by treed V asked Ned. .""Where you were caught, and couldn't help yourself, and looked so queer, when Bel heard you squalling her name so fero- ciously. How far is that from here ?" " A mile and upwards," said Ned. " Harvey, you might have given us notice. I know Bel thinks it was very unbecoming in me ; and so it would have been if I had been aware she was within hearing." " Bel, you know, has rather stately notions of decorum," re- plied Harvey, " but for your comfort, Ned, I can assure you we threw all stateliness to the winds this morning. Bel and I rode that mile in three minutes. There's a girl for you ! Poor cousin Kate followed us at a demure gallop, with Ralph grumbling all the way, because she wouldn't race as we did. It was ' Bel Tracy against the field ' sure enough. How does that music go, Ned 1 Let Meriwether hear it." " You really did play that prank, Ned ?" said Meriwether in- terrogatively — doubting the story as a mere jest. " Is it true that you were engaged in that way with our friend Littleton?" " Perfectly and literally true, as you have heard it," said I. " I am greatly astonished," returned Meriwether. " Bel would have astonished you more," said Biggs, '• if you had seen her flying this way afterwards. She thinks no more of a ditch or a moderate worm-fence, than she does of a demi-semi- quaver. She goes over them singing. " The world, I fear, doesn't get wisdom with age," rejoined Frapk. " I rather think tliis fantastical opera-singing — what do you call it Nod ? — bravura? — which seems to have turned the hcad^ UOLLOCiL'IES. 91 — now, even of such men as Ned Hazard here — I suppose you took a hand, Littleton, only from civility — these capers on the part of the men, and leaping ditches and fences by the women — I rather think we should have frowned upon such things twenty years ago in Virginia. But manners change, morals change also : the tendencies of government, as Burke remarks, in those masterly reflections on the French Bevolution " '•I come as an ambassador from The Brakes," said Harvey Riggs, who had been too busy with his operations at the side- board to note . Meriwether's lapse into the philosophizing vein, and which he now broke in upon at this critical moment, when Frank was in the act of mounting a favorite hobby — •'• I come as an ambassador with a commission from Mr. Tracy to you. Here is an epistle, as the old gentlemen terms it, directed to you, Meriwether, and which I am to put into your hands, ' with care and speed,' as he was particular to say. Singleton Swansdown is expected; and arrangements are to be -made for the immediate settlement of that interminable boundary-line dispute, which has been vexed for forty years. My good kinsman, Mr. Tracy, is anxious that you should aid him to expedite Swansdown's depar- ture, and I venture to add my own request, in the name of charity and all the cardinal virtues, that you will detain this gentle car- pet-knight the shortest practicable time." '- 1 devoutly believe," replied Meriwether, '• that if this old lawsuit between our families should be brought to a close by this device. — even if it should go in Mr. Tracy's favor, — it will cost him some unpleasant struggles to part with it." '•It is impossible to settle it," said Harvey: '' all the oracles are against it. Mammy Diana, who is a true sibyl, has uttered a prophecy which runs thus — ' That the landmarks shall never be stable until Swallow Barn shall wed The Brakes.' Ned, the hopes of the family rest upon you." Meriwether opened the letter, and read as follows : 92 COLLOQUIES. '• Dear and Respected Friend, — Touching tlie question of tlie lawsuit which, notwithstanding the erroneous judgments of our courts, still hangs in unhappy suspense, I am moved by the con- sideration urged in your sensible epistle to me of the fifteenth ultimo, to submit the same, with all the matters of fact and law pertinent to a right decision thereof, to mutual friends, to arbi- trate the same between us ; not doubting that the conclusion will be agreeable to both, and corroborative of the impressions which I have entertained, unaltered, from the first arising of this con- troversy with my venerated neighbor, the late Walter Hazard. " What stake I have is insignificant in comparison of the value of vindicating the ground on which I have stood for forty years and upwards, and also of relieving our lineal and collateral kindred from vexatious disputes in time to come. " I have written to my young friend. Singleton 0. Swansdown, Esq. of Meherrin, — " " Very young !" interrupted Harvey, " almost as juvenile as the lawsuit " — " Son of my late worthy kinsman, Gilbert Swansdown, as a proper gentleman to act in my behalf ; and late letters from him signify his ready pleasure to do me this semce. My advices in- form me that he will be at The Brakes in this present week. Although I could have wished that this arbitrament should in nowise fall into the hands of lawyers — seeing that we have both bad reason, to our cost, to pray for a deliverance from the tribe — yet. nevertheless, it is not becoming in me to object to your nom- ination of Philpot Wart, Esq. who is a shrewd and wary man, and will doubtless strive to do the right between us. " I would desire, moreover, that it be understood as a pre- liminary, that no respect shall be had to the quibbles and law quirks whercfwith the courts have entertained themselves, to my detriment, hitherto in these premises. c o L 1 , u <,! ij 1 l: s . 93 " Praying t hat uuneccssary delay shall not hinder the speedy return of Mr. Swansdown, when his occasions shall call him hence, I beg leave to subscribe myself, Respected and dear Sir, Your very obedient and obliged servant, Isaac Tracy." " Habit converts our troubles into pleasures," said Meriwether, as he stood with this letter in his hand, after he had finished read- ing it, and now began to descant, in one of his usual strains ; " and my old friend Tracy has so long interested himself with this inconsiderable claim — for it is not of the value of a sharpshin — one hundred acres of marsh land, which no man would buy — that, to tell the truth, I would long since have given it up to him, if I did not think it would make the old gentleman unhappy to take the weight of it off his mind. Felicity, sir, is an accident : it is mo- tion, either of body or mind : a mode of being, as the logicians call it. Let the best machine of man be constructed, with all the appurtenances of strength, faculty, thought, feeling, and with all the appliances of competence and ease, and it will rust from disuse ; the springs and wheels will grow mouldy ; the pipes become oppilated with crudities, and death will ensue from mere obstruction. But give it motion " " But what do you think," interrupted Harvey, '• of the old gentleman's selecting Singleton Swansdown to reverse the decision of all the courts in Virginia, with Philly Wart, too, to back them V '• The shrewdest person," replied Meriwether, smiling, and bringing down his left hand over his face, as he threw his head backward, '•doubtless may be beguiled by his prepossessions. — Singleton's a right good fellow after all ; and Mr. Tracy has a great respect for him. growing out of family connections, and his 94 C () L L O Q U I E S . , regulated tone of manners, which are very kind and conciliatory to the old gentleman." " But he is such an ass," said Harvey, '• and I had like to have blundered out as much, yesterday at dinner, when Mr. Tracy told us he was coming to The Brakes ; but happily, I was afraid to swear before my cousin Kate." " Why I dare say," rejoined Meriwether, '' Swansdown will be entirely competent to this case, particularly with my friend Philly at his elbow, to show him his road. I have been turning over in my mind," he continued, aside to Biggs, " to contrive to give the old gentleman the advantage in the lawsuit, if I can so arrange it as to let him win it upon a show of justice ; for if he suspected me of a voluntary concession to him, he would not be pleased ; and, upon my conscience ! I find a difficulty in managing it." " Can't our friend Wart, " said Harvey, " patch up a case against you, that shall deceive even Mr. Tracy ?" " I shall so instruct him," replied Meriwether, '• and it will afford us some speculation to observe how reluctantly my good neighbor will part with this bantling of his, when it is decided." " It has been his inducement," said Harvey, " to study the laws of Virginia from beginning to end ; and it has furnished him more conversation than any other incident of his life." CHAPTER XI. PRANKS. The dinner hour found our company in that happy mood which belongs to the conviviality of country life. Eager appetite and that conscious health which grows upon out-door exercise, and which brings cheerfulness to the spirit as physical beauty brings pleasure to the eye, — these tell more visibly upon a party in the countr}", than they ever do in town. You will never know your friend so welL nor enjoy him so heartily in the* city as you may in one of those large, bountiful mansions, whose horizon is filled with green fields and woodland slopes and broad blue heavens. Of all the conditions of life, give me ample country space, a generous, wide-sheltering roof, and my chosen cronies, — male and female, — gathered under it at my summons to spend weeks together ! Then horses, sunshine, and pleasant breezes, — and a morning for the fields and the by-ways amongst the hills, with my little squad- ron of choice spirits to keep abreast with me and my fantasies ! Then let us have dinner with its vigorous appetites : — I shall not be particular in the sauces. — And after that the placid evening, and the rich and honest old books, — or the pranks, I care not how boyish and girlish. — We have no age and no premeditated proprieties under my roof ; — we go for good fellowship and a little harlequinade now and then, Merrj'' Andrew is a king in his way. 96 P K A i\ K S . These are my desires. I am glad to see something of this com* plexion here at Swallow Barn, My narrative points to that. We ordinarily dine about three o'clock. On the present oc casion we were two hours before we left the table. Bel was on the top-gallant of her spirits ; and Ned Hazard seemed to have de- voted himself to the task of provoking her vivacity by continual assault, which had a tone, sometimes, of satirical criticism upon her imputed foibles, and sometimes of doubtful praise of her im- puted perfections, well calculated to test her good nature and to increase the animation of her defence. In both which particulars she showed very pleasantly, and maintained her ground with a skilful tact. Ned evidently found a gratification in her triumphs, and studied occasions to make them agreeable to herself; though his manner was perilously destitute of that reverence and gentle submission which all women are pleased to exact, and which a pretty woman, especially, considers as the least of her dues from our sex. Bel might eve^n have found a pretext to be offended with Hazard, but for the manifest good feeling which blazed up above all his raillery. Catharine was more prudish ; and Ned and Harvey were dis- creet enough to attempt no jest with her, that was not as prudish as herself I cannot say so much for Hazard, — but of Harvey Biggs it is quite observable that, under the externals of a vola- tile, swashing, trenchant manner, he maintains a careful guard to give a complimentary flavor to his demeanor, which rather wins upon the self-love of his company. Prudence sustained her part variously, and was alternately Bentiniental and mettlesome, thoughtless or grave, as the wind blew towards those points. When evening came, the tide of pleasant association was run- ning so high that it w\as resolved to be inexpedient to interrupt r li A N K s . 97 it by separation, and accordingly a messenger was dispatched to The Brakes, to say that the party would remain at Swallow Barn all night. Prudence. I observed, figured in the debate on that resolve, and rather startled us by repeating some lines, which, it strikes me, I have heard before. They ran something in this wise : — " Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like tills to-night, tliat oh 'tis pain To break its hnks so soon." — I am positive Prudence is not the author of these lines — she must have borrowed them. After tea, the ladies made a concert at the piano. A few lively airs were so suggestive of a dance, that in a short time my cousin Lucretia was seated at the instrument, and our whole company, except Meriwether, was on the floor capering through alternate reels and cotillons. The children were grouped about the room in an ecstasy of delight. Mistress Barbara, who had stolen quietly into the apartment, relaxed her features into a wormwood smile, and shook her head at Harvey Riggs's drolleries ; and the domestics, young and old, gathered about the doorway, or peeped in at the win- dows. The thermometer of mirth rises with the heat of exercise. It was now getting above the point which society has established as the upper confine of elegant decorum. It was manifest that a romp was in the wind. The men were growing too energetic in their saltations ; and I am afraid I must say that the ladies did not decidedly discourage it. Now and then, indeed, Cathariner bridled up and would not allow Harvey Biggs to give her such a gyratory fling in the reel, as he did the others ; but Bel gave way to it like a true child of nature, and permitted her swift-flowing 98 PRANKS. blood to guide her steps ; and Prudence^ at a little distance, fol- lowed her example. In the midst of this confused and mingled scene, Lucy and Victorine appeared the very personations of joy in the graceful playfulness of their age ; springing about with the easy motions and delighted looks of young novices, to whom the world is a sunny picture of pleasure and harmony. Exhausted, at length, we took our seats, and gradually sub- sided into that lower and more equable temper which is apt to follow violent excitements. Harvey Riggs and Ned Hazard were observed to withdraw from the parlor, and it was some time before they reappeared. In their absence they had been making preparation for a melodrama, which was now announced by Rip. The subject of this new prank was '• tile Babes in the Wood." Rip and one of the little girls were to enact the babes ; and ac- cordingly, in due time, two candles were set upon the floor to represent the stage lights ; the company were arranged in front ; — the children were laid out, and ordered to keep their eyes shut ; a piece of baize covered them, instead of leaves, and Rip raised his head, for an instant, to inform the audience that there was to be a great storm. Suddenly a servant came in and put out the candles, — all except the two on the floor. This was followed by a tremendous racket in the hall, that was principally occasioned by the -f-iolent slamming of doors, which was designed to imitate thunder ;^then came a flash of lightning that made our audience start. It had an amazing sulphurous odor and a gunpowder haze, that produced some terror amongst the children. And now, to give a pcTfect verisimilitude to the storm, a most dismal hiss- ing and pattering, as of rain, assailed every ear. This was a very lively passage in the drama. It continued with unabated violence for some moments, producing equal astonishment and diversion amongst the spectators — but finally became rather op- PRANKS. " 99 prcssive by a volume of pungent vapor which was diffused through the apartment, and set us all to coughing. In the midst of this pother of the elements, Ned and Harvey entered, each with a huge sabre attached to his girdle, their faces smutted with burnt cork, and their figures disguised in old uniform coats oddly disproportioned to their persons. Here they strutted about, making tragic gestures and spouting fierce blank verse. The rain, at intervals, sank upon the ear as if dissolving into mist, and anon rose with redoubled fury into a kind of bubbling and boil- ing rage with increased pungency. The sabres were drawn, and the murderers were disputing the propriety of the uncle's famous order to put the babes to death, and had already crossed their weapons for a melodramatic fray, when an incident occurred which saved the innocents from the fatal execution of their truc- ulent purpose. The rain by some unaccountable mismanagement came suddenly down to a mere drizzle, and when the tempest ought to have howled its loudest, dropped into entire silence. " More rain !" — cried Ned, in a stage whisper, looking towards the hall where this department carried on its operations. Instead of rain, however, came sundry distinct giggles from a group of servants on the outside of the door, in the midst of which Carey's voice was distinctly heard — " It's no use. Master Ned ; — the frying pan's got cold. It W'On't make no more noise." The business-like sobriety of this disclosure at such a critical moment, raised a general laugh, which put an end to the traged3^ Ned had given orders to Carey to heat that implement of the kitchen, to which the old man referred, and to bring it near the parlor door, where it was his cue to supply it with lard, by which ingenious device the storm was to be kept hissing hot as long as it was wanted. This fortunate failure admonished the ladies of the lateness of the hour, and they soon afterwards bade us good night. 100 rilANKS. The two trao;edians chanored their dresses and washed the smut from their faces, and joined us in a short time on the porch at the front door, where we found ourselves in a very different mood. The night was calm and clear, and our late boisterous occu- pations inclined us with more zest to contemplate the beautiful repose of nature. We sauntered a short distance from the house. The moon was up and flinging a wizard glare over the tree-tops, and upon the old roof and chimneys. A heavy dew had fallen upon the grass, and imparted an eager chilliness to the atmos- phere. The grove resounded with those solemn invocations poured forth by the countless insects of the night, ivhich keep their vigils through the livelong hours of darkness, — shrill, piercing, and melancholy. The house dogs howled at the moon, and rushed at intervals tumultuously forward upon some fancied dis- turber ; for the dog is imaginative, and is often alarmed with the phantoms of his own thoughts. A distant cock, the lord of some cabin hen-roost, was heard, with a clear and trumpet-like cadence, breaking the deep stillness of this midnight time, like a faithful warder on the battlements telling the hour to the sleepers. Every thing around us was in striking contrast with the scenes in which we had just been engaged. We grew tranquil and communicative ; and thoughtless of the late hour — or rather more alive to its voluptuous charm — we completed our «hort circuit, and had gathered again into the porch, where we lay scattered about upon the benches, or seated on the door-sill. Here, whilst we smoked segars, and rambled over the idle topics that played in our thoughts, Harvey Iliggs engaged himself in preparing a sleeping draught of that seductive cordial which common fame lias celebrated as the native glory of Virginia. It is a vulgar error, Harvey contends, to appropriate the mint sling to the morning. " It is," he remarked with solemn emphasis PRANKS. 101 " the homologous peculiar of the night, — the rectifier of the fancy, — the parent of pleasant dreams, — the handmaid of diges- -tion, — and the lullaby of the brain : iu its nature essentially anti-roral ; friendly to peristaltics and vermiculars : and, in its influence upon the body, jocund and sedative." I have recorded Harvey's words, because in this matter I conceive him to be high authority. Upon this subject Harvey is eloquent, and whilst we sat listening to his learned discriminations in the various processes of this manufacture, our attention was suddenly drawn to another quarter by the notes of a banjoe, played by Carey in the court-, yard. He was called up to the door, and, to gratify my curiosity to hear his music, he consented to serenade the ladies under their windows. Carey is a minstrel of some repute, and, like the ancient jongeleurs, he sings the inspirations of his own muse, weaving into song the" past or present annals of the family. He is considered as a seer amongst th^ negroes on the estate, and is always heard with reverence. The importance this gives him, renders the old man not a little proud of his minstrelsy. It required, therefore, but little encouragement to set him ofi": so, after taking a convenient stand, and running his fingers over his rude instrument by way of prelude, he signified his obedience to our orders. The scene was quite picturesque. Carey was old, his head was hoary, and now borrowed an additional silver tint from the moonbeam that lighted up his figure. Our eager group, which stood watching him from the midst of the rose bushes in which we were partly embowered : the silent hour, interrupted only by the murmur of the occasional breeze ; the bevy of idle dogs that lay scattered over the ground ; the mistiness of the distant land- scape ; and the venerable mass of building, with its alternate faces of light and shade, formed a combination of images and circumstances that gave a rich impression to our feelinp-s. .102 PRANKS. C'dvej, for a moment, tuned his instrument with the airs of a professor, smiled, and looking round to Hazard, asked, in a half whisper, " What shall I play, Master Ned ?" "What you like best, Carey." " Well," said Carey, striking off a few notes, "I'll try this :" The rich man comes from down below, Yo ho, yo ho. What he comes for I guess I know, Long time ago. He comes to talk to the young lady, Yo ho, yo ho. But she look'd proud, and mighty high. Long time ago. And in this strain, clothed in his own dialect, he proceeded to rehearse, in a doggerel ballad, sung with a chant by no means inharmonious, the expected arrival of Swansdown at The Brakes, and the probable events of his visit, which, he insinuated, would be troublesome to Ned Hazard, and would, as the song went, " Make him think so hard he couhln't sleep." "Can't you give us something better than that?" interrupted Ned. " Ah ! that makes you very sore there, master Ned Hazard," said the old negro, putting his hand on Ned's breast. " Tut !" replied Ned, " you croak like a frog to-night." " Give us ' Sugar in a Gourd' or ' Jim Crow,' " cried lialph — referring to two popular dances well known in this region, and for the execution of which Carey has some reputation. " I've got a dream for you. Master Ned," said Carey, with the modest chuckle of a composer exhibiting his own music. " May be you'd like to hear that?" We encouraged him, and the minstrel struck up another kind of rattling air whicli went at a PRANKS. 103 jangling gallop on his banjoe, accompanied by an improvisation in the same style as that which we had just heard. It will not do to give his words, which, without the aid of all the accessories, the figure of the old man himself, and the rapid twang of his banjoe, and especially the little afifectations of his professorial vanity, would conve}^ but a bald impression of the serio-comic eflect the whole exhibition had upon us. The purport of this recitative strain was, that as he, the bard, lay sleeping in his cabin, a beautiful lady appeared to him, in the dead of night, and told him that he must instruct his young master, when he went a wooing, that there were three things for him to learn : he must never believe his mistress to be light of heart because she laughed at him ; nor, that she was really offended when she looked angry at him ; and lastly, that he was not to be disheart- ened by a refusal, as that was no proof she would not have him : that women were naturally very contrary, and must be interpreted by opposites. " Carey is a true seer," said Harvey Riggs, when the old man had finished, " and brings us great encouragement, Ned. Now, old gentleman, you have done your duty, and as you dream so well, come in and you shall have something to put you to sleep, that you may try it again — and there's something to cross your palm with." The old negro was brought into the parlor, where Harvey regaled him with a glass of the julep he had been making. " God bless you, master Harvey, and young masters all !" said Carey, with a polite and gentleman-like gesture, and with a smile of the utmost benignity. " Good night, gemmen," he added, as he retired with many formal bows. We now betook ourselves to our chambers, whence, for some time after I had got to bed, I could hear the negroes dancing jigs to Carey's banjoe in the court-yard. In the midst of these 104 PRANKS. J I noises I fell asleep— thus terminating a day that had been marked by a succession of those simple pastimes which give such an agreeable relish to country life, and which the gravest man, I think, would be over-wise to find fault with. i CHAPTER XII. A CONFESSION. j The ladies bad announced tlieir intention to return to The j Brakes before breakfast. Accordingly, the next morning, soon : i after daybreak, the courtyard was alive with the stir of prepara- [ i tion, and by the time the sun was up, horses, dogs, and servants filled the inclosure with a lively bustle, and the inmates of the I house thronged the door and porch. Bel, with the wholesome I j bloom of the morning on her cheek, exhibited that flow of buoy- . 'ant good-humor which naturally belongs to a young and ardent . I girl, and more signally when she is conscious of being an object I I of admiration. She danced about the hall, and sang short pas- sages from songs with a sweet and merry warbling. "We owe you our thanks, gentlemen," she said, "for Mr. Carey's saucy ballad last night. Cousin Harvey, I set down all ithe impertinence of it to you. You have such a wicked con- Iscience that you can't sleep yourself, and you seem to be resolved inobody else shall." " Ah Bel," replied Harvey, " Ned has spoiled your taste for simple melodies, by those Italian graces of his." " Not a word, you monster — but help me to my horse. I 'mean to get away from this house as quickly as I can ; and when I have you on the road I will tell you a piece of my mind. With 5* 106 A CONFESSION. such a swift foot under me, you know I can run away from yon, if you get angry." Ned Hazard advanced, somewhat officiously, to lead the ani mal which Bel was to mount, to the steps — " No, no," she said, " Edward, that's Harvey's business. I have trained him to it. — Now, Mr. Cavalier, your hand." Harvey came round to the stirrup side of the mare, and stoop- ing down, whilst he locked his two hands so as to form a step — " Your left foot — so — bear on my shoulder. There you are," he said, as he tossed her lightly into the saddle. " It isn't every one can do that as well as Harvey," said Bt^ by way of apology to Ned for refusing his assistance, which she saw had a little discomfited him. "Bring Mr. Littleton, Edward, to see us, and you shall have the privilege of another rehearsal, if' you like." " I am afraid," — replied Ned, " that I have practised too many antics already, to keep your favor. But you shall see us before long ; and I mean henceforth to be very grave." " Good bye !" — said Bel — " the sun is beforehand with us.— " Now Grace," — she added in a lively tone, to the petted anima on which she rode — "Forward!" The mare rose on her hir legs with an active motion, and sprang away at a brisk spec Catharine had all this time been quietly mounting by the ;: of a chair, and talking in a subdued voice to Prudence. She n< said some amiable things at parting, repeated the invitation Hazard and myself to The Brakes, and rode forward Vith becon ing propriety of gait, attended by Ralph. Harvey followed clos upon the track of Bel, and whilst the sun's rays yet smote tli fields in level lines, the equestrians were out of sight. After breakfast I found Hazard sitting on the bench at t' front door, examining a box of fishing tackle. Some rods woi leaned against one of the pillars of the porch, and Rip, with A o i\ F i: s s I o N . ! 07 little ape-faced negro, was officiously aiding in the inspection of the lines, and teasing Ned with a hundred questions. These two wanted to know how far it entered into his design to take them with him, if he meant to go fishing. He told me that as the day looked well for it, he thought we might find some pastime with our rods in a ramble over the brook. Rip and his flat-nosed compeer, the little black. — who seemed to think it was his busi- ness to take charge of Rip — were, of course, to accompany us. To make them useful, Hazard dispatched them both to get us some bait. Away they went — Rip, at a bound, across the railing of the porch, and Beelzebub — this was Ned's nickname for the other — down the steps, with a mouth distended from ear to ear, cutting all manner of capers over the grass. In a few moments the latter was on his way to the stable with a long-handled hoe over his shoulder, and a small tin vessel to collect worms, whilst Rip was making a foray upon the grasshoppers, and flapping down his much-abused beaver upon them with a skill that showed this to be a practised feat. A brief delay brought in our active marauders with an abun- dant spoil, and we then set forth on our expedition, each pro- vided with a long rod and its appropriate tackle — our young at- tendants shouldering their weapons and strutting before us with amazing strides and important faces — jabbering unceasingly all the way. Ned seemed inclined to be serious ; and I soon perceived that he wanted to make me his confidant, — I had already guessed upon what point. He talked, as we loitered along the bank of the stream, about Harvey Riggs, Catharine, Ralph, old Mr. Tracy — about every body but Bel — except a slight allusion to her once or twice, and in the most casual and apparently accidental man- ner. It was a touch-and-go manner which spoke volumes. I saw that he wanted me to talk of her, and I was malicious enough not 108 A CONFESSION. to understand him. It was very evident that I was soon to have a revelation. Ned, of course, is in love with Bel. Any one might see that, in the first five minutes he should find them together. It is no- torious to the whole family, and I believe to all the inhabitants in these parts — as much as any piece of country gossip can be. I had no doubt of it, even before we were surprised in our hurletta on the road. Rip, who is inconveniently shrewd in these mat- ters, took occasion this morning, just after the ladies left us on their return to the Brakes, to whisper to me, as we entered the breakfast roomj — " Uncle Ned wanted mightily to lift Bel to her horse, because he likes the very ground she walks on." And Har- vey Biggs doesn't mince matters when he speaks of it — and old Carey had twisted it into rhyme that no one could misunderstand. Yet, strange as it may be, Ned, with all these proofs against him, was such an owl as to think I had no suspicion of such a thing, or, in fact, that it was a secret to any body. The transparency of Hazard's character, or what I might bet- ter call his unconscious frankness, gives a little coloring of comic extravagance to his endeavor to conceal his feelings. He is a man who can no more hold a secret than a crystal decanter can hold wine invisible. His efi"ort to disguise his admiration for Bel has, in truth, been somewhat perilous in this afi'air, by inducing him to counterfeit a rather disparaging iudifi'erence in his de- meanor towards her. This is the source of his inexpert and ill- timed raillery, his falling pell-mell upon her foibles, and alarming her pride, and making jests upon points which women are gene- rally apt to take without complaisance — even in ill part, some- times. Instead of frequenting the society of his mistress, as more skilful lovers would do, he is careful to regulate his approaches in such a manner as to avoid all suspicion of particular intimacy. His walks and rides, it is true, tend instinctively in the direction ACONFESSION. I09 of The Brakes, and he is seen often enougli taking an observation of the house and grounds, and traversing up and down the roads , that lead thither ; but his heart fails him at the gate, and he does I not go through it even once in a week, unless somebody can make j a matter of business for him to go there ; and then he is as bold j as a lion. ' What's our duty,' — as he very cogently reasons, in such conjunctures, ' must be done at all hazards, regardless of consequences.' Ned, I observe also, loses his intrepidity in Bel's presence, which makes him awkward in his attentions. And then, again, he seems to have an unfortunate tendency — I might almost describe it as a destiny — to present himself to her under those drawbacks which most shock her conceptions of the decorum she is inclined to expect from a lover. Our woodland extravaganza — the burlesque melodrama of the last night, I perceived, notwith- standing her laughing at them, were neither of them exactly con- sonant with her ideas of dignified sportiveness. She has a vein of romance in her composition which engenders some fastidious no- tions touching propriety of manners, and gives her — if I can trust Hazard's opinion, which I find confirmed in what I have seen — a predilection for that solemn foppery which women sometimes im- agine to be refinement, — and of which Ned has not the slightest infusion. Bel's temper naturally is most uncongenial with these pre- tensions, as she constantly shows when ofi" her guard ; — but by a certain ply of her mind, got perhaps in some by-path of educa- tion, or nurtured by a fanciful conceit, or left upon her memory amongst the impressions of some character she has been taught to admire, or, peradventure, being the physical disclosure in her organization of some peculiarly aristocratic drop of blood in- herited from some over-stately grandam, and reappearing at the surface after the lapse of a century ; — from whatever cause pro- duced — she has taught herself to consider an orderly, measured, graceful movement, a choice adaptation of language, reverence of 110 A CONFESSION. deportment, and, above all, entire devotedness, essential to the composition of, what she terms, a refined gentleman — a character which runs a fair risk of being set down in the general opinion as sufficiently dull and insipid. Bel overlooks the total absence of these gifts in Harvey Riggs, and says his playfulness (she uses a soft expression) is quite delightful. I explain this anomaly by the fact that Harvey is entirely out of the question as a lover ; and that Bel has unwarily permitted her nature to counsel her opinion in Harvey's case ; by reason of which, her good-humored cousin has taken the citadel of her favor by surprise. Ned Hazard she regards in quite a difi'erent light. Her sentinels are all at their posts when he makes a demonstration. I sometimes think there is a little spleen at the bottom of Ned's treatment of Bel, a momentary sub-acid fretfulness, occa- sioned by her professing to hold in estimation the grave and empty pedantry of Singleton Swansdown, the very model of a delicate and dainty gentleman. Bel says, '• he is so like the hero of a novel ;" which Ned has once or twice repeated to me, with the remark, that it was " cursed fudge."' I have said enough, in the way of composition of Ned's char- acter and of the queer condition of his love affair, as well as of the quality of his mistress, to preface the account I am about to give of our conversation on the fishing excursion. We had reached a wide-spreading old sycamore on the bank of the brook, and had thrown our lines into a deep pool which eddied under the roots of the tree, and where we had reason to expect some luck to our angling. Here we seated ourselves on the grass in the shade. I found that I was advancing in Ned's confidence. He was restless, and not very attentive to his rod, and somewliat thirsty, for he drank at the brook twice. — T was perfectly dull of apprehension, and asked the most simple ques- tions. I was determined to give him no help, at least for the present. It is strange, but it is universally true, that no man of A CONFESSION. IH sober sense, — no sensible, well-ordered man, I mean — can with a calm and composed face disclose the fact of his being in love- even to his most intimate friend. Mankind always seem to treat this very natural incident of one's life as a foolish thing ; and a man, therefore, looks or feels like a fool, — attempt the disclosure when he will. '• Mark " — said Ned, in a rather abrupt transition from a lit- erary topic we had been discussing, and which I had myself pro- posed in a mischievous humor to baulk a previous advance to the matter that was weighing upon his mind, — '' Mark " — and here was a slight pause and some visible perturbation, — '• don't you think Bel Tracy a very lively girl V '• Don't you ?" I asked. " Very lively," replied Ned. " How would you like to make a visit to the Brakes ?" " Do you visit there much, Ned ?" "Occasionally; Bel rather reproaches me for not coming as often as I ought, perhaps." " Rather a dull house, I should think, for a visit : the old gentleman, I understand, is very formal," said I. " On the contrary," replied Ned, " a very pleasant family. I should like to take you there, — Bel's a great favorite with her father. I — I have seen a good deal of her :" — a pause in which Ned looked a little queer. — " That slippery little gudgeon !" — " Who?" said I, " you don't mean to call Bel a gudgeon ?" Ned laughed. " No — what are you thinking of? — I mean this fish," said he, drawing up his line — " It has nibbled off three baits in succession, and I can't get him on my hook." " Throw in again, Ned," said I, smiling, '' perhaps you will have better luck next time. So Bel, you think, is a lively girl? and you go to make her a visit occasionally ? That must be quite an effort. And she is of opinion that you don't come often enouffh. — What would you call often ?" 112 ACONFESSION " I was there tlie very morning of the day on which you arrived here," said Ned. " Ten days ago !" I said, with an affected surprise — " and still she complains ! What an unreasonable lady ! I suppose she would have you galloping there twice a week, at least? These women exact a great deal of us poor men. Why, if you were a lover of hers, — as I know you are not — once a week I should say " — " Well, I don't know " — said Ned, interrupting me. " You don't know what ?" I asked — " whether you are a lover of her's, or not 2 — Such a cool, unimpassioned fellow as you are never made a lover in the world. If I lived as near to the Brakes as you do, I should make it a point to be over head and ears in love with Bel Tracy — But there is a difference between you and me." Ned laughed again, quite loud this time, but his mirth was manifestly artij&cial. " You think so ?" — he said, at last. The confession was on his lips — but a hesitation of one mo- ment drove it back. His heart failed him, and like a ship which misses her stays, he fell off again into the wind. " They do say " — said I — " that this Mr. Swansdown, of whom I have heard so much lately, looks that way with an eager eye, and that something is likely to come of it. Her father is fond of him, I hear ; and if that's true, I consider her as good as mort- gaged already. Perhaps it is wise in you to keep out of a love- scrape against such odds ?" " Swansdown !" exclaimed Ned. " Who told you that? — Don't believe a word of it, Mark. Bel Tracy is a woman of sense, and discriminates amongst men with remarkable acutencss. She has some odd fancies — but Swansdown is not one of them. I don't be- lieve she can abide him. D n it, I know she can't. Women will do queer things sometimes — but Bel will never have Swans- down as long as lier name is Bel Tracy." A CONFESSION. 113 " No, of course not," I replied. '• She will consider it a point of propriety to change her name on the very day she weds him. As to her discrimination — she will settle that as Papa advises. Bel, I'll be bound, is a dutiful daughter, and will do as her fathei bids her. Moreover, when a woman of a lively imagination— ^as your country ladies generally are — once permits her fancy to light upon a lover, it is quite immaterial what manner of man he may be, — the fancy is apt to settle the business for itself. Fancy is a colt that will run away with as good a rider as Bel Tracy. I profess to know a little of these women myself, Ned." " Swansdown," — said Hazard, alarmed by the suggestion I had forced so confidently upon him, and flushed with a slight degree of fretful anger, — " is the most preposterous ass — the most enormous humbug — the most remarkable coxcomb in Vir- ginia." " No matter for that. — Bel, as you say, has a great admiration for an elegant, refined, sweet-spoken, grave, and dignified gentle- man : — that's a hobby of hers, from your own account ; and it is hard to tell the counterfeit from the real in these things." " Devil !" cried Ned. " She can't be mistaken in Swansdown. I acknowledge she is somewhat haunted by this crotchet of ele- gance, and all that, — and that such a thing does, once in a while, make a woman rather impracticable ; but Bel's good sense will get the better of that. However, you may argue about it as you will, I have reason to know what her feelings are — personal rea- son," — he said with some warmth. " How could you know ? — what reason have you ?" " If you will have it, Littleton, and will keep a secret, I will tell you. Bel and I have had a sort of understanding. I have been very much attached to her for some time, and she knows it. -Indeed, between you and me, I told her so ; and although there was nothing specific came of it, yet I can assure you she does not 114 A CONFESSION. care a brass button for SiDgleton Swansdown. Mark, you -will not mention this, of course." " Ob bo ! — so tbe wind's in tbat quarter !" — said I. " Wby did'nt you tell me tbis before ? Here bave I been taking your part against Bel Tracy all tbis time. And now it turns out I ougbt to bave been on tbe otber side." " Well, I intended to tell you," said Ned, " but somebow it got out of my bead. I did'nt tbink of it." " You blind bat !" said I, " and bypocrite, to boot ! "Wby, I knew you were in love tbe first day I saw you. You bave bad notbing in your bead but Bel Tracy ever since I arrived bere. You bave been dying to tell me all day." " I tbougbt you would laugb at me — a love affair is always a foolisb tbing, and every body laugbs at it." " Indeed, I assure you, upon my bonor, I tbink to be in love one of tbe most serious, nay solemn tbings in tbe world. It bas made you a perfect stick. You bave lost all your ligbt-bearted- ness. — And so, sbe encourages you, you tbink?" " I sbould say so," replied Ned. " Tbat is, sbe don't discour- age me. You know tbere are a tbousand little movements in a woman's deportment tbat sbow bow ber bumor lies. Not any tbing to speak of singly, but take tbem — in tbe long run — you understand ?" " Are you very particular in your attentions ?" "Well — tolerably — wben I bave a cbance." " Wbat do you call particular attentions, Ned?" " Wby — I don't know exactly bow to answer tbat," be re- plied. " I am attentive to ber, — tbat is to say, I keep an eye upon ber. For instance, I bave sent her partridges." "Dead or alive?" I asked witb great gravity. " Some tbat I bad shot," said Ned ; " dead, of course." " For ber to cat?" said I. " Quite an appropriate present to 1 voung lady. Is she gastronomic?" A CONFESSION. 115 •• Nonsense !" exclaimed Ned. '• The partridges were for her father, and I so explained it." '• Did you ever ask her at dinner to allow you to help her to some greens ?" '• "What the d 1 do you mean, Littleton 1" •• I mean that your attentions are rather odd for a lover. Can you think of any others?" " Well, I can't recall what you would consider actually atten- tions. I am conj&dent, however, that I have shown her many." " Any verses, or love letters, or sketches for an album, any snug little inferences in a corner ?" '• Oh no, nothing to that extent," said Ned. •'• What then did you mean by telling me that you had per- sonal reason to know her feelings, just now — that you have told her CI your attachment? I think, too, you Said nothing specific came of it?" '' I'll explain," replied Ned. '• The fact is, I addressed her. It was'nt the luckiest thing in the world. About a year ago, we had a dinner party at the Brakes — rather a merry one, and I drank a little too much champagne : and being possessed with a devil — for I can't account for it in any other v^aj — I got to walk- ing with Bel after night-fail on the porch ; and finding we were alone, with the moon shining bright above, and the roses and honey -suckles, and all that, perfuming the air with the incense of Araby, I naturally got to be sentimental and talked. I am in- clined to believe, a good deal of nonsense — and, in the end. popped the question at her like the crack of a rifle." '• Well, what then ?" " Oh, she behaved with the most admirable*spirit. She turned round promptly and went into the house, without saying a word ; leaving me to construe that as I might choose to take it." " Ah ha. I understand now what you mean by nothing specific coming of it. You think then she encourages you?" 116 A CONFESSION. " Slie did'nt refuse me," said Ned, " and I consider that en- couragement. The truth is, Mark, Bel rather likes me, but she doesn't like to show it." " You have never spoken to her since on the same subject ?" " Oh, never. I have ridden out with her frequently since that, and she is always in excellent spirits." " Do you ride alone with her ?" " No. She always makes Ralph or Harvey Riggs, or some one else of the party. That shows she is sensitive on the sub- ject, you perceive. She wishes to delay the matter — which is the most natural thing in the world. A woman gets tremulous, and likes to put off such things till the next day, and then the next, — and so on." " Ah, my dear Ned, yon are a coward. I thought you were a brave man. Why don't you tell her at once, you want to talk to her alone, and persevere till she agrees to give you an oppor- tunity ? You would soon find out whether she encourages you or not." " My good fellow," replied Ned, with some emphasis, " that's harder to do than you think. There is a great difference in bravery man-ward and woman-ward. It is moral courage which is necessary in these affairs with women, and a good deal of it^ too. I would as lief march up to an alligator to box him about the eyes, in kid gloves, as come up deliberately on a cool morn- ing, in the drawing-room or any where else, to Bel Tracy with a straight, up-and-down, point-blank declaration of love. It is so hard to groove such a thing into conversation. A man gets his nerves flurried, and is so apt to become thick of speech. I don't know how to manag*e the topics that would carry me up naturally to the point, and save me from the awkwardness of an abrupt transition. There are men who can do it — men of genius in that line ; but I am not one of them. Yet, when you come to reflect upon it. it ought not to be any such great matter. All the world is getting married every day ; every man has to go through it — an ordinance of nature : and it does come to pass. But how the thing is managed so universally and so successfully — by all sorts of persons, of course, — that's a great mystery. Like good Chris- tians, we ought to help one another." " To be sure we ought," said I, •■ and we will, Ned. "We shall hold a council upon it, and conduct our seige of poor little Bel's heart, according to the rules of the most approved strategy. But there must be no flinching on your part." '^ I sometimes feel in a mood," said Ned, '• that would carry me through, off-hand, if I had a chance: but then again" — . Here he shook his head thoughtfully, as much as to say, that this mood was not the optative, to come at his wish. " I think." he added, with some animation, as if a new and ino-enious thousrht had struck him, '• the best time for it, Littleton, is after dinner — about twilight, between hawk and buzzard." '• We must try it with cool heads." I replied. •' As much of the hawk as you please, Ned, but no buzzard will serve us." Before we had come to this conclusion, we had several times changed our ground, and had now reached the centre of a grove of tall trees. Hazard, having in this conversation happily dis- burdened his mind of a weight that had oppressed it for some time, appeared quite a new man to me. He became rational, gay and confident, and was quite willing now to dismiss the topic we had agitated so long. I was struck with the scenery around us. It v/as just such a landscape as a painter would delight to study in detail, and sketch from every point ; there was such variety of foliage, such beautiful contrasts of light and shade, such bits of foreground, and rich accessories to throw into a picture. The beech, the poplar, and the sycamore, all so different in form, and so majestical from IIS A CONFESSION. age and size, rose iu this forest from a carpet of matted grass of the liveliest verdure. There was no underwood to interrupt the view into the deep recesses of shade. An occasional straggling grape-vine swung across from tree to tree, embracing the branches of both in its huge serpent-like folds ; and, here and there, an erect, prim, and maidenish poplar was furbelowed, from the root all the way up to the limbs, with wild ivy, and in this sylvan millinery coquetted with the zephyr that seemed native to the grove. Through this sequestered shade the stream crept with a devi- ous course, brattling, now and then, at the resistance of decayed trunks which accident had thrown across the channel, — and then subsiding again into silence. As we advanced, swarms of tad-poles darted from the shallow into deeper water ; apple-bugs, as the country people call that black beetle-shaped insect which frequents summer pools, and which is distinguished for the perfume of the fruit that has given it its name — danced in busy mazes over the surface of the still water : the large spider, resembling a wheel without its rim, shot forth over his little lake, in angular lines, as if making a trigonometri- cal survey of its expanse ; and schools of greedy little fish sprang up at every mote that fell upon the stream. Then the gray squir- rel, with his graceful undulating tail, vaulted furtively across our path to some neighboring tree ; and our attention was frequently called to the water-snake with his head thrust under a stone and the folds of his body glistening in the sun as the stream wash*, i over him. Rip and his goblin page, both of whom had been long out o! sight, were now in view. They had grown weary of their attend ance upon us, and were seen at this time wading through the brook, with their trousers drawn above the knee — Hip leading tli< way and directing the motions of Beelzebub, who imitated all hi; gestures with a grin of saucy good nature. Thev were carryin*. A C O N F E S S 1 O N . 119 on a destructive warfare against the frogs, and, by the capture of several distinguished individuals of the enemy, had spread con- sternation along the whole margin of the stream, — insomuch, as Kip declared, " that not a Frenchman amongst them dared to show his goggle-eyes above the water." The sun was now some hour or more past his meridian, and 7e proposed a return. So, gathering up our spoils, some dozens if stone-heads, suckers, and othSr small iish, which we had taken at intervals during our colloquy, and calling in our skirmishers from the battle of the frogs, we took up our homeward line of march — tne two dripping and muddy mignons of our suite bring- ing up the rear, each bearing a string of fish hung by the gills upon a willcw withe. In this array we soon regained the court- yard of the mansion. CHAPTER XIIL A MAN OF PRETENSIONS. It is to be remarked in regard to all love affairs, that whatever may be the embarrassment of the disclosure, there is by no means the same difficulty in conversing about them afterwards. When the ice is once broken, your genuine lover is never tired of talk- ing about his mistress. For twenty-four hours after our late ramble, Ned talked, almost incessantly, upon the ^ame subject. He let it drop for a moment, but he was sure to come speedily back upon it with a new face, as if it were a matter that required a serious delibera- tion ; and he insinuated, that, in the present stage of the business, my advice was important to determine whether he should go on with it ; although it was easy enough to perceive that his mind was not only quite made up, but keenly set upon the prosecution of the affair. Then, he affected to be greatly undecided as to some minute particular of conduct. Again, he had his doubts whether, upon the whole, she really did encourage him. In this sentiment he was sincere, although he endeavored to persuade himself that the matter was reasonably certain. These doubts made him restless, droll and solemn ; but again changing his mood, he presented the entire action to me, from beginning to endj as a laughable affair ; and that made him swear at it, and A MAN OF PRETExN'SIONSi. 121 say it was very (|uoer — unaccountable — extraordinary ; — that it put a man in sucli an awkward situation ! But his conclusion to it all was, that there was no use in talking about it, — matters had gone so far that there was no alternative ; he was committed on the point of honor, and bound as a gentleman to make his pre- tensions good. I vexed him a little by saying I did not think so ; and that if it was distasteful to him, I thought he was at liberty to retire when he chose. This balked his humor. So I consented to admit his premises for the future, and allow that he was bound in honor. With this admission he j)roceeded in his argument. It all amounted to the same thing, and the only varieties I discovered after this, were in his positions. He argued it perpendicularly, walking, jumping, dancing : then horizontally, lolling over three chairs, stretched out on a bed, and parched in the windows ; then manually, washing, dressing, whistling, sing- ing and laughing. In short, he behaved himself throughout the whole debate, like a man in love. We were at the height of this disquisition, on the morning fol- lowing Ned's first confessions, about an hour before dinner, in my chamber, extended at full length upon the bed, with our feet up against the bed-posts, when Kip came running in, almost out of breath, saying, " that if we wanted to see something worth look- ing at, we should come down stairs quickly, for there was Mr. Swansdown spinning up to the house, and making the gravel fly like hail ; and there was aunt Prue, in the drawing-room, fixing a book before her in such a hurry ! and Mrs. Winkle scolding about the custards : — And wasn't there going to be fun !" I went to the window, atid could see the phenomenon that excited Rip's admiration approaching the mansion like a meteor. A new light blue curricle, with a pair of long-tailed bay horses in fine keeping, driven by a gentleman of a delicate, emaciated figure, and followed by a servant in livery, had just entered the 6 122 A MAN OF PRETENSIONS. ' court-yard. The plate of the harness aud mouldings glittered with an astounding brilliancy in the sun, and the spokes of the wheels emitted that spirited glare which belongs to an equipage of the highest polish. The horses were reined up at the door, and the gentleman descended. It was very evident that Mr. Singleton Oglethorpe Swansdown was a man to produce a sensa- tion in .the country. Hazard and myself repaired to the hall. Meriwether recoived his guest with the plain and cordial manner natural to him. Mr. Swansdown has a tall figure, and an effeminate and sallow com- plexion, somewhat impaired perhaps by ill health, a head of dark hair, partially bald, a soft black eye, a gentle movement, a musi- cal, low-toned voice, and a highly finished style of dress. He was very particular in his inquiries after the family ; and having gone through many preliminary civilities, he was shown to a chamber to make his toilet for dinner. Soon afterwards, he appeared in the drawing-room, where he was remarkable for his sober, win- ning affability. He flattered Mrs. Meriwether upon her good health, and the fine appearance of the children. Lucy and Vic- torine he thought were going to be very beautiful (Lucy and Victorine both blushed) : they made him feel old, when he recol- lected their infant gambols ; Master Philip (otherwise Rip) was growing up to be a fine manly fellow ; (at this, Rip crept slyly behind him, and strutted in ^the opposite direction with many grimaces), it was time to give up his nickname ; he didn't like nicknames. He was very complimentary to Prudence Meriwether, which had a visible effect upon her, and made her animated : and thought his friend Meriwether looked younger and more robust than when they last met. He told Hazard that he was very much wanting in Richmond, by a party of ladies who were going off' to the North, and that he, Ned, had made a great impression upon them. In short, Mr. Swansdown seemed determined to A MAN OF PRETENSIONS. 123 please every body, by the concern which he manifested in their happiness ; and this was done with such a refined address, and such practised composure, as to render it quite taking. There is nothing equal to the self-possession of a gentleman who has travelled about the world, and frequented the circles of fashion, when he comes into a quiet, orderly, respectable family in the country. It is pleasant to behold what delight he takes to hear himself talk. Swansdown inherited from his father an estate on the Meher- rin, in the most southern quarter of Virginia. He is now about the prime of life, and still a bachelor. Being therefore a gentle- man without much to keep him at home, he has recently travelled over Europe, and is very conversant besides with the principal cities of the Union. He has twice been very nearly elected to Congress, and ascribes his failure to his not being sufficiently active in the canvass. Upon this foundation he considers him- self a public man, and of some importance to the government. It is remarked of him, that he is a very decided Virginian when he is out of the state, and a great admirer of foreign parts when he is at home. His memory is stored with a multitude of pretty sayings, and many singular adventures that have befallen him in his sundry travels, which he embellishes with a due proportion of sentiment. He has the renown of a poet and of a philosopher, having some years ago published a volume of fugitive rhymes, and being supposed now to be engaged in a work of a grave, speculative character, which it is predicted will reflect credit upon the literature of the South. That he is a bachelor is the fault only of his stars, for he has courted a whole army of belles between Maine and Georgia, in which divers wooing he has been observed to do remarkably well for the first two weeks ; after which, somehow or other, he falls off unaccountably. And it is said that he can reckon more re- 124 A MAN OF rUETENSIONS. fusals on his head than a thorough-paced, political office- hunter. He is what the sailors call an unlucky ship. One misfortune in love matters makes many, and three are quite ill-omened in the calculation of a high-toned, fashionable dame. This calamity has been so often reduplicated upon Swansdown, that it is thought he begins to lower his pretensions, and talk in a more subdued tone upon the subject. He is believed now to encourage the opinion that jouv raging belles are not apt to make the best wives ; that a discreet lady, of good family and unpretending manners, is most likely to make a sensible man happy ; great beauty is not essential ; the mad world of fashion is a bad school ; and some such other doctrines which indicate reflection, if not disappointment. In pursuance of this temperate philosophy, he is supposed to be casting his eye about the country, and investigating more mi- nutely the products of those regions over whicl^ he has hitherto travelled with too much speed for accurate observation ; like a military engineer whose first survey is directed to the most pro- minent points of the ground, and who retraces his steps to make his examination of the subordinate positions. From an intimacy of long standing between Mr. Tracy and the father of Swansdown, the former has a strong prepossession in favor of the son, which is cherished by Singleton in a course of assiduous attentions, and, no doubt, enhanced in some degree by the studied and formal cast of his manners. Mr. Tracy does not fail to speak of him as a man of excellent capacity atid solid judgment ; and has therefore admitted him into a somewhat con- fidential relation. He says, moreover, that Singleton is remark- ably vivacious, and a man of attic wit. This appears odd enough to those who have the honor of this worthy's society. What I have said will explain how it came to pass that this gentleman had been selected as Mr. Tracy's arbitrator in the A MAN OP PRETENSIONS. 125 question of the boundary line. It was with a view to the final arrangement of this subject that Swansdown had lately arrived at The Brakes ; and he had now visited Swallow Barn in respect to that identical negotiation. The ladies had just retired from the dinner-table, and we were sitting over our wine, when Harvey Biggs and Ralph Tracy rode up to the door. This addition to our company gave a spur to the conversation of the table. Swansdown had become ani- mated and eloquent. He descanted upon the occasion of his visit ; that to gratify his old friend, Mr. Tracy, he had prevailed I upon himself to proffer his service to terminate a difficult con- troversy, which, he had been given to understand, was of some duration. This was one of those imperfect obligations which appertain to the relation of friendship. He ventured to suggest an opinion, that the issue would be auspicious to their mutual interests, and took leave to indulge the hope, that neither of his amiable and excellent friends would find occasion to regret the arrangement. Meriwether answered these diplomatic insinuations with a bend of the head implying entire acquiescence, and with an occasional remark which showed the little importance he attached to the matter. Ned and Harvey Biggs exchanged looks, drank their wine, and listened to the oracle. Swansdown, in the course of the evening, was continually reminded of something he had seen ! at Florence, or Vienna, or other places. The river, which was I visible from our windows, put him in mind of the Lake of Gene- ! va ; it only wanted the mountains. Then, he had choice auec- ' dotes to tell of distinguished personages in Boston or New- York ; and a most pithy piece of scandal that had transpired last i winter at Washinc^ton. Meriwether bowed his head a2;ain. but I very much like a man who was at a loss how to reply, and con I tinned to listen with the utmost suavity. Harvey Biggs, how- 126 A MAN OF PRETENSIONS. ever, often drew the discourse into a parenthesis, as if to get at such subsidiary particulars as were necessary to elucidate the narrative, and generally, by this mischievous contrivance, took oflf the finish which the speaker studied to give to his recital. A neat little pamphlet of verses some time ago made its ap- pearance at Richmond, in hot press, and on the finest paper. It was a delicate eff'usion of superfine sentiment, woven into a plain- tive tale ; and had dropped, apparently, from some bower of sun- gilt clouds, as they floated, on one vernal evening, over the fash- ionable quarter of Richmond, — it was so dainty in its array, and so mysterious in its origin. '* From whence could it come, but from the Empyrean, or from Hybla," said the ladies of Richmond ; '• or from the divine pen of the fastidious and super-sentimental Swansdown ?" Ned Hazard had brought this beautiful foundling to Swallow Barn, and had given it to Prudence Meriwether to nurse. It was now upon the window-seat. It is necessary to state, that amidst all the criticism of Rich- mond, and the concurring determination of every body to impute the verses to Swansdown, and the consequent reiteration of that imputation by all companies, he never gave a plain denial of his paternity; but, on the contrary, took pleasure in hearing thei charge, and was so coquettish about the matter, and insinuated, such gentle doubts, that it was considered a case of avowed detec- tion. This dapper and delicious little poetical sally was christenod " The Romaunt of Dr3'asdale," in the title-page, but was moir generally known by the name of '• The Lapdog Romance," which Harvey Riggs had bestowed upon it. * I "I suppose you have seen this before?" said Hazard to Swansdown, as he threw the book upon the table before him. Swansdown picked it up, hastily turned over the leaves, smiled, and replied, ''It has made some stir in its day. Rut things like A MAN OF PRETENSIONS. 127 this are not long-lived, however well executed. This seems to have kept its ground much longer than most of its species." " The common opinion/' said Ned, " is not backward to desig- nate its author." '• Of course," replied Swansdown, '• if a man has ever been guilty in his life of stringing couplets, he becomes a scape-goat ever after. Is it not somewhat strange that I should be perpetual- ly charged with this sort of thing ? But it is long since I have abandoned the banks of the Helicon. I protest to you I have not time for this kind of idling. No, no, gentlemen, charge me with what indiscretion you please, but spare me from the verses." '• If we could believe the rumors," said Harvey, '• we should not doubt the origin of this effusion : but I rely more on my own j judgment. I can pretty surely detect the productions of persons I am acquainted with : there is a spice, a flavor, in a man's con- versation, which is certain to peep out in the efforts of his pen. Now this work is diametrically opposite to every thing we know of Mr. Swansdown. In the first place, it is studied and solemn, and wants Swansdown's light and familiar vivacity. Secondly, I there is an affectation of elegance utterly at war with his ordinary I manners. Thirdly," — "Oh, my dear sir," cried Swansdown, "save me from this ,i serious vindication of my innocence. You can't be in earnest in thinking any one believes the report ?" " They do say so," replied Harvey, •• but I have always de- .. I fended you. I have said that if you chose to devote your time in ': this way, something of a more permanent and solid character would be given to the world." '• I have been bantered with it by my friends in the North," added Swansdown, '-but that is a gauntlet which every man, who dabbles in literature, must expect to run." '• I have forgotten the name of the poem," said Meriwether, with innocent gravity. 128 A MAN UF PllETENSIONS. " It is called The Eomaunt of Drjasdale," said Swansdown. " Or The Lapdog Romance," added Ned. Swansdown colored slightly, and then laughed : but without much heart. " Fill up your glass, Mr. Swansdown," said Meriwether, '• the truth of wine is a good companion to the fiction of poetry. Is this thing much admired ?" '• A good deal," replied Swansdown. " Amongst the young ladies of the boarding-school, especially," said Harvey. '• If I were disposed to criticise it," said Ned, " I should say that the author has been more successful in his rhyme than in his story." " Yes," added Harvey, " the jingle of the verse is its great merit, and seems to have so completely satisfied the writer, that he has forgotten to bring the story forward at all. I have never been able to make out exactly what is the subject of it." '• Then the sentiment," continued Hazard, " in which it abounds is somewhat over-mystical : — one flight runs so into the other that it is not very easy to comprehend them." " That," said Harvey, " is an admirable invention in writing. The author only gives you half of what he means, leaving you to fill up the rest for yourself It saves time, and enables him to i crowd a great deal into a small space." At this, Swansdown gave another laugh, but somewhat dry and feeble. " There is another thing about this poem," said Ned, "it haSi some strange comparisons. There is one here that Prudence hasi marked ; I suppose she has found out its meaning, and as that isi] a fortunate enterprise, she has taken care to note it. The poet has endeavored to trace a resemblance between the wing of Cupid and his mistress's breath : and he sets about it bv showing, that: A MAN OP PRETENSIONS. 129 when Cupid takes a flight on a spring morning, with his wings bound with roses, he must necessarily, at every flutter, shake off some of these odoriferous flowers ; and then, as the lady's breath is redolent of aromatic flavors, the resemblance is complete. I'L read the passage aloud, if you please." '• Meriwether," said Swansdown in evident . embarrassment but still endeavoring to preserve a face of gayety, '• suppose r/c take a turn across your lawn before dark? — We want a little motion.' " Won'fe you "Stay to hear this flight of Cupid?" asked Ned, taking up the book. '• I have no doubt it is very fine," said Swansdown. •' But your account of it is so much better, that I should not like to weaken the impression of it." Saying this, he retreated from the dining-room, and waited at the front door for Meriwether, who almost immediately fol- lowed. In the evening our party played at whist ; Prudence and the poet making partners against Meriwether and Harvey: whilst the rest of us sat round as spectators of the game. Mr. Chub, as usual, smoked his pipe in the porch, and the children slept about the corners of the room. Swansdown had grown dull, and his particularly accomplished bearing appeared somewhat torpid, ex- cept now and then, when he had occasion to make an inquiry respecting the game, which he did in a manner that no vulgar jwhist-player may ever hope to emulate : as thus. — putting on an linterrogative look, gently bending his body forward, extending his left arm a little outward from his breast, and showing a fine diamond ring on his little finger, and asking with a smile, — so Isoft that it could hardly be called a smile. — '• spades are trumps ?" CHAPTER XIV. MY GRAND UNCLE. My grand uncle Edward Hazard, the father of Walte:; was from all accounts, a man of an active, speculating turn. He was always busy in schemes to improve his estate, and, it is said, threw ■ away a great deal of money by way of bettering his fortune. He was a gentleman who had spent a considerable portion of his life in England, and when he settled himself, at last, in possession of his patrimony at Swallow Barn, he was filled with magnificent projects, which, tradition says, to hear him explain, would have satisfied any man, to a mathematical demonstration, that with the expenditure of a few thousand pounds. Swallow Barn would have risen one hundred per cent, in value. He was a very authorita-i tive man, also, in the province ; belonged frequently to the House of Burgesses ; and was, more than once, in the privy council. The family now look up to my grand uncle Edward, as one of the most distinguished individuals of the stock, and take a great deal of pride in his importance : they say he was a most astonishing rake in London, and a wonderful speaker in the provincial legis- lature. Connected with these two developments of his character, there' are two portraits of him at Swallow Barn. One represents him in an embroidered coat witliout a cape, a highly worked cravat, MY GRAND UNCLE. 131 tied tight enough round his neck to choke him, whicli makes his eyes seem to start from their sockets ; an inordinately bedizened waistcoat, satin small-clothes, silk stockings, and large buckles in his shoes. His complexion is of the most effeminate delicacy, and his wig seems to form a white downy cushion for a small fringed cocked-hat. By the portrait, he could not have been much above twenty years of age ; and his air is prodigiously conceited. The second picture exhibits a gentleman with a fine, bluff, and some- what waggish face, past the meridian of life, arrayed in brown and in an oratorical attitude, intended, doubtless, to represent him in the legislature. Now it must be made known, that the tract of land, called The Brakes, belonging to the Tracy family, lies adjacent to Swallow Barn. In old times the two estates were divided by a small stream that emptied into the James River, and that is still known by the name of the Apple-pie Branch. This rivulet traverses a range of low grounds for some miles, occasionally spreading itself out into morasses, which were formerly, and in some places are now, overgrown with thickets of arrow-wood, nine-bark, and various other shrubs, the growth of this region. The main channel of the stream through these tangled masses, was generally distinct enough to be traced as a boundary line, although the marsh ex- tended some distance from each bank. In the course of this stream there is one point where the higher ground of the country stretches in upon the bed of the marsh, from either side, so as to leave a gorge of about a hundred yards in width, from both of which eminences the spectator may look back upon the low lands of the swamp for nearly a mile. Just at that period of the life of my grand uncle when his fever of improvement had risen to its crisis, and when he was daily creating immense fortunes, — in his dreams, — it struck him, upon looking at the gorge I have described, that with very little 132 MY GRAND UNCLE. trouble and expense, he might throw a stout breastwork from one side to the other, and have as fine a mill-dam as any man could possibly desire. It was so simple an operation that he was sur- prised it had never occurred to him before. And then a flour mill might be erected a short distance below, — which would cost but a trifle, — and the inevitable result would be, that this unprofitable tract of waste land would thereupon become the most valuable part of the estate. I am told that it belonged to the character of my grand uncle to fall absolutely in love with every new project. He turned this one over in his mind for two or three nights ; and it became as clear to him as daylight, that he was to work wonders with his mill. So, reflecting that he had but sixteen irons in the fire at this time, he went to work without a moment's delay. The first thing he did was to send an order to Bristol, (for he never had any opinion of the mechanics at home,) for a complete set of mill ma- chinery ; and the second, to put up a house of pine weather-boards, for the mill. Contemporaneously with this last operation, he set about the dam ; and, in the course of one summer, he had a huge breastwork of logs thrown across the path of the modest, diminu- tive Apple-pie, which would have terrified the stream even if it had been a giant. As soon as this structure was completed, the waters began to gather. My grand uncle came down every day to look at them, and as he saw them gradually encroaching upon the difi'erent little mounds of the swamp, it is said he smiled, and remarked to his son Walter, whom he frequently took with him, -that it was strange to see what results were produced by human art." And it is also told of him, that he made his way, during this rising of t the waters, to a tree in the bed of the dam, to notch with his pen- knife a point to which the flood would ultiinntoly t(Mid : tlmt. while MY Gil AND UNCLE. 133 gtoopmg to take a level with the breast of the dam, he lost his balance, and was upset into a pool, formed by the encroaching element ; and that, when Walter expected to see him in a passion at this mishap, he rose laughing, and observed, " that the bed of the dam was a damned bad bed ;" which is said to be the only- pun that ever was made in the Hazard family, and therefore I have put it on record. In a few days, with the help of one or two rains, the pool was jompletely full ; and, to the infinite pleasure of my grand uncle, i thin thread of water streamed over one corner of the dam, — the most beautiful little cascade in the world ; it looked like a glossy streamer of delicate white ribbon. My grand uncle was* delighted. ' There, my boy," said he to "Walter, " there is Tivoli for you i We shall have our mill a-going in a week." Sure enough, that day week, off went the mill. All the corn Df the farm was brought down to this place ; and, for an hour or Iwo that morning, the mill clattered away as if it had been filled with a thousand iron-shod devils, all dancing a Scotch reel. My grand uncle thumped his cane upon the floor with a look of tri- umph, whilst his eyes started from his head, as he frequently exclaimed to the people about him, " I told you so ; this comes of energy and foresight ; this shows the use of a man's faculties, my boy !" It was about an hour and a half, or perhaps two hours, — as my authority affirms, — after the commencement of this racket and clatter in the mill, that my grand uncle, and all the others who were intent upon the operation, were a little surprised to discover that the millstone began to slacken in its speed ; the bolting cloth was manifestly moving lazily, and the wheels were getting tired. Presently, a dismal screech was heard, that sounded like all the trumpets of Pandemonium blown at once ; it was a prolonged, agonizing, diabolical note that went to the very soul. 134 MY GRAND UNCLE. " In the name of all the imps of Tartarus, — (a famous inter- jection of my grand uncle,) what is that?" "It's only the big wheel stopped as chock as a tombstone," said the miller, "and it naturally screeches, because, you see, the gudgeon is new, and wants grease." Hereupon a court of inquiry was instituted; and, leading the van, followed by the whole troop, out went my grand uncle to look at the head-gate. "Well, not a thing was to be seen there but a large solitary bull-frog, squatted on his hams at the bottom of the race, and looking up jit his visitors with the most piteous and imploring countenance, as much as to say, '• I assure you, gentlemen, I am exceedingly astonished at this extraordinary convulsion myself, which has 'left me, as you perceive, naked and dry." Then the court proceeded upon their investigation towards the dam, to observe how that came on. I can readily imagine how my grand uncle looked, when the scene here first presented itself to his view. It must have been a look of droll, waggish, solemn, silent wonder, which, for the time, leaves it a matter of perfect doubt whether it is to terminate in a laugh or a cry. In the first place, the beautiful ribbon cas- cade was clean gone. In the second, there were all the little tus- socks of the swamp, showing their small green heads above the surface of the water, which would hardly have covered one's shoe- top ; and there were all the native shrubs of the marsh, bending forwards, in scattered groups, like a set of rose bushes that had been visited by a shower ; dripping wet, and having their slender stalks tangled with weeds ; and there was, towards the middle, a little line of rivulet meandering down to the edge of the dam, and then holding its unambitious course parallel with the breast- work, deploying to the left, where it entered the race, and tripping along gently, down to the very seat of the bull-frog. " Hoity, toity," cried my grand uncle, after he had paused Jong enough to find speech, " here is some mistake in this matter !" MY GRAND UNCLE. 135 Now, it is a principle of physics, that an exhausted receiver is the worst thing in the world to make a draught upon. The mill-dam was like a bank that had paid out all its specie, and, consequently, could not bare the run made upon it by the big wheel, which, in turn, having lost its credit, stopped payment with that hideous yell that wrought such a shock upon the nerves of my grand uncle. In vain did the old gentleman ransack the stores of his philosophy, to come at this principle. He studied the case for half an hour, examined the dam in every part, and was exceed- ingly perplexed. '• Those rascals of muskrats have been at work," said he. So, the examination was conducted to this point ; but not a hole could be found. '• The soil is a porous, open, filtrating kind of soil," said the old gentleman. '• It seems to me, master," said an arch looking negro, who was gaping over the flood-gate upon the muddy waste, '■ that the mill's run out of water." " Who asked you for your opinion, you scoundrel ?" said my grand uncle in a great fury, — for he was now beginning to fret, — '• get out of my sight, and hold your tongue !" " The fellow is right," said the miller, " we have worked out the water, that's clear !" " It's a two-hour-mill," added the negro, in a roice scarcely audible, taking the risk o^ my grand uncle's displeasure, and grinning saucily but good-humoredly, as he spoke. It is said that my grand uncle looked at the black with the most awful face he ever put on in his life. It was blood-red with auger. But, bethinking himself for a moment, he remained silent, as if to subdue his temper. There was something, however, in the simple observation of the negro, that responded exactly to my grand uncle's secret thoughts ; and some such conviction rising up in his mind, gradu- 1 36 RI y G R A N l» U N C L E . ally lent its aid to smother his wrath. How could he beat the poor fellow for speaking the truth ! It was, — and he now saw it written in characters that could not be mistaken. — it was. after all his trouble, and expense, and fond anticipations, '• a two-hour- mill." " Stop the mill," said my grand uncle, turning round, and speaking in the mildest voice to the miller, " stop the mill ; we shall discontinue our work to day." " 'Squire," replied the miller, " the mill has been as silent as a church for the last hour." "True," said my grand uncle, recollecting himself; ''come, Walter, we will mount our 'horses, and think over this matter when we get home. It is very extraordinary ! Why didn't I foresee this ? Never mind, we will have water enough there to- morrow, my boy !" He slowly went to the fence corner, and untied his horse, and got up into his saddle as leisurely as if he had been at a funeral. Walter mounted his, and they both rode homeward at a walk ; my grand uncle whistling Malbrouk all the way, in an under key and swinging his cane round and round by the tassel. CHAPTER XV. THE OLD MILL It fortunately happened that a tolerably wet season followed this first experiment of the mill. But with all the advantages of fre- quent rains, the mortifying truth became every day more apparent, that my grand uncle's scheme of accommodating the neighbor- hood with a convenient recourse for grinding their corn, was des- tined to be balked, in the larger share of its usefulness, by that physical phenomenon which was disclosed to him on the first day of his operations ; to wit, that his capacious reservoir was emptied in a much more rapid ratio than it was filled. It was like a profli- gate spendthrift whose prodigality exceeds his income. The consequence was that the mill was obliged to submit to the des- tiny of working from one to two hours in the morning, and then to stop for the rest of the day, except in the very wet weather of the spring, (and then there was no great supply of corn.) in order, by the most careful husbandry, to wring from the reluctant i little water-course a sufficient fund for the next day's employ- ment, This was a serious loss to the country around : for my grand uncle had talked so much about his project, and extolled his benefaction so largely, that the people had laid out their accounts to take all their grists to his mill. They came there, all through 138 THE OLD MILL the summer, in crowds ; and nothing was more common than to see a dozen ruminative old horses, with as many little bare-legged negroes astride upon them, with the large canvas mill-bags spread out for saddles, all collect of a morning round the mill door, each waiting for his turn to get his sack filled. Sometimes these monkeys were fast asleep for hours on their steeds ; and sometimes they made great confusion about the premises with their wild shouts, and screams, and rough-and-tumble fights in which they were often engaged. But it invariably fell out that at least half were disappointed of their errands, and were obliged to attend the next day. In the dry spells the mill stopped altogether. These things gave great dissatisfaction to the neigh- borhood, and many good customers abandoned the mill entirely. I am told, also, that the old gentleman was singularly unfortu* TIIJ'] OLD Mil. L. 13;rant merchant from Glassrow, who here ruminated in quiet over his small gains, and waited with a disciplined patience for the good ship which once a year hove in sight above the headland that bounded his seaward view. I ca'^. imagine now, how that harbinger of good tidings greeted his eye in the gloom of the great forest; and with what stir and magnified importance the fitting arrangements were made for her reception ! How like a winged deity she came fluttering into this little road, with all her pomp of apparel — with foam upon her breast, and shouts upon her deck — gliding in upright stateliness to her anchorage, as she gathered up her sails in the presence of the wondering eagle and frightened heron ! What was once the warehouse, but now used for a ferry-house, stood with its gable end at the extremity of a mouldering wharf of logs. In this end there was a door studded with nails, and another above it opening into the loft. The ridge of the roof projected over these doors and terminated in a beam, where were yet to be seen the remains of a block and tackle. On the land side the building was enlarged by sheds, to which was appended a rude porch. A sun-dried post supported what was once a sign, whereon a few hieroglyphics denoted that this was a place of en- tertainment, notwithstanding its paper-patched windows»and scan- ty means of accommodation. IGO THE NATIONAL AN N : > :. R S A R Y. Some thirty or forty persons were collected at the Landing. The porch of the shabby little hostelry was filled by a crowd of rough-looking rustics, who were laughing boisterously, drinking, and making ribald jokes. A violin and fife were heard, from within the building, to a quick measure, which was accompanied with the heavy tramp of feet from a party of dancers. A group of negroes, outside of the house, were enjoying themselves in the same way, shuflSing through the odd contortions of a jig, with two sticks lying crosswise upon the ground, over which they danced, alternately slapping their thighs and throwing up their elbows to the time of the music, and making strange grimaces. A few tall, swaggering figures, tricked out in yellow hunting-shirts trimmed with green fringe, and their hats, some white aAd some black, garnished with a band of red cloth and ragged plumes of the same color, that seemed to have been faded by frequent rains, stood about in little knots, where they talked loudly and swore hard oaths. Amongst these were mingled a motley collection of lank and sallow watermen, boys, negroes, and females bedizened in all the wonders of country millinery. At the fences and about the trees, in the vicinity of the house, was to be seen the counter- part of these groups, in the various assemblage of horses of every color, shape and degree, stamping, neighing and sleeping until their services should be required by their maudlin masters. Oc- casionally, during our stay, some of these nags were brought for- ward for a race, which was conducted with increased uproar and tumult. Contrasted with this rude and busy scene was the voluptuous landscape around us. It was a picture of that striking repose, which is peculiar to the tide-water views ; soft, indolent and clear, as if nature had retreated into this drowsy nook, and fallen asleep over her own image, as it was reflected from this beautiful mirror. The river was upwards of a mile in width, and upon its bosom i THE NATIONAL ANNIVERSARY. 161 were seen, for many a rood below, those alternate streaks of light and shade that are said to poinfrout the channel, where its smooth surface was only ruffled by the frequent but lonely leap of some small jfish above the water. A few shallops were hauled up on the beach, where some fishing-nets were stretched upon stakes, or spread upon the fences on the bank. At the distance of two or ' three hundred yards from the shore there was a slim pole planted in the river, probably to mark a fishing-ground, and upon the very j top of this was perched, with a whimsical air of unsociableness, a I I solitary swallow, apparently ruminating on the beauteous waste of waters below him ; whilst above this glittering expanse, some night-hawks skimmed, soared and darted in pursuit of the hordes of insects that bickered through the atmosphere. The sun was within half an hour of his journey's end — and, I nearer to theirs, were two negroes, who were rapidly approaching ' the shore with a boat load of crabs and cucumbers, the regular j stroke of their oars falling on the ear as if measuring the stillness I of the evening. Far below, and seemingly suspended in air amongst the brilliant reflections of the heavens, lay a small schooner at anchor, fixed as by a spell, and, nevertheless, com- municating a sense of animation to this tranquil world by its as- sociation with the beings that trod its noiseless deck. We had wandered, after dismounting from our horses, aL round the purlieus of the crowd. Rip had recognized some fa- miliar features amongst the country volunteers, and had already I found out the drummer, who had hung his martial instrument i around his shoulders ; and the delighted boy was beating away I at it with all his might. Carey had collected about him a set of his old cronies, to whom he was delivering a kind of solemn ha- j rangue, of which we could only observe the energy of his gesticu- I lations. The ferry-boat lay attached to the wharf, and on the j stern-benches were seated three or four graver looking men in 162 THE NATIONAL ANNIVERSARY. coarse attire, who were deeply 'discussing questions that occasion* ally brought them into a high tone of voice, and, now and then, into a burst of loud laughter. Ned had led me up to this group, and, in the careless indolence of the moment, we had thrown our- selves out at full length across the seats ; Ned with his legs dangling over the gunwale, with "Wilful lying close by; and repos- ing his head upon his lap. The principal personage in this collection was Sandy Walker, a long, sun-burnt waterman, who was the proprietor of the hotel, and evidently a man of mark amongst his associates. One of the others was a greasy gentleman in a blue coat, out at elbows, with a nose lustrous with living fire. These two were the principal speakers, and they were debating an intricate point of constitu- 1 tional law, with more vehemence than perspicacity. At length, an appeal was made to Ned, by Sandy, who was infinitely the most authoritative in his manner of the whole group. " Can't Congress," said Sandy, "supposing they were to pass a law to that efi'ect, come and take a road of theirn any where they have a mind to, through an^t man's land? I put it to Mr. Ned Hazard." " Not by the Constitution," said the gentleman in the greasyj coat, with marked emphasis. " Well," said Ned, '•' we'll hear you, Sandy." Sandy rose up, and lifting his hand above his head, as he be- gan,— " I say it stands to reason — " '• It stands to no such thing !" rejoined the other, interruptino him, "if it's against the Constitution, — which I say it is un- doubtedly, — to come and take a man's land without saying, by your leave ; if I may be allowed the expression, Mr. Ned Hazard it's running against a snag." " Silence," said Ned, " Mr. Walker lias the plank ; wo cm only hear one at a time !" THE N A T I O :; A L A N N I V E K S A R V . 1 63 '• Why, sir," continued Sandy, argumentatively, and looking steadfastly at his opponent, with one eye closed, and, at the same time, bringing his right hand into the palm of his left ; " they can just cut off a corner, if they want it, or go through the middle, leaving one half here, and t'other there, and make you fence it clean through into the bargain ; or," added Sandy, giving more breadth to his doctrine, '• go through your house, sir." " Devil a house have I, Sandy !" said the other. " Or your barn, sir." " Nor barn nother." " Sweeping your bed right from under you, if Congress says so. Arn't there the canal to go across the Allegheny mountain? "What does Congress care about your state rights, so as they have got the money?" " Canals, I grant you," said his antagonist ; " but there's a diiFerence between land and water," evidently posed by Sandy's dogmatic manner, as well as somewhat awed by the relation of landlord, in which Sandy stood, and whom, therefore, he would not rashly contradict. '• But.'i said he, in a more softened tone, and with an affected spice of courtesy in his accost, " Mr. Walker, I'd be glad to know if we couldn't nullify." '• Nullify !" exclaimed Sandy, " nullify what ?" said he, with particular emphasis on the last word. '- Do you know what old Hickory said down there in the Creek nation, in the war, when the Indians pretended they were going to have a ball play ?" •• No." •• ' If you don't go and wash all that there paint from your faces, I'll give you the shockingest ball play you ever had in all your lives.' " " You don't tell me so !" exclaimed the red-nosed gentleman with animation, and bursting out into a tremendous laugh. " Didn't he say so, Ned Hazard ? I beg your pardon, Mr. Ned Hazard?" eiaculated Sandv. and turninsr to Ned. 164 THE NATIONAL ANNIVERSARY. " I think I have heard so," said Ned, " though I don't believe he used that exact expression." " It was something like it," said Sandy : '• well, that's the sort of nullification you'd get." " Things are getting worse and worse," replied the other. " I can see how it's going ! Here, the first thing General Jackson did when he came in, he wanted to have the President elected for six years ; and, by and by, they will want him for ten ! and now they want to cut up our orchards and meadows, whether or no ; that's just the way Bonaparte went on. What's the use of states if they are all to be cut up with canals and railroads and tariff's 1 No, no, gentlemen ! you may depend. Old Virginny's not going to let Congress carry on in her day !" " How can they help it ?" asked Sandy. " We hav'nt font and bled," rejoined the other, taking out of his pocket a large piece of tobacco, and cutting off" a quid, as he spoke in a somewhat subdued tone, " we hav'nt fout and bled for our liberties to have our posterity and their land circumcised af ter this rate, to suit the figaries of Congress. So let them try it when they will !" " Mr. Ned Hazard, what do you call state rights ?" demanded Sandy. " It's a sort of a law," said the other speaker, taking the an- swer to himself, " against cotton and wool." " That's a fact," cried Sandy, " and, in my thinking, it's a very foolish sort of a business. " " There's where you and me differs," responded the other. " Well," said Ned, " it's a troublesome question. Suppose wo wait until wo hear what Old Virginia says about it herself? And as for us, Sandy, it is getting late, and we must go." These words concluded the colloquy ; and, soon after, having summoned our cavalcade, we set out on our return to Swallow ^' "n. whore we arrived soinf» timp o^*^'^^ "ifr^if-fnll. THE NATIONAL ANNIVERSARY. 165 Ned detailed the dialogue I have just described to Frank Meriwether, in the course of the evening, and, from what Frank let fall, — for he grew grave on the subject, — I have reason to think that he has some fearful misgivings of the ambitious de- signs of the general government. He is decidedly of the state rights party. CHAPTER XIX. THE COUNTY COURT. On Monday morning Meriwether announced to us that the Coun- ty Court was to commence its session, and, consequently, that he was obliged to repair to the seat of justice. I have before intimated that my kinsman is one of the quo- rum, and has always been famous for his punctuality in the dis- charge of his judicial functions. It was, moreover, necessary for him to be there to-day, because his business with Philly Wart, in regard to the arbitration, enjoined it upon him to meet that le- gal luminary without delay. He insinuated a wish that Ned and myself should accompany him, I think Frank is a little vain of his appearance on the bench. We readily assented to his proposal. Meriwether never moves on these state occasions without old Carey, who has a suit of livery that is preserved almost exclu- sively for this service. Accordingly, the old man this morning was decorated with all his honors, of which the principal eon sisted in a thick drab coat, edged with green ; and, as the dav was very hot, Carey suffered as much under his covering as an ancient knight of the Crusades, in his linked mail, on the sandy plains of Syria. His master, too, hud defied the light and careless habiliments i THE COUNTY COURT. 1G7 iu which he accommodated himself, usually, to the fervors of the season, and was now pranked out in that reverential furniture of broadcloth which he conceived befitted the solemn import of the duties he was about to discharge. He rides a beautiful full-blooded sorrel ; and his pride in all matters that belong to his equitation is particularly conspicuous ' in the fresh and comfortable character of his housings and horse furniture. He has a large new saddle, luxuriously stuffed, and I covered with a richly-worked coat of yellow buckskin. The stir- I rups hang inordinately low, so that it is as much as he can do to 't the point of his boot into them. But he sits with a lordly I erectness upon his seat, and manages his horse with a bold and "" Lxterous hand. On horseback he is a perfect personation of an opulent, unquestioned squire, — the very guardian genius of I the soil and its prerogatives — fearless, graceful, and masterly, his ' fine athletic figure appearing here to its greatest advantage. j Ned and myself formed a part of his retinue, like a pair of aids somewhat behind the commander-in-chief, insensibly accom- modating our position to the respect inspired by his bearing and rank. Old Carey, in his proper place, brought up the rear. Our journey to the court-house was about twelve miles, and as we oc- casionally brought our horses to a gallop, we arrived there at an early hour. The sitting of this court is an occasion of great stir. The roads leading to the little county capital were enlivened by fre- quent troops of the neighboring inhabitants, that rode in squad- j rons, from all directions. Jurors, magistrates, witnesses, attorneys of the circuit, and all the throng of a country side interested in this piepowder justice, were rapidly converging to the centre of business. Upon our arrival, a considerable part of the population had already assembled, and were scattered about the principal places 168 THE COUNTY COURT. of resort, in decent and orderly groups, in wliicli all seemed in- tent •upon the quiet and respectful discharge of their several er- rands. • The court-house is a low, square, brick building, entirely un- ornamented, occupying the middle of a large area. It has an official appearance given to it by a huge door of a dingy exterior, and ample windows covered with dust and cobwebs. An hum- ble and modest little building, of the same material, stands on one corner of the area, and by the well-worn path leading hence to the temple of Themis, it may be seen that this is the only de- pository of the county records. At a distance farther off, a somewhat larger edifice claims a public character, which is de- noted by one or two of the windows being grated. A few small forest trees have been set in the soil, over this space, which, by their feeble growth and shelterless condition, as well as by the formal and graceless precision with which they have been distri- buted, show that the public functionaries have at times had one or two abortive inspirations of a spirit of improvement, and a transient passion for beauty. In front of the court-house there is a decayed and disjointed fixture, whose uses seem now to have gone by. It is a pillory,- 1 with the stocks below it, and was occupied at the moment of our visit as a place of meeting for a few idle negroes, who were seated on the frame at a game of pushpin. Immediately in this neighbor- hood the horses of the crowd whose occasions brought them to tlie scene, were fastened to racks erected for that purpose ; and the adjacent fence-corners became gradually appropriated in the same way. Half a dozen frame dwellings, partially obscured by trees and generally of a neat exterior, were scattered over the landscape, and made up the village — if so sparse an assemblage be entitled to that name. There are two places of entertainment. The first. M THE COUNTY COURT. 169 a little shrunken, single-storied edifice, concealed behind a rou^-h, whitewashed piazza. The second is an old wooden building of some magnitude, and, from the profusion with which its doors and windows have been supplied with architectural embellish- ments, must formerly have been a private residence of note. Our cavalcade stopped at the latter of these rival establish- ments ; and we dismounted under a broad flaunting sign, which screeched lazily upon its hinges in the breeze, and seemed to give .( responsive note to a party of geese, that were greeting every fresh arrival with a vociferous, periodical cackle. There were several respectable-looking gentlemen collected about the door ; and Meriwether was met with many kind and hearty expressions. We were shown into a room which, from its air of neatness, was evidently kept as an apartment of more wor- ship than that in which the larger portion of the visitors of the hotel were assembled. This room was garnished with carvings and mouldings of an ancient date. The floor had suffered from the ravages of time, and had a slope towards an ample hearth, whose unsightly aperture was embowered by a tasteful screen of the tops of asparagus plants. Some pieces of mahogany furniture, black with age and glistening like ebony, stood against the wall ; and above them hung divers besmirched pictures representing game-cocks in pugnacious attitudes, trimjy dipt of their feathers, the Godolphin Arabian, Flying Childers, and some other victors of the turf, all in black frames ; and which, from the hue that time had flung over the copperplate, seemed to be gleaming through an atmosphere obfuscated with smoke. The hour soon came round for opening the court. This was announced by a proclamation, made in a shrill, attenuated voice, from the court-house door ; and was followed by an immediate movement, from all directions, to that quarter. The little hall in which justice was administered was crowded almost to overflowing. 170 THE COUNTY COURT. A semicircular gallery, raised five or six feet above tlie floor, at the further end of the hall, was already occupied with a bevy of justices — nearly a dozen, perhaps — some of whom had flung their feet upon the rail before them, and were lolling back upon their seats, ready to proceed to their judicial employments. Our friend Meriwether occupied his place with a countenance of becoming importance. Indeed, the whole bench presented a fine picture of solid faces and figures, that might be said to be a healthy and sturdy specimen of this pillar of the sovereignty of the state ; — and was well calculated to inspire a wholesome respect for that inferior and useful magistracy which has always been so much a favorite of the people of Virginia. Immediately under the gallery of the justices, sat the clerk of the court ; and, on either side of his desk, within the area of the semicircle, were benches designed for the juries. Fronting this array of the court and jury, was a long, narrow platform, guarded all round with railing, and elevated a few feet above the floor, within whose constricted confines were disposed some five or six members of the bar, most incommodiously perched upon seats of a height out of all proportion to the human figure ; and, before these, a narrow desk extended the whole distance, so as to give to the place of their accommodation somewhat of the dimensions of a pew. These courts hold their sessions monthly, and their jurisdic- tion reaches almost all the ordinary legal requirements of the county ; but, as the territorial limit over which they preside is generally small, it requires but a few days to dispatch the busi- ness of each term. The first matter that occupied the attention of the court was the marshalling of the grand-jury, to whom the usual charge was delivered. This ofiice was assigned by the court to one of the members of the bar, a young practitioner, who did not fiiil to em- TIIK COUNTY COURT. 171 bellish the summary of duties, which he unfolded to their view, with a plentiful garniture of rhetoric. Notwithstanding the por- tentous exaggeration of the solemnity of the occasion, and the multitudinous grave topics which were urged upon the grand in- (|uest, it seems that this quintessence of the freehold dignity was sadly puzzled to find employment in any degree commensurate with the cxaltedness of its function. It is said that the jurors revolved in their minds the whole list of national grievances. One party suggested the idea of presenting the established mode of electing the President of the United States as a grievance to the good people of the county; another thought of a formal denun- ciation of the Tariff; a few advocated an assault upon the Su- preme Court ; but all were happily brought into a harmonious concurrence in the design of presenting a mad-cap ragamuffin, by the name of Jemmy Smith, for disturbing the peace of a camp- meeting by drinking whiskey and breeding a riot within the con- fines of the conventicle. Accordingly, after an hour's delibera- tion upon these various suggestions, they returned to the court- room with a solitary bill, made out in due form against Jemmy ; and, this matter constitutino; the sum total of their business for the term, they were thereupon discharged, with the thanks of the court for the able and vigilant administration of their inquisito- rial duties. Jemmy Smith had anticipated this act of authority ; and was now in court, ready to stand his trial. He had already selected his counsel — a flowery and energetic advocate, whose strength lay, according to the popular opinion, in his skill in managing a jury. The name of this defender of Jemmy's fame was Taliaferro, (pro- nounced ToUiver.) or, as it was called for shortness, Toll Hedges^ Esq., a gentleman whose pantaloons were too short for him, and whose bare legs were, consequently, visible above his stockings. Toll's figure, however, was adorned with a bran-new blue coat, of 172 ' THE COUNTY COURT-. the most conceited fashion, which, nevertheless, gave some indi- cations of having been recently slept in, as it was plentifully sup- plied with down from a feather bed. He was conspicuous, also, for an old straw hat, that had been fretted at the rim by a care- less habit in handling it. This learned counsel had apparently been keeping his vigils too strictly the night before, for his eyes were red, and his face inflamed. His frame had all the morning languor of a sedulous night-watcher; and. altogether, Toll did not appear to be in the best condition to try his case. However, he had now taken his seat at the bar ; and close beside him sat his client. Jemmy Smith, an indescribably swaggering, saucy blade, who had the irreverence to come into court without coat or waist- coat, and to show a wild, grinning, disorderly countenance to his peers. Whilst the gentleman who conducted the case for the Com- monwealth was giving a narrative of Jemmy's delinquencies to the jury, and was vituperating that worthy's character in good set terms, Toll was, to all appearance, asleep upon his folded arms, ] resting on the desk before him. When the charge was fairly ex- plained, one witness was called to support it. This individual was pretty much such a looking person as Jemmy himself He was rather down-faced and confused in his demeanor before the court, and particularly shabby in his exterior ; but he told a plain, straight-forward story enough, in the main, and his evidence went the full length of all the traverser's imputed enormities. The truth was. Jemmy had certainly broke into the camp and played some strange antics, considering the sanctity of the place. But, during all this time, Taliaferro Hedges, Esq., maintained his recum- bent position, except, now and then, when Jemmy, feeling himself pinched by tlio testimony, reclined his head to whisper in his counsel's ear, wliich act roused him enough to bring upon Jemm' a rebuke, that was generally conveyed by pushing him off, and Tin: COUNTY COURT. 1 73 injunction to be quiet. At length, the whole story was told, and bad enough it looked for Jemmy ! The attorney for the Common- wealth now informed Mr. Hedges, that the witness was at his dis- posal. At this, Toll completely roused himself, and sitting bolt upright, directed a sharp and peremptory catechism to the wit- ness, in which he required him to repeat the particulars he had before detailed. There was something bullying in the manner of the counsel that quite intimidated the witness, and the poor fellow made some sad equivocations. At last, said Toll, after admon- ishing the witness, in a very formal manner, that he was upon his oath, and ex2)laimng to him the solemnity of his obligation to speak the truth, '• I will ask you one question : answer it catego- rically, and without evasion." "•When you and Smith went down to camp-meeting, hadn't Smith a bottle of whiskey in the bosom of his shirt 1 Tell the truth." The attorney for the Commonwealth objected to the question ; but the court overruled the objection. " Why, yes, he had," replied the witness. •• Didn't Jemmy buy that bottle himself, and pay for it out of his own pocket ? On the oath you have taken." '• Why, yes, he did." " Well, now tell us. Didn't you drink some of that whiskey yourself, along the road?" " Why, yes, I did. I tell the truth, gentlemen." " More than once ?" '• Yes, several times." " After you got down to camp V " Oh. yes ! certainly. I don't deny it." " Did you and Jemmy drink out of the mouth of the bottle, or out of a cup ?" " Certainly ; out of the mouth of the bottle. You will not catch me in any lies, lawyer Hedges." 174 THE COUNTY COURT. " Really, Mr. Hedges," interrupted the attorney for the Com- monwealth, " I don't see what this has to do with the question. I must apply to the court." " Oh, very well," said Toll, " I see how it is ! Gentlemen of the jury, I don't insist on the question, if the gentleman does not like to have it answered. But you can't help seeing the true state of the case. Here's this fellow, who has been all along drinking out of the very same "bottle with Jemmy Smith, — and Jemmy's own whiskey too,— and now he comes out state's evi- dence. What credit can you attach to a cock-and-bull story told by a fellow that comes to swear against a man who has been divi- ding his liquor with him? For the honor of the Old Dominion, gentlemen !" cried Toll, concluding this side-bar appeal to the jury with an indignant gesticulation, and a look of triumph in his face, that might be said to be oratorically comic. The look was a master-stroke. It took complete effect ; and Jemmy was acquitted in spite of the facts. As the crowd broke up, Toll, on leaving the court-room, walked up to the witness, and slapping him on the back, said, " Come, let lis go take something to drink." And off the two went together to the tavern. Hazard remarked to Hedges afterwards, that ' it was a little odd, as he had completely triumphed over the facts of his case by undermining the credit of the witness, he should be on such good terms with this person as to bring him down to drink with him. " Ah !" replied Hedges, " if the jury knew that man as well as I do, they would have believed every word he said. For there is not an honester fellow in the county. But I know how to work these juries." E^S^??^"*^^^^"'. t » e e » CHAPTER XX. OPINIONS AND SENTIMENTS. The court resumed its session after dinner, having a prospect of concluding its business before noon the next day ; and Meri- wether was obliged to remain for the night. Neither Ned nor myself regretted the pretext this furnished us for the same delay. During the afternoon many of the older inhabitants had taken to horse : and the crowd of the court-room was sensibly dimin- ished. Still the out-door bustle assumed a more active and noisy character. The loiterers about the verge of the court had less business, but more to say. Indeed, it seemed to be difficult to keep those in attendance whose presence was necessary to the affairs of justice ; for the crier of the court might be frequently heard summoning the absentees, as they were wanted, in his slen- der and shrill voice, by distinctly repeating thrice the name of each, from the court-house door, whert he stood bareheaded, and with his hand shading his eyes. The sun began, at last, to throw a merciless blaze upon the broken window-panes in the western fronts of some old buildings, whose raggedness was thus rendered painfully public. The ducks and geese of the village were already trooping homeward, from a small brook hard by, in their sober evening march, and with a sedate under-gabble. like that of old burghers in conversation. 176 OPINIONS AND SENTIMENTS. The departing squadrons of horsemen became more frequent; and the alacrity with which these retreating bodies sprang for- ward from their starting points, showed that their temporary so- journ had been attended with an increase of animal spirits. At this hour the court put an end to its labors ; and the throng that had been occupied there, all day, were now gathering about the doors of the two taverns. Our host was an imperturbable, pleasant-faced old fellow, with a remarkably accommodating temper, which exhibited itself in lavish promises, though he was allowed to be very incommen- surate in performance. He was unwieldy in bulk, and pertina- cious in the enjoyment of his ease ; and, to save the trouble of forming opinions, he gave an invariable answer to every specula- tion that was addressed to him. This was conveyed in the words '• quite likely," no matter how inconsistent the averments to which they had reference. Ned and myself had put him, in the course of the afternoon, to some severe trials, but without being able either to ruffle his temper or enlarge his vocabulary. The large room of the inn had a bar petitioned off at one cor- ner ; and this was the principal centre of reinforcement to the in- habitants of these precincts. As the shades of evening thickened, this resort became more crowded. The remnants, or more pro- perly speaking, the sediment of the population, whose occasions had brought them to the court-house, had repaired thither to en- joy the compotations and arguments that are apt to abound in such assemblages. Some were in the middle of the floor, accom- panying their diatribes with violent gestures ; others were strewed around the room wherever seats were to be obtained. At a small table, lighted by a single candle in a most unsightly candlestick, sat a gentleman in a loose calico robe, with a dirty shirt, engaged at backgammon with a robust, well-knit man, who wore his hat drawn low over his eyes ; the first was the Galen of or IN IONS AND SENTIMENTS, 177 the country side, and the other a deputy sheriif. Our friend Toll Hedges was a conspicuous personage in this checkered assem- bly. He had shaken oflF the dulness of the morning, and was now playing a part that seemed more native to his disposition, that of a familiar, confident, loud-talking interlocutor, who called every man by his christian name, swore roundly after a pedantic fashion, had some knowledge of every man's business, and bore himself with the peremptoriness of one whose character partook in equal degrees of the wag and the brawler. He was sarcastic, shrewd, and popular ; and to all these, it may be added, that be- fore bedtime he was in no small degree flustered. In this crowd might also be observed one or two other members of the bar, of a ;raver demeanor, and even some of the justices holding more edate conversations, apparently on matters connected wi^h their >usiness. In one corner sat a quiet, neighborly shoemaker, in an irm chair, contentedly taking a stiff beverage of whiskey and svater about once in fifteen minutes, and saying nothing to any lody. Our host himself was a sober man, and a discreet ! He stood ,t his post the whole evening, with a wooden pestle in his hand —the symbol of his calling ; one while laughing with a civil good lature at the rough jokes that were aimed at himself, and at another mixing toddy to meet the numberless demands of his phirsty customers. Amidst this edifying display of toss-pot elo- quence and genial uproar, my attention was particularly attracted the behavior of this exemplary publican. Though scant in speech, he labored like a man who had the good of his family af leart ; and bore himself through the tumultuary scene with the' iddress of a wily statesman who is anxious to win the applause )f all parties. The tide was in his favor, and his aim was to float jmoothly upon it. In times of great excitement, it may be ob- Jerved that the party in power gain many advantages by a show • 8* 178 OriNIONS AND SENTIMENTS. of moderation, \yitli regard to them tlie maxim applies, '• where the least is said it is soonest mended." Now, our good landlord stood pretty much in this predicament ; for the whole assemblage had fallen into an inflammatory discussion of- some ticklish points of politics, in which he might have lost friends by an inconsider- ate participation. Whilst, therefore, the tempest raged he played the part of moderator, and was perpetually crying out — " Now, gentlemen ! — if you please, — remember ; — we are all friends !" and such like gentle admonitions ; and as often as he was taken by the button by one of the speakers, and pinned up against the wall, so that it seemed impossible for him to escape committing himself, I could hear his old equivocation — "quite likely" — uttered with an impregnable composure of nerve. In fact, a so- ber observer could have been at no loss to perceive that the cau- tious landlord had all the ambidexterity of a practised public servant. As the evening waned the disputants began to leave the field ; and Hedges being thrown by chance into the bar-room, alone with his good-natured host, addressed him very seriously upon the subject of the countenance he had given to certain here- sies that had been uttered in his presence, and, seemingly, with his concurrence. " Lord ! Mr. Hedges," said he, in a quiet tone, and looking round to see who was within hearing, — '•' you know my ideas long ago about all that matter ! — It isn't my business to break with customers, or to be setting up against them. What signifies opinions this way or that ! But," he continued, erecting his figure to its full height and putting on a look of extraordinar determination, " sentiments is another thing ! Let any man ask me my sentiments ! — that's all ; — Thar's no flinch in me, 3'ou may depend upon it !" Having learned this distinction between sentiments and opinions, I retired to my chamber. OPINIONS AND SENTIMENTS. 179 The next morning, after a short delay in court, Meriwether was released from his judicial cares, and we made preparations for our return to Swallow Barn. Philly Wart, who had been an active and conspicuous personage in the transactions of the term, and who is hereafter to make some figure in these annals, was to accompany us. About noon we were all mounted, Philly being perched upon a taU. raw-boned, gray steed, that seemed to have parted with his flesh in the severe duties of the circuit, but who was distinguished for his easy and regular pace. As to Philly himself, it is necessary that I should give him a chapter. By the usual dinner hour, we were all comfortably seated at Swallow Barn. (JHAPTER XXI. PHILrOT WART. Without much reverence for the profession of the law itself, T have a great regard for its votaries, and especially for that part, of the tribe which comprehends the old and thorough-paced stagers of the bar. The feelings, habits and associations of the bar in general, have a happy influence upon character. It abounds with good fellows : and, take it altogether, there may be , collected from it a greater mass of shrewd, observant, droll, play- ful and generous spirits, than from any other equal numbers of j^ society. They live in each other's presence, like a set of players ; congregate in the courts, as the former in the green-room ; and break their unpremeditated jests, in the intervals of business, with that sort of undress freedom which contrasts amusingly with the solemn and even tragic seriousness with which they appear, in turn, upon the boards. They, have one face for the public rife with the gravity of the profession, and another for them- selves, replete with mirth and enjoyment. The toil and fatigue -j of business give them a peculiar relish for their hours of relaxa- tion, and, in the same degree, incapacitate them for that frugal attention to their private concerns which their limited means usually require. They have, in consequence, a prevailing air of unthriftiness in personal matters, which^ however it may operate PHI LrOT WART. 181 to the prejudice of the pocket of the individual, has a mellow and kindly effect upon his disposition. In an old member of the profession, — one who has grown gray in the service, — there is a rich unction of originality, which brings him out from the ranks of his fellow-men in strong relief His habitual conversancy with the world in its strangest varieties, :ind with the secret history of character, gives him a shrewd esti- mate of the human heart. He is quiet, and unapt to be struck with wonder at any of the actions of men. There is a deep cur- rent of observation running calmly through his thoughts, and sel- dom gushing out in words : the confidence which has been placed in him, in the thousand relations of his profession, renders him constitutionally cautious. His acquaintance with the vicissitudes of fortune, as they have been exemplified in the lives of individu- als, and with the severe afflictions that have '• tried the reins " of many, known only to himself, makes him an indulgent and chari- table apologist of the aberrations of others. He has an impreg- nable good humor that never falls below the level of thoughtful- ness into melancholy. He is a creature of habits ; rising early for exercise ; generally temperate from necessity, and studious against his will. His face is accustomed to take the ply of his pursuits with great facility, grave and even severe in business, and readily rising into smiles at a pleasant conceit. He works hard when at his task ; and goes at it with the reluctance of an old horse in a bark-mill. His common-places are quaint and pro- fessional : they are made up of law maxims, and first occur to him in Latin. He measures all the sciences out of his proper line of study, (and with these he is but scantily acquainted.) by the rules of law. He thinks a steam engine should be worked with due diligence^ and without laches : a thing little likely to happen, he considers as potentia remotissima ; and what is not yet in existence, or in esse, as he would say, is i?i mihibus He 182 PHILPOT WART. apprehends that wit best, which is connected with the affairs of the term ; is particularly curious in his anecdotes of old lawyers, and inclined to be talkative concerning the amusing passages of his own professional life. He is. sometimes, not altogether free of outward foppery ; is apt to be an especial good liver, and he keeps the best company. His literature is not much diversified ; I and he prefers books that are bound in plain calf, to those that ! are much lettered or gilded. He garners up his papers with a| wonderful appearance of care ; ties them in bundles with red ' tape ; and usually has great difficulty to find them when he wants them. Too much particularity has perplexed him ; and just so it is with his cases : they are well assorted, packed and laid awaj in his mind, but are not easily to be brought forth again without labor. This makes him something of a procrastinator, and rathei to delight in new business than finish his old. He is, however much beloved, and affectionately considered by the people. Philpot Wart belongs to the class whose characteristics 3 have here sketched. He is a practitioner of some thirty or fortii years' standing, during the greater part of which time he has re sided in this district. He is now verging upon sixty years age, and may be said to have spent the larger portion of his lifi on horseback. His figure is short and thick-set, with a hard muscular outline ; his legs slightly bowed, his shoulders broao and his hands and feet uncommonly large. His head is of extrr ordinary size, inclining to be cubical in shape, and clothed v/ith shock of wiry, dark gray hair. A brown and dry complexion ayes small, keen, and undefined in color, furnished with thic brows ; a large mouth, conspicuous for a range of teeth wor nearly to their sockets ; and ample protruding ears, constitut; the most remarkable points in his appearance. The predomiuaui expression of his features is a sly, quick good nature, susceptibl , however, of great severity. PHIL POT WART. 183 His dress is that of a man who does not trouble liimself with the change of fashions ; careless, and, to a certain degree, quaint. It consists of a plain, dark coat, not of the finest cloth, and rather the worse for wear : dinsy and faded nankeen small clothes : and a pair of half boots, such as were worn at the beginning of this centur3^ His hat is old, and worn until the rim has become too pliable to keep its original form ; and his cravat is sometimes, by accident, tied in such a manner, as not to include one side of his shirt collar ; — this departure from established usage, and others like it, happen from Mr. Wart's never using a looking- glass when he makes his toilet. His circuit takes in four or five adjoining counties, and, as he is a regular attendant upon the courts, he is an indefatigable tra- veller. His habit of being so much upon the road, causes his clients to make their appointments with him at the several stages of his journeyings ; and it generally happens that he is intercept- ed, when he stops, by some one waiting to see him. Being obliged to pass a great deal of his time in small taverns, he has grown to be contented with scant accommodation, and never com plains of his fair. But he is extremely particular in exacting the utmost attention to his horse. He has an insinuating address that takes wonderfully with the people ; and especially with the older and graver sorts. This has brought him into a close acquaintance with a great many per- sons, and has rendered Philly Wart, — as he is universally called, — a kind of cabinet-counsellor and private adviser with most of those who are likely to be perplexed with their affairs. He has a singularly retentive memory as to facts, dates, and names ; and c by his intimate knowledge of land titles, courses and distances, i ' patents, surveys and locations, he has become a formidable cham- pion in all ejectment cases. In addition to this, Philly has such a brotherly and companionable relation to the greater number of 184 PHILPOT WART. the freeholders who serve upon the juries, and has such a confi- ding, friendly way of talking to them when he tries a cause, that it is generally supposed he can persuade them to believe any thing he chooses. His acquirements as a lawyer are held in high respect by the bar, although it is reported that he reads but little law of later date than Coke Littleton, to which book he manifests a remarka- ble affection, having perused it, as he boasts, some eight or ten times ; but the truth is, he has not much time for other reading, being very much engrossed by written documents, in which he is painfully studious. He takes a great deal of authority upon him- self, nevertheless, in regard to the Virginia decisions, inasmuch " as he has been contemporary with most of the cases, and heard' them, generally, from the courts themselves. Besides this, he ijj practised in the times of old Chancellor "Wythe, and Presidenti Pendleton, and must necessarily have absorbed a great deal of that spirit of law-learning which has evaporated in the hands of the reporters. As Philly himself says, he understands the cur- rents of the law. and knows where they must run ; and, therefore, has no need of looking into the cases. Philly has an excellent knack in telling a story, which consists : in a caustic, dry manner, that is well adapted to give it point ; and sometimes he indulges this talent with signal success beforei. the juries. When he is at home, — which is not often above a; week or ten days at a time, — he devotes himself almost entirely!' < to his farm. He is celebrated there for a fine breed of hounds j-; and fox-hunting is quite a passion with him. This is the onlj' sport in which he indulges to any excess ; and so far does he car- ry it, tliat he often takes his dogs with him upon the circuit when his duty calls him, in the hunting season, to certain partfi i of tlic country where one or two gentlemen reside who are foiu of this pastime. On these occasions he billets the hounds upoi P II I L P O T W A II T . 1 85 is landlord, and waits patiently until he dispatches his business ; nd then he turns into the field with all the spirit and zest of umrod. He has some lingering recollections of the classics, and < a little given to quoting them, without much regard to the ap- ropriateness of the occasion. It is told of him, that one fine lorning, in December, he happened to be with a party of brother portsmen in full chase of a gray fox, under circumstances of un- sual animation. The weather was cool, a white frost sparkled pon the fields, the sun had just risen and flung a beautiful light jver the landscape, the fox was a-foot, the dogs in full cry, the untsmen shouting with exuberant mirth, the woods re-echoing to le clamor, and every one at high speed in hot pursuit. Philly as in an ecstasy, spurring forward his horse with uncommon ar- or, and standing in his stirrups, as if impatient of his speed, hen he was joined in the chase by two or three others as much elighted as himself. In this situation he cried out to one of the arty, '• Isn't this fine ; don't it put you in mind of Virgil 7 'ityre tu patulas recubans sub tegmine fagi." Philly denies the ict ; but some well authenticated flourishes of his at the bar, of similar nature, give great semblance of truth to the story. It sometimes happens that a pair of his hounds will steal after im, and follow him through the circuit, without his intending it ; nd when this occurs, he has not the heart to drive them back. 'his was the case at the present court : accordingly, he was fol- )wed by his dogs to Swallow Barn. They slink close behind his orse, and trot together as if they were coupled. Philly's universal acquaintance through the country and his re-eminent popularity have, long since, brought him into public fe. He has been elected to the Assembly for twenty years past, rithout opposition ; and, indeed, the voters will not permit him 3 decline. It is, therefore, a regular part of his business to at- snd to all political matters aff'ecting the county. His influence 1 8G P H I L P O T W A R T . iu this department is wonderful. He is consulted in reference to all plans, and his advice seems to have the force of law. He is extremely secret in his operations, and appears to carry his point by his calm, quiet, and unresisting manner. He has the reputation of being a dexterous debater, and of making some sharp and heavy hits when roused into opposition ; though many odd stories are told, at Kichmond, of his strenuous efforts, at times, to be oratorical. He is, however, very much in the confi- dence of the political managers of all parties, and seldom fails to carry a point when he sets about it in earnest. During the war, Philly commanded a troop of volunteer light- horse,' and was frequently employed in active service, in guarding the hen-roosts along the river from the attacks of the enemy. These occasions have furnished him with some agreeable episodes in the history of his life. He gives a faithful narrative of his ex- ploits at this period, and does not fail to throw a dash of comic humor into his account of his campaigns. In our ride to Swallow Barn, he and Meriwether were princi- pally engrossed with the subject of the expected arbitration. Meriwether particularly enjoined it upon him so to manage the matter as to make up a case in favor of Mr. Tracy, and to give such a decision as would leave the old gentleman in possession of the contssted territory. Philly revolved the subject carefully in his mind, and assured Frank that he would have no difficulty in putting Swansdowii upon such a train as could not fail to accomplish their ends. " But it seems strange to me," said the counsellor, " that the ij old man would not be content to take the land without all this i] circuity." "We must accommodate ourselves to the peculiarities of oui j neighbors," replied Meriwether, " and, pray be careful that yOA ', give no offence to his pride, by the course you pursue." PIIILPOT WAllT. 187 " I have never before been engaged in a case with such in- structions," said Philly. " This looks marvellously like an Irish donkey race, where each man cudgels his neighbor's ass. Well, I suppose Singleton Swansdown will take the beating without being I'more restive under it than others of the tribe !" '• I beseech you, use him gently," said Meriwether. " He will )e as proud of his victory as ourselves." Philly laughed the more heartily as he thought of this novel case. Now and then be relapsed into perfect silence, and then again and again broke forth into a chuckle at his own meditations upon the subject. " You are like a king who surrenders by negotiation, all that le has won by fighting," said he, laughing again ; " we shall ca- 3itulate, at least, with the honors of war, — drums beating and olors %ing !" " It is the interest of the commonwealth that there should be m end of strife ; I believe so the maxim runs," said Meriwether, miling. " Concordia, parvas res crescunt ; discordia maxim^e dilabun- iur," added the counsellor. " But it seems to me to be something )f a wild-goose chase notwithstanding." Philly repeated these last words as he dismounted at the gate it Swallow Barn, and, throwing his saddle-bags across his arm, 16 walked into We house with the rest of the party. CHAPTER XXII. THE PHILOSOPHEPc UNBENT. The next norning opened upon us in all the beauty of the season, i )ry necessary preparation had been completed for the definite adji stment of the long abiding lawsuit. The household was in motio ii at an hour much earlier than usual, and a general anxiety seen ed to prevail throughout the family to speed the issues of tl 5 day. Meriwether was animated by unwonted spirits ; and Hazard and myself anticipated, with some eagerness, the entrance upon a business that promised to us nothing but |j amusement i\ its progress. The notoriety which all the prelimi- nary movemen s in this matter had gained from the frequent " conversations 6 * Meriwether relating to it, had magnified its im- portance in a di ^ree much disproportioned to its intrinsic merit. The day was tl irefore considered a kind of jubilee. Mr. Chub had expressed a strong wish to be present at the settlement ; and had, accordingh , proclaimed a holiday in the school. The chil- dren were all in i state of riotous excitement. Rip was especially delighted with \ le prospect of the approaching bustle. Prudence partook of the C( mmon feeling with rather more restlessness than any one else. Vhere was a studied sedateness upon her features, which was not altogether natural ; and this was contrasted with her motions, which seemed to be unsettled, variable and perplexed. THE rillLOSOniER UNBENT. 189 PLilly Wart liad risen soon after the dawn, and had taken a »valk of two or three miles before the family began to assemble. About an hour before breakfast, he had seated himself on the bench of the porch, alone with Mr. Chub, and was there chipping 1 stick with his penknife, as he kept up a desultory discourse with the parson, upon divers matters connected with the history, doc- trine and discipline of the Presbyterian Church. What were the particulars of this conversation I could not leart, but it had a timulating effect upon his companion, who took occasion to call ne aside, as soon as it wag finished, and said to me, " Faith, that !*hilly Wart, as you call him, is a sensible old fellow ! He's a nan of a great deal of wit, Mr. Littleton ! He is a philosopher )f the school of Demoeritus of Abdera, and knows as much about :he kirk of Scotland as if he had been at the making of the cove- aant. And not very starched in his creed neither, ha, ha, ha ! a peer genius !" Philly himself, after leaving the parson, was sauntering up md down in the hall, with his' coat buttoned close about him, so IS to cause a roll of papers which was lodged in one of his pockets to protrude somewhat oddly from above his hip. In this situation [ joined him. " Your parson there, is a great scholar," said he, smiling ; " we have had a bout together concerning church mat- ters ; and the old gentleman has been entertaining me with a jpeech, for an hour past. He is a very vehement orator, and has puzzled me with his Grecian heroes until I hadn't a word to say. [ think he likes a good listener : but I am entirely too rusty for pim. I must rub up the n-ext time I talk with him. I Just before breakfast Harvey Riggs and Ralph, having in 3onvoy Catharine and Bel Tracy, rode up to the door ; and our attention was called to the party, by the loud salutations of Har- vey. " Hark you, Ned ! spring to your post, and catch Bel before ( khe touches ground. " 190 THE PHILOSOPHER UNBENT. Hazard succeeded in reacliing the outer side of the gate just in time — not to catch Bel, who had already dismounted with the , nimbleness of a bird — but to take the rein of her horse and fasten it to the fence, and then to conduct the lady to the door. It was not long before we were ranged around the ample breakfast board. Mr. Wart was inclined to be jocular, and Meri- wether indulged in some good-natured speculations upon the cer- tainty of his success in the case. Harvey Kiggs was placed next to ]3el at the table, and took occasion to whisper in her ear, that he had no faith in these negotiations for a peace, and added, that he rested his hopes entirely upon the prophecy of old Diana ; then, looking towards Ned, who sat opposite, he remarked, loud enough to be heard by the latter, " there is but one way of giving .^ permanency to these family treaties." Ned colored up to the eyes — affected not to understand, and * asked for another cup of coffee. Bel was more self-possessed, and , replied with perfect composure, " Cousin Harvey, look to yourself, or I shall dismiss you from my service." After breakfast, it was determined that it would be necessary for the contending powers to have a personal inspection of the seat of war. The old mill was proposed as the trysting place, and the principal discussion, it was settled, should be held on the banks of the famous Apple-pie. Mr. Tracy's arrival with his privy counsellor, Swansdown, was looked for with impatience ; and, in the mean time, our whole company had broken off into detach- ments. Prudence and Catharine had gone out upon the grass-plot in front of the house ; and were slowly walking to and fro, without t any covering upon their heads, and with their arms around eacli ■; other's waists, in deep and secret communion, under the shade of the willow. Bip had run off with a whoop and halloo to the stable to order up the necessary cavalry for the expedition. The little \ THE PHILOSOPHER UNBENT. 191 rls were jumping a rope on the gravel-walk. My cousin Lucre- a was busy with household matters. Wart and Meriwether were mniug over some papers in the breakfast room ; and Harvey ,iggs, Kalph Tracy, Hazard, and myself, were seated in the porch itiently abiding the progress of events. Bel, who had been roaming at large from group to group, and [aking amusement for herself out of all, like one whose spirits jould not allow her to remain stationary, had picked up the dice at belonged to a backgammon board in the parlor, and now me to the porch where we were seated, rattling them in the box, id making as much noise as she could. " I mean to tell the fortune of the day," said she ; " why are ot these dice just as good judges of boundary lines as all the wyers 1 Now, Mr. Littleton, observe if this be not a true oracle, here's for Mr. Meriwether," she continued, throwing the dice pon the bench. "Four, one. That's a shabby throw for Swallow arn. Well, here's for Pa. Deuce, ace." " Good-bye to The Brakes !" exclaimed Harvey. " No, indeed !"' interrupted Bel. " There's a great deal of ick in deuce, ace. But we will give Swallow Barn another chance, here's six, four ; that's the parson's point, as Pa calls it." " And now for The Brakes, Bel," said Ned ; " this throw must fl'ljittle the question." ■ Treys," cried Bel, flinging the dice, and clapping her hands. Havn't we gained it now "?" " No ! certainly not !" said Hazard. " They make but six to- ether, and Swallow Barn had ten." "But," answered Bel, "you forget, Edward, that there is a uckier number than any other ; and we have got three, three imes out of the dice." " The luck," replied Ned, "is in the highest number." " Do you wait here, and I will go and ask Mr. Chub," said Bel, x.l 192 THE piiiLosoriiEEi unbent. " who will tell me all that he has ever read about fortunate num^ bers. Don't interrupt us, for the old gentleman is on such good terms with me, that he says a great deal to me he would not Id any of 3'^ou hear. You may listen to us through the windows." The reverend gentleman was seated in the parlor window next to the porch, with a book in his hand, when Bel entered and tool a seat beside him ; and, thus arranged, both of their backs wer( towards the window. Bel's accost wa^ very grave. "Mr. Chub," said she, with a gracious and r^espectful voice " do you think there is any thing in numbers ?" "Ha, ha !" cried the tutor, in a kind of bewildered laugh, ai: if he did not exactly comprehend her purpose, " 'pon my honor' madam, I don't know how to answer the question. There an' multipliers and' multiplicands, and " " I don't mean that," said Bel, " do you think there is an;; luck in numbers ?" " If you mean in a number of lawyers to try the question oi: the old mill-dam, I think the more there are, the worse the luck Upon my veracity, I would rather have Mr. Philpot Wart thai the whole bar ; judges, juries, and all. Miss Bell ! Ha, ha !" " You don't understand me yet," answered BeU. " I beg your pardon, my dear !" interrupted the tutor. " I didn't speak with reference to the mill-dam questioE either, but I wanted to know, if there are not some number^' deemed more fortunate than others. "Were not the ancients jj little superstitious about the number of crows that flew acres the heavens of a morning, for instance ?" ; " Assuredly, madam !" replied the old gentleman, now begin' ning to take Bel's meaning; " all nations have had some leanin; to be superstitious about numbers. The number twelve has ha< a great deal of distinction conferred upon it. The twelve apos' LHl THE rii iLosoniKR unbent. 193 es, and the twelve hours of the day, and tlio twelve months of e year, in spite of the moon. Miss Bel ! That looks as if there 1 Jas some virtue in the number. And, you know, the Romans ,d their laws written on twelve tables ; and the Greeks cele- ated the twelve labors of Hercules. And I believe, up to WE^is day, it always takes twelve men to make a jury. There is mething heathenish in that, Miss Isabella, ha, ha!" This last burst was manifestly destined for a sally of wit, and e good old gentleman continued to laugh at it immoderately. el appeared to relish it herself " And there are imagined to some occult influences in the trines and nones," continued the tor, after he had laughed his fill, " not to say any thing of ven, of which number, nevertheless, I will mention a few ex- ;l,o] aples — for it was an especial favorite both of Jew and Chris- m. We well know that the week has seven days, Miss abella." ' Yes," said Bel, '' that is very well known." " And the Jews thought we should forgive our enemy seven aes, — which the Scripture says, with reason, should be seventy es seven. — and the Revelation speaks of the seven phials of ath, with divers other sevens : and we read of the seven ages man, which I need not enumerate. You have heard. Mistress ^bella, of the seven sages of Greece, and of the seven wonders the world ? Besides these, and many more that I could think the monkish legends tell us some strange adventures of the ren sleepers " — ' " Mercv. what a list of sevens !" cried Bel. i — '• Who slept in a cave for two hundred and thirty years, int Maximian, Saint Malchus, and their comrades. Wherefore Iponclude seven to be a lucky number." { " It was undoubtedly a very lucky thing for the seven sleep- tj? all to awake up again, after such a long sleep." said Bel. : 9 ■ ' <.;, 194 THE PHILOSOPHER UNBENT. " Ha, ha !" ejaculated the old gentleman, in another fit of laughter, " that's very well said. Miss Isabel ! but the number three," continued the tutor, " is even more eminent in mystical properties. The most ancient Egyptians worshipped the holy Triangle Equilateral, as being the symbol of divine harmony; and Pythagoras and Plato have both taught the mysteries of this number. You are, moreover, aware, Miss ]3el, that there were three Grorgons." " I thought there were four !" said Bel, with an air of aston- ishment. " Three, madam," replied the parson, " Stheno, Euryale, and Medusa. And there were three Furies too." " "What were their names, Mr. Chub ?" " Tisiphone, Masgara, and Alecto," said he, enumerating his triads slowly upon his fingers. And there were the three Graces, my dear ! You know their names very well — Thalia, Euphro- syne, and Aglaia. The Fates, — there were three of them, yon ' remember ; and, faith, they have had work enough to do ! Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos: — if you had studied Greek, Miss;. Bel, you would understand how well their names became them.' ' " Listen, if you would live and laugh!" exclaimed Harvej:i Biggs, who was sitting on the rail of the porch, and taking in '| every word of this odd discourse. " Here is the parson, pouring,! a whole dictionary of outlandish nonsense into Bel's ear, and she humoring all his pedantry with the most incomparable gravity !" " There might be cited many more of these triple sister ' hoods," continued Mr. Chub, — Bel still looking in his face mtl'\ an encouraging earnestness, — " as for another example, then were the Horoe ; namely, Dice, Irene, Eunomia: the Harpies,- CcxOeno, Ocypetc, Aello (still counting with the same precisioii | as before) ; wo must not forget the Sirens, — bless me ! no — th<'i' THE PIlILOSOrHEll UNBENT. 195 adies are often called Sirens tliemsclveSj ha. ha ! Parthenopc — Parthenope — let me sec — " He paused, with the forefinger of his fight hand upon the middle finger of his left : " Tut, it slips ny memory ! I am very bad at remembering names." '• Particularly bad !" said Bel, interrupting him and smiling. " Parthenope, Miss Tracy, child, I had it on my tongue ! I tm getting old, Miss Isabel ! I dare say, you can help me out." '• Indeed, I dare say I cannot," replied Bel ; " you have urned my brain so topsy-turvy with such a list of hard names, hat I have almost forgotten what I came to ask you." " You have totally omitted, Mr. Chub, to mention the three ise men of Gotham that went to sea in a bowl," said Hazard, peaking to the parson from the porch. " And the three blind mice, that lost their tails on a visit to jhe farmer's wife," said Harvey Biggs. '• And the three fiddlers of old king Cole," said Hazard. '•' Poh ! Get along, Mr. Edward and Mr. Harvey ! you are oth too much given to be waggish. I doubt you will never aend your ways while you keep each other's company !" cried he good old gentleman, comjDletely overborne by this spirited at- p, ack upon him ; and as he said this, he turned round upon them . face full of queer perplexity at being caught in the high career f this scholarly exercitation. He is especially sensitive to the 3ast jest that is aimed at this peculiarity. " "Well," said Bel, " I am really very much obliged to you, Ir. Chub, for your instructive lecture ; and I shall always re- aember hereafter, that the Graces were three young women, and he Furies, three old ones : and that three is the luckiest num- er in arithmetic." By this time two horsemen, followed by a servant, had come b sight upon the road leading to the gate. They advanced at a jisure pace, and were soon descried to be Mr. Tracy in company 196 THE PHILOSOPHER UNBENT. with Swansdown. The old g.entleman's face, even at a distance-, exhibited careful thought, and his bearing was grave and man-' nerlj. He was in deep conversation with his friend, up to the! moment of their arrival at the gate. Meriwether tvent forth to| meet him, and assisted him from his horse with an affectionate! and highly respectful assiduity. As soon as he was on his feet, he took off his hat and made ! Meriwether a formal bow ; and then walked across the court-yard i to the door, making many obeisances to the company. Swans- 1 down followed with scarcely less ceremony; and they w£re ushered into the parlor. "We have an agreeable day's work before us, Mr. Meri-' wether," said Mr. Tracy, with an air of sprightly politeness, but in a voice somewhat tremulous from }' ears. " Permit me to as- sure you it is not a small gratijBcation to me, that we come so amicably to the close of a controversy, which, in other hands, might have been embittered with many unkind feelings. This has been conducted with so much courtesy, from beginning to end, that I had almost flattered myself with the hope, I should have had the luxury of it for the rest of my life." He concluded this complimentary speech with a dash of gayety in his tone, and a vivacious gesticulation of his body ; and then turning round to the ladies, with smiles upon his face, he made many civil inquiries after family matte'rs. The parties now being all assembled, our next move was te the old mill. CHAPTER XXlll. TRIAL BY VIEW. Whe.n mounted our muster consisted of ten persons, besides the I servants, and included all the gentlemen assembled, with the ad- ; dition of Rip, who, astride of Spitfire, caracoled and bounded from I place to place, like a young adjutant of a squadron. The old I walls of Swallow Barn had never echoed back the tramp, the I hum, or the shouts of a more goodlj'- company than that which I now filed oif from the gate. Our ranks were accommodated to the nature of the road we had to travel. At first, Mr. Wart, i with his papers still peeping forth from his pocket, shot ahead of i the troop by the common brisk and easy-racking gait to which his tall and ungainly steed was accustomed; and he did not seem to be aware of the inequality of his pace, until he had gained about a hundred yards upon the cavalcade, and was admonished by a call from two or three of the party, that he would soon leave us out of sight, if he went on at that speed. His two hounds were, as usual, jogging close at his horse's heels ; and any one might very well have mistaken our whole equipment for a party setting out to beat a cover, with the principal huntsman in ad- j vance ; for, in addition to Philly's bounds, we had every dog of i Swallow Barn in our train. Never, since the deluge, was there j a lawsuit to be determined by so grotesque an array of judges, 198 TRIAL BY VIEW. counsellors, parties and witnesses, as this ! And never before in the history of jurisprudence, perhaps, was there such a case ! Phillj Wart was highly amused. He had brought himself to look upon the whole matter as a mere pastime, and he was now determined to make the best of it. He could not for a moment give his features a serious cast, but laughed in reply to every question, like a man tickled with his own thoughts. He had reined up his horse, in obedience to our call, and was looking back upon the approaching host, when I rode up to him. ■ " This is a mode of practice very much to my liking," said ; he. " The law would not be such a wearisome business, Mr. Littleton, if its affairs were to be transacted in the field o' horse- back; and with a fine pack of dogs instead of a jury. Famous juries they'd make, for courses and distances, in an ejectment, ha, ha, ha ! If it were only the right season, I think we should be likely to look over more boundary lines than one to-day." The same tone of enjoyment seemed gradually to have visited j even old Mr. Tracy, after we had left the gate. Before this, \ there was a deep-seated care upon his brow ; but he now began ■ to take the hue of the hour. We had entered, after riding some distance, upon a narrow and tangled path, beset with underwood, ; that indicated our proximity to the ground around the mill. Through this portion of our road we were constrained to pass in single files, thus elongating our line of march, until it resembled that of a detachment of cavalry exploring a suspected haunt of an enemy. The resemblance occasioned our venerable friend of The Brakes to turn round to Meriwether and remark, with a pleasant but precise form of address, — '• You perceive, Mr. Meriwether, that the most formidable in- vasion of the Apple-pie frotftier continues now, as of old, to come from the direction of Swallow Barn." " I could heartily wish, my dear friend," replied Frank, '• that TRIAL BY VIEW. 190 every invasion in the world were as certain to promote the ends of justice and peace as this. And I could wish, too, that every supposed encroachment Aipon right, should be as gallantly and honorably met." '' But not quite so obstinately defended," said Harvey Riggs, in a half whisper, as h& turned round on his saddle to make the if remark to Ned Hazard. '• Amen !" said Ned. When we arrived at the mill there was a silent pause for some moments, in which every one seemed to be engaged in sur- veying the ragged, marshy- and unprofitable features of the laud- scape, and wondering in his own mind (at least all but Mr, Tracy) how such a piece of land could possibly have furnished a subject for such a protracted litigation. Philly Wart appeared to be aware of the common surprise, and looking round, somewhat jest- ingly, in the faces of the group, remarked, — " Yes, there it is ! And all that we have to do is, to get down from our horses, organize the court, and fall to work to determine whether the heirs of Swallow Barn or of The Brakes are hereaf- ter to be pestered with this fine, garden of wankopins and snake- collar ds ! " We dismounted ; and some moments elapsed before the par- ties were ready to proceed to the business in hand. In this interval, the counsellor had walked up to the tutor, who stood upon a hillock, with his glass up to his eye, surveying the scene. •• What do you think of the prospect, Mr. Chub ? " asked Philly Wart. " By what name would you venture to describe this luxuriant, refreshing, and sightly piece of land ? Is it 7na- riscus, or 9nora, or Indmtis, or simple locus pahidosus .?" " Sure it is not to look at this ill-favored quagmire, that we have been risking our necks under boughs of trees, and dodging through brambles this morning !" exclaimed the tutor. 200 TRIAL BY VIEW. " Aye," answered Philly, '• this is the very ground of conten- tion that has enlivened the annals of two families and their de- scendants, for half a century. It has been a gay quarrel, Mr. Chub, and has cost something more than breath to keep it up. It has lost nothing of its dignity, I warrant you, for want of long opinions and sober counsel ! Floreat Lex. Mr. Chub, is our motto ! It is a merry day for our craft, when laymen take to reading the statutes, and pride holds the purse-strings." " This is a great Sirbonian bog," said the tutor. " It is as worthless as the Pomptinae Paludes, — Gad-a-mercy ! it should be relinquished by unanimous consent to the skunks and the musk- rats!" "It :s a hereditament, as we lawyers say, Mr. Chub, that would pass under the name runcaria^ which signifies, full of brambles and briers, or rather, by the title in our law Latin, (I doubt if you have studied that kind of Latin, Mr. Chub ?) of Jampna^ which comes, as Lord Coke says, of jo7iCj the French for bulrush, and noiver^ a waterish place." " Truly, your dog Latin suits the description of the place marvellously well, Mr. Philpot Wart," said the tutor, laughing. " And what do you consider, Mr. Meriwether," he continued, ad- dressing Frank, who had just come to the spot, '• the value of this ground to be, per acre ? " " About sixpence," answered Frank, smiling. " Too high ; you hold it all too dear," interrupted Philly, " threepence at the outside, and dear at that. But come, gentle- men, — Mr. Swansdown we lose time. Let us to business." Upon this, the principal personages concerned in the busi- ness of the day withdrew to a convenient spot, and selecting a piece of square timber, that constituted a part of the ruins of the mill, they took their seats. • Old Mr, Tracy now very deliberately proceeded to empty his pocket of a bundle of papers, neatly tied up together, and loosen* aide- 00 TRIAL RY \'IEW. 2Ul ing the string that bound them, he spread them out upon his knees. Then, after some rummaging, he produced a pair of spec- tacles, which, with great caution, he adjusted upon his nose ; and taking up one of the papers, he presented it to the arbitrators, oaying, " here is the first letter in the correspondence which arose between the lamented Mr. Walter Hazard, and myself, touching the present subject of difference. If you prefer it, gentlemen, I will give you the copy of the letters that passed in the year 1759, between my immediate ancestor and the first Mr. Edward Haz- cird, in regard to that latter gentleman's plan of erecting this mill, at that date." " If you will be so kind," said Philly, with an air of affeclion- 'ite courtesy towards the old gentleman, " as to leave these pa- pers with us, Mr. Tracy, we will digest them at our leisure. In the mean time, we will look at the deed from Gilbert Tracy to Edward Hazard — I have it here — " Saying this, he produced ;he roll of papers which had been so conspicuous about his person ill the morning, and took from it the deed in question. Here Philly mounted his spectacles, and began to read, in a jlear voice, such parts of the deed as related to the nature and iharacter of the grant ; and which parts, in order that my reader night thoroughly understand the precise question in dispute, I lave substantially set forth in a former chapter. " This deed, Mr. Swansdown," said Philly, as he finished read- ng, " lays the whole foundation of the controversy The pre- ensions of the parties, as based upon this instrumenTi^ are well mderstood, and all that remains for us is to ascertain what was he specific meaning of the parties thereto." " That must be seen," said Mr. Tracy, " by the letters which . have just given you." " Upon that point," said Philly "Wart, " the courts have uni ormly decided — " 9* 202 TRIAL BY VIEW. " We are not to be governed by the adjudications of the court, upon any of these questions," interrupted Mr. Tracy ; " it is unj derstood that the case is to be adjudged according to the princi ; pies of equity." \ " Equitas sequitur legem^ my friend," said Philly, smiling! '• If there be ambiguity patent, that is, apparent upon the face of the deed, the law allows testimony to be received as to the intent of the parties concerned in the covenants. But where the inten- tion may be derived from the construction of the covenants them selves, according to their plain letter, the law doth not permilj acts and matters in ^x^zs to be used to set up an intention dehorv, the written instrument." "Pray, Mr. AYart," said Swansdown, "permit me to ask, whe' ther this case, agreeably to your understanding of it, is governcc! by the Roman or civil law, or strictly according to the technical' principles of the common law ?" " Only, sir, according to the course of the laws of this com-j monwealth." replied Philly, with an air of surprise at the ques-: tion, and as if nettled by the foppery of Swansdown's manner! " Your suggestion, Mr. Tracy, will be a subject for our consider! ation," he continued, assuming his former mild tone, to the gen-i tleman he addressed. Various other papers were now produced and read ; and wheu: all this documentary evidence had been brought to view, Philh remarked, with a manner that seemed to indicate profound reflec- tion upon the case in hand ; — " An idea strikes me, which appears to have an important iml fluence upon the subject under consideration. I confess I should' like to be satisfied upon this point. Mr. Swansdown and myself.' I presume, will not differ about the construction of the deed, nor' upon the nature of the law by which it is to be determined," hcj added, smiling ; '• but, if my present suspicions be confirmed, it! TRIAL BY VIEW. 203 is more than probable that our labor will bo very much abridged, I rather suspect that this case will be found, upon examination, to turn upon certain matters of fact which have never yet been brought into the view of the courts — " " A very shrewd old gentleman that, Mr. Hazard," whispered the tutor, who stood by all this time, listening with profound at- tention ; " a man of genius, I assure you, Mr. Edward !" '• — The facts to which I allude are these ; namely, in the first place, to what distance did the mill-dam anciently and originally extend, from the present margin of the Apple-pie, in upon the land belonging to the tract called The Brakes ? Secondly, how long did the mill-pond exist within the said original limits ; and \ri when did it first begin to recede from the same ? And, thirdly, which is the most important point of all, did the same mill-pond contract in its dimensions by gradual and imperceptible stages, or did it sink into the present narrow channel of the Apple-pie, by any violent and sudden disruption of its banks?" " The bearing and value of these questions," continued the lawyer, " will be understood by referring to the conceded fact, namely, that the two contiguous estates were divided by the wa- ter-line or margin of the mill-dam on the side of The Brakes. Now, it is a principle of law, upon which Mr. Swansdown and myself cannot possibly disagree, — for it is asserted without con- tradiction by the ablest writers, — both in the common and civil law, Mr. Swansdown, that where a river, holding the relation which this mill-dam occupied between these two estates, changes its course by slow and invisible mutations, so as to leave new land where formerly was water, then he to whose territory the accre- tions may be made in such wise, shall hold them as the gain or increment of his original stock. But if the river change its course by some forcible impulse of nature, as by violent floods, or the like, then shall he who suffers loss by such vicissitude, be indem- 204 TRIAL BY VIEW. nified by the possession of tlie derelict channel. And it would seem to me, that in case the river, in the instance put, should merely dwindle and pine away, as this famous mill-pond seems to have done," said Philly, with a smile, '• then, the possessors of the banks on either side should consider it to be the will of Heaven that they should be separated by narrower partitions, and should, straightway, follow the retreating waters ; and, when these become so small as to allow them to do so, they should shake hands from the opposite banks, and thank God they were such near neigh- bors." " He's a man of a clear head, Mr. Riggs," said the tut:r again, with inci eased admiration, " and expounds law like a sage : — 2.nd with a great deal of wit too ! — He reminds me of the celebrated Mr. Ponsonby whom I once heard at the Four Courts, in a cause — " " I am entirely of Mr. Wart's opinion of the value of these considerations," said Swansdown. " They seem to me sagacious and reasonable," said Mr. Tracy, " and concur to strengthen the first views which I took upon this subject." " Let these facts then, gentlemen, be inquired into," said Me- riwether. AYart arose from his seat, and walking carelessly a short dis- tance from the group, beckoned Meriwether to follow him, and, when they were together said, — " I have thrown out enough to put Mr. Tracy upon a new scent, which, if it be well followed up, will answer our purpose ; and now, I think I will give our friend Swansdown a walk into the marsh." " Since it is agreed Mr. Swansdown," said Philly, returning to the party, " that testimony should be heard upon the questions I have proposed, we shall be able to form a better judgment by a TRIAL BY VIEW. 205 cautious survey of the ground ourselves. It is scarcely possible that the mill-pond should have vanished without leaving some traces to show whether it went off in a night, or wasted away, like a chesnut fence-rail under the united attacks of sun and wind. There is nothing like the Trial by View." " In what manner do you suppose, Mr. "Wart, to enjoy this view?" asked Swansdown, with some concern. " Can we see it from the hill-side ? for it seems rather hazardous for a passage on horseback." " By walking over it," replied Philly very cooly. " With a little circumspection we can get across tolerabl}^ dry. Leap from one tuft to another, and keep your balance. The thing is very easy." " AVe shall find brambles in our way," said the reluctant Swansdown. '• E squilld non nascitur rosa, Mr. Swansdown," replied the other. " It is not the first time I have explored a marsh. Why man. if you had your gun with you, the woodcock would take you twice through the thickest of it ! This is a notorious place for woodcock — " " There are snakes, and some of them of a dangerous species. I have an utter horror of snakes," persisted Swan-sdown. " There are some copperheads and a few mocassins," replied Philly, " whose bite is not altogether harmless. As to the black snake, and viper, and common water snake, you may assure your- I self with taking them in your hand. Or take St. Patrick's plan, I Mr. Swansdown ; cut a hazle rod, and if you use it properly you may conjure every snake of them out of striking distance." '• Ha, ha ! A. facetious man, that Mr. Philly Wart," said the parson again, to Harvey Riggs. " Come, Mr. Swansdown, I will lead the wny. Don't be alarmed: We shall be better acquainted with the boundary when we get back." 206 . TRIAL BY VIEW. i Saying these words, Philly walked forward along the margin of the marshy ground which was once the bed of the dam, and j having selected a favorable point for entering upon this region, • he turned into it with a prompt and persevering step, making ad- . vantage of such spots as were firm enough to sustain his weight, . and, pushing the shrubbery to one side, was soon lost to view. \ Swansdown, ashamed of being outdone, but protesting his reluc- ', tance, and laughing with a forced and dry laugh, cautiously en- . tered at the same point, and followed in Philly's footsteps. \ When they were both still within hearing, Philly's voice could be : recognized, saying — " Look where you step', Mr. Swansdown ! That's the true • rule of life, and particularly for a man who meddles with law. '' Have your eyes about you, man ! Latet anguis in herbd^ ha, ha, ha !" " Hark to him !" exclaimed the parson. " A prodigious smart , man, that Philly Wart !" " After a short interval, Philly's voice was heard calling out, ; " Mr. Swansdown, Mr. Swansdown, where are you 1 Not lost, I I hope ! This way, man ; take the left side of the gum-tree, and 3'^ou will reach the bank of the Apple-pie as dry as a bone. And ; a monstrous stream it is, as you will find when you get here !" " I have encountered shocking obstacles, Mr. AYart," exclaimed i; the voice of Swansdown, at some distance ; '- 1 have one leg sub- ■; mersed in water and mud, up to the knee ; and have had a score ^ of black-snakes hissing at me, ever since I got into this abomina- :! ble place. Pray allow me to return !" i " Come on man !" was the reply, '- you will reach dry ground presently. What signifies a wet foot ! Here's a noble prospect ; for you." ' Another interval of silence now ensued, and this bciu"; fol- ' lowed by a distant hum of conversation, showed us that the two wanderers had fallen again into company. TRIAL CY VIEW. 207 Whilst we sat amongst the willows that skirted the original margin of the dam, expecting to see the counsellor and his com- panion emerge from the thicket on the opposite side, our atten- tion was all at once aroused by the deep tongue of "Wart's hounds, who had been exploring the fastness cotemporaneously with their master. They had evidently turned out a fox ; and the rapidly retreating and advancing notes informed us of the fact that the object of their pursuit was doubling, with great activity, from one part of the swamp to another. This sudden outbreak threw a surprising exhilaration into our party. We sprang to our feet and ran from place to place, expecting every moment to see the fox appear upon the field : these move- ments were accompanied with a general hallooing and shouting, in which the voice of Philly Wart, amongst the recesses of the marsh, was distinctly audible. Kip, at the first note, had run to his horse, and now came galloping past us, half wild with delight. Mr. Chub was in a perfect ecstasy, jumping, flinging out his arms, and vociferating all the technical cries of encouragement usual amongst the votaries of the chase. Even old Mr. Tracy was roused by the vivacity of the scene. His eyes sparkled and his gestures became peculiarly animated. All the dogs of our train had taken into the swamp, and barked with a deafening clamor as they pursued the track of the hounds, whose strong musical notes were now fast dying away in distance, as these eager ani- mals pursued their prey directly up the stream for more than a mile. For a time, they were even lost to the ear, until, having made another double, they were heard retracing their steps, and coming back to their original starting point, as their short and sonorous notes crowded upon the ear with increasing distinctness. At length, the little animal, that had given rise to all this up- roar, was descried on the opposite side of the swamp, some dis- tance ahead of her pursuers, speeding with terrified haste, to a 208 TRIAL BY VIEW. hole in the bank, where she was observed safely to accomplish her retreat. The duration of this animating episode was not above half an hour : and for the greater portion of that period we had totally lost all intelligence of Wart and Swansdown, but were now greatly amused to perceive the old lawyer breaking out of the cover, im- mediately at the spot where the fox had taken to the earth. And there he stood, guarding the place against the invasion of the dogs, who seemed to be frantic with disappointment at not being permitted to enter this entrenchment of their enemy. By whipping, hallooing and scolding, Philly succeeded in drawing them away ; and now, for the first time during this interval, turned his attention to the fate of his comrade. Swansdown was no where to be seen. Wart called aloud several times without receiving an answer ; and at length the party on our side, also, began to vociferate the name of the lost gentleman. This was no sooner done than we were surprised to receive an answer from the midst of the bushes, within ten paces of the spot where we stood. In one instant afterwards, Mr. Swansdown reappeared, almost exactly at the point where he had first entered the swamp. His plight was sadly changed. A thick coat of black mud covered the lower extremities of his pantaloons, and his dress, in places, was torn by briars ; but as if glad to be extricated from his perils, on any terms, he came forth with a face of good humor, and readily joined us in the laugh that his strangely discomfited ex- terior excited. " Well," he remarked, " to gratify Mr. Wart, 1 have seen the Apple-pie ; and I can truly say that I have enjoyed more pleas- ure in my life, at less cost. A fine figure I make of it !" he ex- claimed, pointing to his clothes. '- We had no sooner reached what Mr. Wart called the bank of the rivulet, than those whelps of dogs set up such a hideous yelling as turned my excellent TRIAL IJY VIEW, *209 friend, the counsellor, crazy upon the spot ; and thereupon he set ofiF at full speed, like an old hound himself, leaving me to floun- der back or forward, as best I might. I scarcely know what course I took, and when I thought I had reached the other side, it seems I had arrived just where I started. I can't say I think as highly of Mr. Wart's trial by the view, as he does ! We gave the unfortunate gentleman all the consolation his case admitted of ; and returning to the ruins of the mill, there took our seats to await the return of Mr. Wart. It was not long before he appeared, followed by thj two dogs. He had crossed from the side on which we left him, with as little concern as if he had been walking on the firmest ground, and joined our company, more in the guise of an experienced wood- man than of a gentleman of the learned profession intent upon disentangling points of law. It may well be supposed that the labors of the day terminated at this point. Our spirits had been too much roused by the events of the mornino- to allow us to sit down ao-ain to the busi- ness of the lawsuit ; and the uncomfortable condition of Swans- down made it necessary that he should, as soon as possible, be allowed an opportunity to change his dress. It was therefore in- timated by Mr. Wart, that the question of the boundary line should be adjourned until the next morning, when, he remarked, he thought he should be able to give testimony himself that would be material to the cause. , In accordance with this intimation, it was arranged that the parties should convene the next morning at the Brakes ; and having determined upon this, old 3Ir. Tracy and Sw^nsdown I mounted their horses and pursued their road to the mansion : house at the Brakes, which was not above two miles distant. The rest of the party returned to Swallow Barn. CHAPTER XXIV. MERPcIMENT AND SOERIETY, It was at a late dinner hour when our party returned to the man- sion, from the expedition of the boundary line. The absence ol Mr. Tracy and his champion Swansdown, caused some solicitude in the family, which, together with the curiosity of the ladies to hear all the particulars of the day's adventure, gave rise to a mul- 1 titude of inquiries that served to produce much animation at the dinner table. Ned and Harvey detailed what they called the facts, with exorbitant amplification, and with an assumed earnest- ness, that baffled all attempts to arri\e at the truth. A great deal, they affirmed, was to be said on both sides. And then they gave a piteous account of Swansdown's misfortunes ; praising his calm and dignified composure, noth withstanding he was so torn by brambles, and so disfigured with mud, and so frightened with snakes — " "He was not attacked by these reptiles!" cried Prudence. i with a marked concern. ; " They did not absolutely strike their fangs into him," said; Harvey ; " but they reared up their grizzly heads at his feet, and hissed hideously at him." " And then he was so drenched to the very skin !" said Ned. " Poor gentleman !" exclaimed Harvey, "an he 'scape a cold' MERRIMENT AND SOBRIETY. 211 I or an ague, his friends should be thankful. Heaven knows what would become of the boundary line, if any thing were to happen I to him at this critical juncture !" '• And he looked so forlorn !" continued Ned. " And so interesting !" said Harvey, " with the black mud up to his knees, and his white pocket-handkerchief up to his face, wiping away the blood where the briars had made free with his chin." '• Don't you believe them, aunt Pru !" cried Rip. " Mr. Swansdown was laughing all the time, — for we had a most an elegant fox-hunt, only it was all in the swamp, and the bushes would not let us see any thing !" " After all then, cousin Harvey," said Catharine, '• tell us seriously how this famous arbitration has ended." '• Most appropriately," said Harvey. " About forty years ago, the law suit began with the quest of a wild-goose, and, having ; jexercised the ingenuity of all the low-country lawyers in succes- ] jsion, during all this time, it has now turned into a fox-chase, and I ended by earthing a poor little harmless quadruped, precisely at 1 ithe place of beginning." " That's true," said Philly Wart, laughing, " the hole was as • Qearly as possible at the commencement of the first line laid off in the survey of the mill-dam. But, Miss Tracy," he continued, j [' you must not suppose that there was any design on our part in I butting up the fox this morning. This is not the time of the 'vear for such sport, because these animals have all young families to take care of, and it is deemed cruel to disturb them : but my logs happened to fall upon the trail of madam, as she was look- ing out for her breakfast. And so, off they went, Miss Catha- i-Ine, making excellent music. It was a cunning thing for the little animal, too, to take right up the swamp : for, besides the ^ind being in that direction, — which you know would carry the 212 MERRIMENT AND SOBRIETY scent away from the dogs. — she had the water to wash away the foot-prints ; and, in addition to this, she was leading them off, as fast as she could, from her den, which is a motherly trick these creatures have. But, you see. Miss Tracy, the more she ran the warmer she got ; and so, she left her scent upon the bushes and brambles. If you could have seen the dogs, you would have found them with their noses up, as unconcerned as if they had had her in view all the time. Presently, she got the foot of them so far, that she found she could get back to her nest before they could come up ; and so, she doubled beautifully down the swamp again, and straight to her hole, as fast as her legs could carry her. I knew what her trick was from the first ; and was, therefo]*e, on the look- out, which enabled me to reach her just as she entered it; aud there I defended her gallantly against the invasion of her ene- mies." " For which you deserve the thanks of all mothers, Mr. Wart," said my cousin Lucretia. " And of all sportsmen, too," said Harvey Riggs. " For a fox that is hunted and runs away, May live to be hunted another day." Philly Wart had become exceedingly animated in the course of the recital above detailed, and notwithstanding it was ludi- crously out of place, considering the person to whom it was ad-, dressed, Philly was too full of his subject to let it drop. His; description was* accompanied by a vivacious and expressive ges- ticulation, that prevented him from eating his dinner ; and Catha-; rine had become so much amused with his manner, that she listened with a marked approbation, and encouraged him to pro-; ceed, by frequent nods of her head. ' It is quite lawful and customary, Miss Tracy," continued' the counsellor, " to hunt young foxes at this season, at moon light; and it is a fine sport. T a.ssure you ! If y■ ibition to figure on the theatre of life, and quietly observing the tumult of affairs from a position too distant to be reached by the * isordid passions that sway the multitude ; or, in other words, he i ! discourses like an easy and cultivated country-gentleman. It was in summing up a train of reflections, in this temper, upon the general aspect of the great political movements of the day, that he concluded — as we broke up our party — " Well, Mr. "Wart, you think better of these things than I do ; but, to my mind, there is no satisfaction in this survey. Look which way I ma}^, to the one side or to the other, to me it seems all equally vile and contemptible ; and so, good night J" CHAPTER XXV. THE OLD SCHOOL. I AROSE on the following morning soon after day-light, and was quietly descending the staircase when I was saluted by the voices of Lucy and Vic, who at this early hour were equipped for the day. They were looking out with some eagerness at the clouds. A heavy rain had fallen during the night, but the eastern hori- zon was nevertheless tinted with the rosy flush of morning, and the indications were favorable to the dispersion of the few black vapors that still rolled across the heavens. My little cousins soon made me acquainted with the cause of their early appear- ance. They were to accompany us to the Brakes, and had planned it to ask me to take a seat with them in the carriage, telling me, that if I did not go with them they would be obliged to take Rip, which, as Vic said, " Rip never did like." I assented heartily to their proposal ; and upon this they fell to dancing round me, and amusing me with a great deal of prat- tle. They insisted upon my going with them to the stable yard, "just to make sure that uncle Carey was cleaning up the car- riage, and getting ready." Here we found the old menial with a bucket of water and sponge, busily employed in the task the lit- tle girls had coaxed him to perform. He was affectionately obliging to his young mistresses, and spoke to them in a tone THE OLD SCHOOL. 217 that showed how largely he partook of the family interest in them, although it was sufficiently apparent that he deferred but little to their authority. ^ As soon as breakfast was over, Carey brought the coach to the door. It was a capacious old vehicle, that had known better days, being somewhat faded in its furniture, and still clothed with its original cover of yellow oil-cloth, of which, I suppose, it had lever been stripped, although now arrived at the latter stage of ts existence. The plainness of this part of the equipage was Lompensated in a pair of high-mettled, full-blooded chestnut dorses, in excellent keeping, but rather light in comparison with ihe size of the coach to which they were harnessed. Meriwether having unexpectedly received intelligence that •endered his presence necessary at a remote part of the farm, .yas obliged to forego his visit to the Brakes ; and Ned was ac- cordingly commissioned by him to make his excuses and act as lis representative. This matter being arranged, and all things oeing in readiness for our departure, Mr. Wart, attended by Ned Hazard and Rip, set out on horseback ; whilst the two little ^irls and myself took our seats in the carriage, and old Carey, nounting the box, put off his horses at a brisk speed. As we ascended the hill, and came in full view of the man- ion house at the Brakes, we could observe Mr. Tracy walking >ackward and forward with his arms behind him, on a level plat kt the door : and as soon as our party attracted his attention, he ^•as seen to halt, with his hat raised off his head, and held in such. , manner as to shield his eyes from the sun, until we got near nough for recognition. There was an unwonted alacrity in his alutations : and he helped Lucy and Vic from the carriage him- elf, with a gallantry that showed the cheerful state of his feel- ngs, not forgetting to take a kiss from each as he handed them the door. 10 218 THE OLD SCHOOL. When we entered the - house, Harvey Riggs and Bel were observed walking leisurely up the lawn, from the direction of the river. At a i^arlor window sat Catharine and Prudence, in ar absorbing conversation with Mr. Swansdown, who was apparent!} regaling his interested auditors with a narrative of deep attraction and perhaps it may have been an idle preconception of mine, bul I thought Prudence, especially, listened with a more intelligeni and changeful sympathy than was her wont. What was the topic. and in what language urged, I am altogether ignorant ; but to mj prejudiced vision it seemed that either the story or the speaker had charmed " never so wisely." In describing the mansion house at the Brakes, in a formei chapter, I have informed my reader that it is without architect- ural embellishment. One front faces the river, from which it is separated by a long, sloping, and unshaded hill. At the foot ol this slope the bank of the river is some eight or ten feet above the water, and is clothed with a screen of native shrubbery. The road winds round the hill from the river, so as to approach the house on the opposite side. This front of the dwelling differs widely from that I have described. Its plainness is relieved by a portico supported by stuccoed columns, massive and rough, and over which the second story of the building projects, so as to form a small apartment that has rather a grotesque appearance, — as it may be said to resemble a box perched upon a four-legged stool. This superstructure is built of wood painted blue, though a good deal weather-beaten ; and it is illustrated with a large bow- window in the front, surrounded with a heavy white cornice filled with modillions and other old-fashioned ornaments: it" strikes the observer as an appendage to the edifice of questiona- ble utility, and as somewhat incongruous with the prevailing sim- plicity that characterizes the exterior of the mansion. A range of offices, old, and interpolated with modern additions, sweeps THE OLD SCHOOL. 219 rectangularly along the brow of the hill, and shows the ample provision made for the comforts of solid housekeeping. The whole of this quarter is thickly embowered with trees, amongst which the line of lombardy poplars, that I have before had occa- sion to notice, is marshalled along the avenue, from the mansion i downwards, like a gigantic array of sylvan grenadiers. Over all !thc grounds in the vicinity of the buildings an air of neatness prevails, even to an extent that might be called pedantic. The interior of the house is in full contrast with i;g outward appearance, and shows the relics of a costly grandeur. The rooms are large, and decorated with a profusion of wood-work, chiselled into the gorgeous forms of ancient pomp. The doors have huge pediments above them with figures carved upon the entablatures ; garlands of roses, as stiff as petrifactions, are moulded, with a formal grace, upon the jambs of the window-frames ; and the mantel-pieces are thickly embossed with odd little mythological |monst«ers, as various as the metamorj^hoses of Ovid. The walls are enriched with a fretted cornice, in the frieze of which cupids, {satyrs and fauns are taking hands, and seem to be dancing country dances through thickets of nondescript vegetables. The fire- places are noble monuments of ancient hospitality, stately and vast, and on either side of them are deep recesses, surmounted by ornamented arches, and lighted by windows that look out from the gable-ends of the building. The furniture of these apartments retains the vestiges of |a corresponding splendor. The tables seem to have turned into liron from age, and are supported upon huge, crooked legs ; the ichairs, sofas, firescreens, and other articles of embellishment, though damaged by time, still afford glimpses of the lacker and varnish that gave effulgence to their days of glory. Amongst these remnants of the old time I recognized, with an affectionate jinterest, two elliptical mirrgrs,^ — no doubt the marvel of the 220 THE OLD SCHOOL. country when tliey first reached this strand, — set in frames of tarnished gilt, and curiously carved into droll resemblances of twisted serpents, each swallowing his own tail. I must return from this digression to continue my narrative of the important affair that had now brought us to the Brakes. From an early hour, Mr. Tracy had been in a state of agitated spirits with the thoughts of the arbitration. Although his zeal had latterly subsided, it had been waked up by the recent movements, like a snake at the return of spring. The old gentleman rises from his bed, at all seasons, with the dawn of day ; but this morning he was observed to make an unusual stir. It was remarked that his dress was even more scrupulously adjusted than ordinarily ; the ruffles of his sleeves protruded over his hands with a more pregnant strut ; his cravat was drawn, if possible, tighter round his neck ; and his silvery hair was combed back into the small, taper cue that played upon his cape, with a sleekness that indicated more minute attention to personal decoration than the family were accustomed to expect. He is the very picture of a man for a law-suit. His tall figure and care-worn face have such an emaciated air \ and when to this is added the impression made by his tight, brown, kerseymere i small-clothes, and his long, stocking-like boots, buttoned by straps • to his knees, and the peculiar capacity of stride which this costume : discloses, we have the personation of a man eminently calculated 1 to face the biting blast of the law, or to worm through the intri- cacies of a tangled and long-winded suit, with the least possible personal obstruction. Harvey Riggs told us that Mr. Tracy had scarcely eaten any ; breakfast, being in that fidgety state of mind that takes away the the appetite ; and, what was a little out of his common behavior, he was even jocose upon the existing relations betwixt himself and Meriwether. It was also observable that, notwithstanding riii: OLD SCHOOL. 221 this elevation of .spirits, he occasionally broke out into a slight expression of peevishness when any thing balked his humor. It fell upon Ned Hazard to encounter one of those passing rebukes, as will appear in the dialogue I am about to detail. Mr. Tracy has reached that age at which old persons lose sight of the true relations of society. He considers all men, not yet j rrived at middle age. as mere hair-brained boys ; and does not scruple, especially in matters of business, to treat them accord- ingly. I believe he is of opinion that Frank Meriwether himself has scarcely attained to manhood. But as for Ned Hazard, or even Harvey lliggs, he thinks them not yet out of their teens. This temper is apparent when the old gentleman experiences any contradiction; for he is then apt to become dogmatic and peremp- tory, and sometimes a little harsh. But he likes Ned very well ; and frequently, when he is in good humor, laughs at his pranks, until the tears come into his eyes, and roll over his dry cheeks, like vinegar trickling over a piece of leather. Now it happens that Ned stands precisely in that category which renders him nervously solicitous to appear well in the eyes of Mr. Tracy. He is sadly aware that Bel's father has taken up an idea that he is a thoughtless, unballasted youth, and utterly deficient in those thrifty business-habits which are most pleasing to the contemplation of age ; and he is therefore perpetually making awkward attempts to produce a different opinion. Myl reader has perhaps already had occasion to remark that Ned's character is utterly inauspicious to the management of such a matter. He is purblind to all the consequences of his own con- duct, and as little calculated to play the politician as a child. When tfic gentlemen of our party had gathered together, Mr. Tracy was anxious that no time should be lost to the prejudice of the principal concern of our meeting ; and having announced this, he was approached by Ned, who, with a solemn face, — endeavoring 222 THE OLD SCHOOL I to assume as much of the look of a negotiator as he was able, — made a formal communication of the cause of Meriwether's ab- sence, and of the arrangement that he himself was to appear as the representative of Swallow Barn. Mr. Tracy did not like it ; he could not imagine how any domestic engagement could claim precedence over one so important as this. He was on the verge of saying so ; but, as if struck with a sudden thought, he paused, stared at Ned, without uttering a word, grasped his nether lip with his left hand, and fell into a study. Ned stood by, looking as respectfully as he could. The conclusion was favorable ; for the old gentleman brightened up, and delivered himself, with some hesitation, pretty much in this way : — " Well, well ! It is all right that you should give your atten- tion to this matter. We old folks labor altogether for the young ; and they that come after us must live and learn. I wish I could make my B-alph feel the interest he ought to take in this sub- ject ; but he is wayward, and plays his own game. As to you, Mr. Hazard, although you are young and thoughtless, and not of an age to take care of your property, tliis may be said to be your own case, sir, seeing that you are the heir to Swallow Barn under your father's will. And I am told Mr. Meriwether is clearing the track for you ; he is wiping off the incumbrances. So it is your own case you have to look after." " For my part, Mr. Tracy," replied Ned, with a timid defer- ence, and with a singular want of shrewdness, considering the person he addressed, " I have never seen the use of this contro- versy. Our family ought to have given up to you, rather thau trouble the courts with such an inconsiderable matter. I have always expressed my willingness to end the affair by making you a deed." " Young gentleman," said Mr. Tracy, rather briskly, and looking with an air of surprise at Ned, '• you reckon without THE OLD SCHOOL. 223 your host if you consider this a matter of acres at all. Your father, sir, and I had an honest difference of opinion ; he thought he was right ; I thought I was ; and we both knew that the other would expend twenty times the value of the land, before he would take an inch of it but as a matter of right. I am not accustomed to take up or put down opinions upon light grounds. In such matters I do not count the cost. A deed, sir !" — '- 1 beg pardon," replied Ned. confusedly, and alarmed by this flash of temper, which set him, like a boy who has mistaken ■ the mood of his master, to a speedy recantation. " You mistook my meaning, — I meant to say — " '• Yes, yes," interrupted the old gentleman, relapsing into the opposite tone of kindness, as if aware that his feelings had been unnecessarily roused, " so I suppose, my young friend ! You are but a novice in the world ; but you know Isaac Tracy well enough to be quite certain that he does not fling away five hun- dred pounds, — aye, twice five hundred, — to maintain his title to a bed of splatterdocks, unless there was something at the bottom of the dispute that belonged to his character." This remark was concluded with an emotion that amounted almost to a laugh ; and so completely reassured Ned, as to em- bolden him to venture upon a joke. " Such character," said Ned, " is like the goose in the fable ; it lays golden eggs." '• And there is nothing in it when you cut it up, Mr. Edward, that is what you were going to say," added the old gentleman, greatly amused with the remark. " You are a facetious young gentleman. You say pretty sharp things now and then, Ed- ward, and don't spare such old codgers as I, ha, ha !" he con- tinued, laughing, and tapping Ned familiarly on the back. " Why, what a plague ! Here we are wasting our time with this merry Ned Hazard, when we ought to be at our business. Dogs 224 THE OLD SCHOOL. take you, for a jester as you are !" he exclaimed, jogging Ned with his elbow. " You will trick us out of our proper vocation with a laugh, would ye ! Harvey, call Mr. Swausdown from tho parlor : tell him he must leave the women ; we have our hands full." After this burst from the old gentleman, he opened a door that admitted us to a small room which he calls his study. It is an inner shrine that is deemed a prohibited spot to the mem- bers of the household, as the key of it is generally carried in Mr. Tracy's own pocket. This apartment is so characteristic of its inhabitant, that I must take advantage of my introduction to it, to make my reader acquainted with its general appearance. Some heavy volumes in quarto, such as constituted the guise in which the best authors of Queen Anne's time were accustomed to be exhibited to the public, were scattered over a range of shelves that occupied one side of the room. There was one large window only to the apartment, through which the sun flung a broad light, that served to heighten the forlorn impression made by the obsolete and almost shabby air of the furniture ; on the sill of this window a collection of pods and garden seeds were laid out to be dried. In another quarter of the room, a shelf was appropriated to the accommodation of a motley assemblage of old iron, of which the principal pieces were rusty hinges, bolts, screws, bridle-bits, stirrups, and fragments of agricultural imple- ments ; and upon the floor, below these, stood a chest of tools. The fireplace had a ragged appearance, being strewed with scraps of paper and other rubbish, and upon one side of it was placed an old-fashioned secretary, with a lid like the roof of a house. One or two paintings, too obscure to be guessed at, hung over the mantel-piece ; and on the wall near the door, was suspended an almost illegible map of Virginia. A small table was opened out in the middle of the floor, and provided with a writing appara- THE OLD t^^JIIOOL. 225 IS ; around tliis table were three or four broad, high-backed lahogany chairs, with faded crimson seats stuck round with brass lils. The cobwebs on \arious parts of the walls, and the ne- iected aspect of the room, showed it to be an apartment not luch resorted to or used by the old gentleman, except as a mere jlace of deposit for lumber. When Mr. Swansdown, at Harvey's summons, made his ap- earance, our friend Philly Wart indulged in some little raillery pon the mischances of the day before, and accused the sentimen- d gentleman of deserting him ; but finding old Mr. Tracy al- 3ady provided with a mass of documents, and standing ready, ith spectacles on nose, to plunge into the middle of affairs, the iveral parties sat down and addressed themselves to their tasks ke men determined to make an end of matters. Ned put on a ircical gravity, and began to rummage over the papers, as if he as thoroughly acquainted with every document in the bundle, ntil Mr. Tracy, raising his glasses up to his forehead, asked im, with a fretful earnestness, what he was in search of. This imple interrogatory, and the look that accompanied it, so discon- erted the representative of Swallow Barn, that he was obliged 3 rejjly, for lack of something better to say, that '• he was look- ag for nothing in particular !" " I thought so, by your haste," said the old gentleman, as he Tought his spectacles back to their original position. Ned, to onceal his confusion, picked up a large sheet of parchment, and et about reading its contents regularly through from the begin- ning- As soon as we saw this little wittenagemote fairly at work jvith the lawsuit, Harvey and myself quietly stole away, not, liowever, without receiving a glance from Ned Hazard, who turned jiis head and gave us a look of sly perplexity as we disappeared lit the door. 10* 226 THE OLD SCHOOL. The ladies had retired to their rooms. Ralph had takei away our young cavalier Rip to the river ; and being thus left tt ourselves, Harvey and I sat down at the front door, attracted b; the commanding view of the scenery, and the appearance of ; large ship that, with all her canvas spread, was winging her wa; round the headlands of the James River, towards the Atlantic. In this situation, Harvey gave me the particulars of th scene I am about to describe in the next chapter. CHAPTER XXVI. THE RAKING HAWK, I SAID that when we arrived at The Brakes, Bel and Harvey Riggs were seen approaching the house from a distance. The morning was still cool from the evaporation of the dew before the rays of the sun. A pleasant breeze swept across the lawn from the direction of the river. Bel was leaning upon Harvey's arm in earnest conversation ; her face shaded by a kind of hood^of green silk, and her dress such as ladies wear in the earlier part of ithe day, before they perform the more studied labors of the toi- tlet ; it was of a light fabric, neatly fitted to her person. Exer- cise had thrown a healthy hue over her cheek ; and the fresh breeze fluttering amongst the folds of her dress imparted an idea of personal comfort that accorded with the coolness of the cos- tume, and the blooming countenance of its wearer. It did not escape my notice, that her foot, which is exceedingly well shaped, appeared to great advantage in an accurately fitted shoe, bound to her ankle with black ribbons laced across stockings of spotless white. Her exterior was altogether remarkable for a becoming simplicity of attire, and seemed to speak that purity of taste which is the most beautiful and attractive quality in the charac- ter of a woman. I must admonish my reader that, as my design in this work 228 THE RAKING HAWK. has been simply to paint in true colors the scenes of domestic life as I have found them in Virginia, I do not scruple to record whatever has interested me ; and if, perchance, my story should not advance according to the regular rules of historico-dramatic composition to its proper conclusion, I do not hold myself ac- countable for any misadventure on that score. I sketch with a careless hand ; and must leave the interest I excite — if such a thing may be — to the due development of the facts as they come within my knowledge. For the present, I have to tell what Harvey Riggs and Bel had been concerning themselves about, before we met them in the hall. If any thing is to grow out of it hereafter, it is more than I know. It had been hinted to me from two or three quarters, but principally by Ned Hazard, and I believe I have said as much to my reader in some former chapter, that Bel Tracy is a little given to certain romantic fancies, such as country ladies who want '■ excitement and read novels are apt to engender. Her vivacity and spirit show themselves in the zeal with which she ever culti-: vates the freaks that take possession of her mind. For some ' time past, she had devoted her time to training a beautiful marsh- hawk, a bird resembling the short-winged hawk known by the •' name of the hen-harrier in the old books, and had nurtured it with her own hand from its callow state. By an intimacy of one " year she had rendered this bird so docile, that, at her summons,!' he would leave a large wicker cage in which he was ordinarily imprisoned, and which was suspended from an old mulberry-tree«; in the yard, to perch upon her wrist. The picturesque associa- ' tion of falconry with the stories of an age that Walter Scott has i rendered so bewitching to the fancy of meditative maidens, had' inspired Bel with an especial ardor in the attempt to reclaim her| bird. In her pursuit of this object she had picked up somei gleanings of the ancient lore that belonged to the art; and, fan-' T II i: II A K 1 N G II A \V K . 229 astic as it may seem, began to think that her unskilful efforts H.ild be attended with success. Her hawk, it is true, had not eu taught to follow his quarry, but he was manned — as Bel aid of him — in all such exercises as made him a fit companion a- a lady. She had provided him with leather bewets, that but- ned round his legs, and to each of these was attached a small ilver bell. A silver ring, or varvel, was fitted to one leg, and n it was engraved the name of her favorite, copied from some Id tale, " Fairbourne," with the legend attached, " I live in my idy's grace." I know not what other foppery was expended up- n her minion ; but I will warrant he went forth in as conceited rray as his '• lady's grace " could devise for him. A lady's ivorite is not apt to want gauds and jewels. Immediately after breakfast, Bel stole forth alone to Fair- :. ourne's perch. She held in her hand a pair of leather jesses, a 1 3ash, and a ball of fine cord, which she termed a creance. Now, be thought that had taken possession of her brain was. to slip , ff with Fairbourne into the field, and give him a flight ; a privi- . ^ge that he had never enjoyed during the whole period of his Li [iraldom. Bel supposed that by fastening the jesses to his legs, ■;' -or I should say, speaking like one versed in the mystery, his rms, — and the leash to the jesses, and the creance to that, Fair- ourne would be as secure in the empyrean as on his perch : she ad only to manage him as a boy manages his kite. Her pur- . lose, however, was to try the first experiment alone, and, upon r rS success, she designed to surprise her visitors, as well as the imily, with the rare entertainment of a hawking scene. As she stood under the mulberry-tree, looking at Fairbourne ^ ring at the limb of a pullet, or, in other words, whetting his , oracious appetite with the raw leg of a chicken, and had just J latched the morsel from his beak to make him the more keen, ^i [arvey Biggs accidentally came into the porch, and, stooping 230 THE RAKING HAWK. I down, picked up from the floor a strange resemblance of a bir compacted of leather and feathers. "What child's toy is this, Bel?" cried he, loud enough f startle the lady with the question. " What crotchet have you i your head now ?" "Pray, cousin Harvey, come this way," said she. turnin round with the hawk upon her hand. " It is my lure ; bring to me, for I want your help. I am going to give Fairbourne holiday. You shall see him presently dabbling his wing in yoi der cloud." Harvey approached with the lure in his hand ; and Bel, pa ting the bird upon the back, as he alternately, stretched out fir i one wing, and then the other, along his leg, — in the action knovj by the name of mantling. — explained her whole design to h cousin. Then binding on the jesses, with the leash and cream | each made fast to the other, she sallied out upon the lawn, attendi i by her squire, until she reached a spot at a distance from any trel, " the [world would be sadly in want of romances. Why, : ousin, it is impossible for him to be in earnest long enough to ■y^ um up his own thoughts upon the subject." ' " How little do you know," cried Harvey, " of my poor friend ;ed !" , " Know him, cousin !" exclaimed Bel, laughing, ''• you won't |e so rash as to say Ned Hazard is a man of mystery? Why he 5 mirth itself." " You mistake his madness for mirth, Bel ; he is distracted, |nd, therefore, unaccountable for his actions." '• You are as mad as he, cousin Harvey. That is a pretty 'nd of love that plays off such merry-andrew tricks as Ned's lummery, with you to back him ! Your tragedy of the Babes ^ p the Wood, and your serenades under our windows, look very ■luch like the doings of a distracted lover ! Give me a man of cverential manners and dignity for a lover. Now, you know, Ned iins none of that, cousin." 236 THE RAKING HAWK. " Bel, you are as mad as either Ned or myself," exclaimed Harvey with a laugh, and taking both of Bel's hands ; - you will marry some grave rogue or dull pedant, after all !" " Cousin Harvey, I will not be catechized any longer," inter- rupted Bel impatiently ; " here I come to fly a hawk, and lo, you engage me in a parley about Ned Hazard !" '• Well," replied Harvey, " I have discharged my duty. I see* Ned is in a bad way. Poor devil ! he ought never to have fall^ in love. But it was not his fault. I thought it but just to teU you what I feared. Ned will leave us : and who knows but bc| may take another trip around the Horn ! He will then throii' himself into the great struggle for freedom in that hemisphere become a general, of course ; push his conquests across the Andes and perhaps, reaching the heights of Chimborazo, will fall in somd splendid battle, having first engraved with his sword the name oj the cold Bel Tracy upon the ice of the glacier. And there h I will leave that mighty mountain to tell posterity how burninji was his love, how frozen was his mistress ! NoW; there's dignit;' and superlative sentiment both for you ! Let Swansdown hincj self beat that if he can !" " Why what an irreclaimable jester are you !" cried Bel ; ** do not wonder that Edward Hazard should be so little seriou with such a companion !" I " Then, Bel, you do not like him?" ' " On the contrary," replied Bel, " I like him exceedingly as well as a brother. But depend upon it, I cannot entertain him in any other relation, until perhaps — " " He has learned to be more sentimental and scrupulous :■ his behavior," interrupted her cousin. [ " At least," said Bel, in a more serious manner, and evident as if she felt what she said, " until he ceases to jest upon me." "That's in confidence," said Harvey; "I understand yC; j THE RAKING HAWK. 237 s'ed has some schooling to go through yet. At all events, he mst not leave Swallow Barn." " If you are in earnest, cousin, — for indeed I do not know how 3 take you, — and he thinks of such a thing, I should be very jrry for it," said Bel. During this conversation, Bel had taken Harvey's arm, and icy had wandered towards the bank of the river, and from icnce homeward, so much engrossed with the topics that Harvey ad brought into discussion, that Bel gradually forgot her hawk, I od fell into a confidential communion upon a subject that was earer to her feelings than she chose to confess. The particu- irs of this further discourse, which was continued until they ad reached the house, after our arrival at The Brakes, was not il related to me by Harvey ; but the impression made upon his lind was, that Ned Hazard had not taken the pains to con- iliate Bel's favor, which the value of the prize deserved. He id not doubt that she had an ajQfection for him ; but still, she >oke as if there were prejudices to be overcome, and scruples to e conquered, which stood in the way of her decision. Harvey's ►ject, under all his levity of manner, was to ascertain whether ed's quest was hopeless or otherwise ; and he had therefore 'ailed himself of the adventure of the hawk, to draw her thoughts jito the current indicated in the above conversation. His con- jusion from it all was, that Ned must either reform his behav- >r towards Bel, or relinquish his pretensions. Harvey added, Ned is falling rapidly into that privileged intimacy that is fatal 9 the pretensions of a lover. This jesting, careless friendship Jill lodge him, in a short time, high and dry upon a shoal in hei 'gard, where he will become a permanent and picturesque land- ark. He will acquire the enviable distinction of a brother, as le begins to call him already, and he will be certain to bo ivited to her wedding:." CHAPTER XXVII. THE AWARD. 11 Whilst Harvey and myself "were still discoursing over the mi\ ters I have imperfectly brought to my reader's attention in t| last chapter, Ned Hazard opened the door of the study, and cai towards us, with an animated step and a countenance full of mi riment. He told us, with much boasting, of his own particij tion in the exploit, and of the inestimable value of his servic^ that the old family lawsuit, which had been so tempest-tost a weather-beaten, was at length happily towed into port : that t Apple-pie was once more elevated to the rank of a front stream, upon whose banks the whilom hostile clans of the Trai! and the Hazard might now assemble in peace : that after wadi through a sea of manuscript to oblige Mr. Tracy, and heari many wise legal apothegms from his lips, and turning Swa" down's brain topsy-turvy with points and discriminations, mer( to prevent him from marring the decision, Mr. "Wart had S" ceeded in bringing the matter to a close, and was now busy drawing up a formal judgment upon the case. " Philly," C( • tinned Ned, " is like to suffer injury from retention. It is » much as he can do to prevent himself from bursting out int(. horse-laugh at every line he writes. But he is, I believe, soi> what overawed by Mr. Tracy, who takes the whole matter ^ THE AWARD. 239 gravely as if it were a state business. The best of it is, Swans- jdown is in doubt as to the propriety of the decision, and, with I k^ery little encouragement, would bring in a verdict against The Brakes. Philly's whole endeavor, for the last hour, has there- fore been to mystify the case in such a manner as to keep Swans- ,down from insisting upon the inquiry, whether the mill-pond [oozed away in a series of years, or was carried of by some violent accident. Now, you know it is a fact of common notoriety, that it was swept off in a tremendous flood. Philly, finding Swans- down likely to dwell on this circumstance, has made a masterly diversion upon a point of law that has happily quieted the gentle- man's scruples. He says, the act of God works no man injury, and that if the dam has been swept away suddenly, it makes no difference, because it would have wasted away at any rate, by this time ; and that it is extremely probable it was very much dimin- ished before the flood ; that if, therefore, it was not an absolute, imperceptible decrease, it was quasi a decrease of that nature. I think Philly has written something of this sort in his report. This jargon has so confounded Swansdown, as to set him to gaz- ing at the ceiling in a brown study, and has thrown Mr. Tracy into an ecstasy of admiration at Philly's learning and acuteness. All this time, however. Mr. "Wart has had his mouth puckered up with repressed laughter, which so affected me, that I could not remain in the room. I have drunk half a dozen glasses of water, and have been thrumming my fingers against the window-panes ever since this debate has been in agitation, merely to escape no- tice. Mr. Tracy has, in consequence, given me some sharp re- bukes for my inattention to the momentous principles that Philly has been expounding. In short, I was obliged tc make my es- cape." " Will they admit bystanders," asked Harvey, " to be present at the deliberation ?" Iffl 240 THE AWARD. '• Oh ! cheerfully," replied Ned; '• but you must be very care-flhii ful how you behave. Mr. Tracy is in the most nervous state im-iflli aginable. He is greatly delighted with the result of the trial ; but I don't think he is quite satisfied with Philly's waiving aDifljiil opinion upon the points of law connected with the deed. It is aHiJil little curious to observe how pertinaciously the old gentlemanfM^li adheres to his notion of the facts. He has twenty times assertedjj that the site of the mill-dam was never surveyed : and there thayj have the very document of the survey itself, which is shown tC' him every time he makes the assertion; he looks at it, and, sa we all suppose, is convinced; — but, in the next minute, commen, ces anew with the same objection. I remarked that at length hi' began to get out of humor at this sort of contradiction." " The old gentleman," said Harvey, " is turning a little soui; with age. His temperament is growing chilly; his constitutioi; resembles that waterish, gravelly soil that you see sometimes i around a spring, where nothing grows but sheep-sorrel." In a few moments we all repaired to the study. Philly War and Swansdown were standing together, at the moment of ou: entrance, in one corner of the room. The former held in his hand a sheet of paper upon which the award was written, and wa silently reading it over, whilst his features expressed that comi' perturbation which a man surprised by some droll incident in ; church might be supposed to wear. He looked at us, upon ou approach, from beneath his spectacles, as his chin rested upoi his waistcoat, and smiled, but read on. Swansdown's face wor that air of gravity and doubt, which I can fancy was legible ii the countenances of the signers of the Declaration of Indepen dence, after tliey had put their names to that important docu ment. At the table, with his back to these two, sat Mr. Trac} with a silk handkerchief folded and laid upon his head, to guar him against the breeze that blew in through the window. Hi i THE AWARD. 241 ^ hands were spread flat upon the board, in such a manner as to • throw his elbows directly outwards from his body ; and he was ^ casting a keen glance over the field of papers that lay unfolded ^ jbefore him. As soon as he was aware of our approach, he raised • his head, looked at us with an expression of good humor, and re- " nnarked, with his usual slow and distinct utterance, — '• Our friends have had a serious job of it to-day," nodding to- wards the papers strewed over the table, " but I believe, by dint • of perseverance, we have reached the bottom at last." ^ We offered him our congratulations upon the event ; but he - absolutely refused to allow us to express any pleasure at his suc- ■ eess, lest it might be considered as triumphing over his /"riend Meriwether. He declared that moderation in victory was a sen- '^ biment that he desired particularly to evince in this case ; and he '- therefore checked our advances with a gravity that made us - jlaugh. The old gentleman, however, was too full of his victory |to preserve his consistency in this humor ; for when Harvey feiggs insinuated a compliment to his judgment, by reminding jbim that he had frequently predicted the result, whenever this ' base should come to be fairly considered, he laughed outright for :• some moments, with his hand across his eyes, and concluded by r> saying— ;: " I am not apt to take up fancies unadvisedly. I generally 51 reflect upon my grounds. But, dogs take our friend Wart ! he is for pruning the case so much, that he must needs slur over all ! iny law touching the phraseology of the deed. Ha, ha, ha ! I pee his drift : he will spare our friend Meriwether. Well, well ! it is quite immaterial what shot brings down the pigeon, so that we get him, ha, ha, ha !" i " A good judge," said Mr. Wart, speaking from the spot J where we first found him, •• will never decide more than the case ; [requires. I am not apt to deal in obiter dicta." 11 242 THE AWARD. " The commonwealth has done you injustice, Mr. Wart," sai Mr. Tracy ; " you should have been on the bench long ago." "I am afraid my chance has gone for ever now," replie Philly, " for here Mr. Swansdown and myself have overruled tl opinions of the whole Court of Appeals." : " These courts are obstinate bodies," said the old gentlemar' " it is a difficult thing to bring them to reason, when they ha>' once got a fantasy into their brains. And now, Mr. Wart, prjj favor the gentlemen with the reading of your award." " I will," said Philly, " if I can make out my own scrawl. has been a rapid business. We have administered justice velis < vatiSj I may say, considering the nature of the case, and the tiiii we have been at it." Upon this, Philly began to read aloud. The document in 1 hand, although hastily prepared, was drawn out with all t) technical verbiage that belonged to the nature of such an instri ment. It gave a brief history of the controversy from the coi mencement, which part Philly ran over with a hurried voic but he assumed a more deliberate manner when he came to t grounds of the decision, stating, " that the said arbitrators, hs ing duly considered all and singular the letters, declarations ' writing, and other papers touching the exposition of the intent i the said parties, and their motives for making and receiving t said grant, and also duly considering the deeds appertain!: thereunto, and all other matters connected therewith, have r found it necessary to declare their opinion upon the true inte : and effect in law of the said deeds, by reason that certain fa( and matters in evidence have come to the knowledge of the sa' arbitrators, whereby the original proprietary rights and rclatio of the said parties litigant — " "I wish you would change that word 'litigant,' Mr. War said Mr. Tracy, who during the reading of the award sat -istcni .' ^•1 THE AWARD. 243 jyith fixed attention, and nodding his head, somewhat in the man- ner of one keeping time in a concert : " I don't like that word ; ^^1^ it would imply that Mr. Meriwether and myself have been liti- "Iwi ^iouSj which is too strong a term." Philly turned up his eyes with a queer expression, inclined «Si his head sidewise, and raised one shoulder so as to touch his ear. — "I wish you would say, ' of the parties laying claim to the and in dispute ;' I think that would be better." " As you please," replied Philly, approaching the table, and ilt-ering the phrase in conformity with this suggestion. — "Of the said parties claiming the laud in dispute," con- tinued the counsellor, " have grown to be dependent upon the 3rinciples of law brought into view by the said facts and matters in evidence : which said facts and matters in evidence show that ihe said mill-dam, herein abovementioned, was originally bounded by courses and distances, as laid off and described in the survey thereof by a certain Jeremiah Perkins, made under the direction Df the said Gilbert Tracy and Edward Hazard, as appears by the jaid survey filed in the proceedings in this case." " I don't think the site of the dam was laid off by course and distance," said Mr. Tracy, interrupting the lawyer. ,jj " The paper is here," replied Philly, stooping over the table, ,, ind producing it. ^ Mr. Tracy took it, and put it down again. " It must be a -: spurious document that," he remarked gravely. j The truth was, this paper, which had been always kept at ,( Swallow Barn, presented a fact that completely overthrew one of „ Mr. Tracy's strongest positions, namely, that as the deed granted J so much laud only as might be used by the dam, the portion granted was necessarily mutable, and incapable of being con- fined to specific boundaries. This document of the survey, there- fore, offended his sight whenever it was produced. And as it 244 THE AWARD. l had but recently been brought to his consideration, he had pon ' dered too long over the case, in its other aspects, to be able t( accommodate his conceptions to this new state of things. It wa • impossible to break the crust of his prejudices, which now eol veloped him like a suit of mail. | "I thought," said Philly, with a conciliatory inclination o| his head, '• we had settled this point before." ' "Aye, aye," replied the old gentleman, recollecting himsehj " go on, sir !" i — " And it hath also appeared that when the said grist-mD' fell into disuse and decay, the mill-dam aforesaid was graduall ;' drained of the water therein contained, by the action of wind an- weather, in such wise that, during the space of twenty-one yean ihe bed or site of the said dam became derelict by slow and in; perceptible degrees ; save and except that by a certain severe tenc! pest, about the period of the vernal equinox, in the year sever ' teen hundred and , the actual date not being precise!; known, a portion of the said dam was carried away ; which, bein the act of God, that doth no man harm, it is considered ought no to prejudice the rights of the parties ; and the more especially a it hath appeared to these arbitrators, that the said mill-dam ha before that time fallen into desuetude, and, notwithstanding th said tempest, would, in the nature of things, have dwindled dowr contracted, and wasted away into the present natural and origins channel of the said Apple-pie Branch. And further, it hath aj peared that neither of the said parties litigant — " " I will alter the word here also," said Philly, taking the per and inserting the same periphrasis as before. Mr. Tracy nodded, and the counsellor proceeded — — "Has had occasion, during the time aforesaid, to exercis any acts of ownership over the said land, seeing that the sam was barren and unproductive, and altogether unfit for an purpose of tillage, — " THK AWAIID. 245 '• True," said Mr. Tracy. — '-Therefore the said arbitrators, carefully wcigliing the aid several facts with full and ample consideration, and having eard all that the said Isaac Tracy on the one side, and Edward Hazard, for and on behalf of the said Francis Meriwether, on the other side, had to urge iu respect of their said several preten- sions — " '• Devilish little on behalf of Frank !" whispered Ned Hazard. — "Do, in virtue of the powers vested in them by this refer- ence, award, adjudge, and determine, for the complete and final ending of the said dispute, and for the quieting of actions pi all time to come, that the land so left by the recession of the waters as aforesaid, shall henceforth be deemed and taken as followeth, that is to saj ; all that piece or parcel of land lying eastwardly between the bank of the said Apple-pie Branch, as the same now exists, and the former margin of the said mill-dam, bounding on the line of the tract called the Brakes, is hereby declared to have reverted to the original proprietors of the said tract called the Brakes, to them and their heirs for ever : and that the main channel of the said Apple-pie Branch shall be the only true and established conterminous boundary line of the said tracts of the Brakes and Swallow Barn respectively." '• Very conclusive and satisfactory !" cried Mr. Tracy, rising from his chair. " There you are, gentlemen," said Philly, throwing the paper down upon the table, " exactly in statu quo ante helium. It is a great thing, Mr. Swansdown, to pacify these border feuds." " I have always permitted myself," replied the worthy thus addressed, -to indulge the hope that our intercession would prove advantageous to the permanent interests of the families. It has been a case, certainly, attended with its difficulties ; and has given rise to some curious and recondite principles of juris- prudence." 246 THE AWARD. " Very curious and recondite !" said Philly, looking archly : around him. " It has been a perfect drag-net case. We have 1 fished up a great deal of law, my dear sir!" " I confess I have been sadly puzzled," replied Swansdown, j " with the intricacies of this whole proceeding." ! " So have I," said Philly. " But you have had much the \ worst of it. For there, in the first placCj you were lost in the ; brambles ; then, you were soused in the mud ; and after that, i you were torn with briers : you have some of the marks upon your \ face yet. Then, you lost entirely our chase of the fox ; but I i believe you are not fond of that, sir ?" • j " These were trifles," replied the other. " I alluded to the ' conflicting opinions." I " I understood you," interrupted the lawyer. " It takes a ' good nose and a fleet foot to follow one of these little old-fashioned ' ejectments through its doublings." Saying this, Philly opened the door of the study, and walked t into the hall, wiping his spectacles with his handkerchief^ and ; casting strange and comic looks upon Hazard, Harvey, and myself, I who followed him. He was highly excited with the proceedings \ of the morning, and being relieved from the restraint of Mr. ! Tracy's presence, gave vent to his feelings by amusing remarks,.! and a sly, half-quiet, and half jocular demeanor, which never broke^^ out into any open fit of laughter, nor yet fell to the level of his ' ordinary calmness. i It was now the family dinner-hour, and the household asscm- j bled in one of the parlors, where the result of tlie arbitration was | made known, and gave rise to a great deal of animated conversa- tion. I The behavior of Mr. Tracy at the dinner-table was punctilious and precise. He was even more lavish than usual of the personal civilities that characterize his manners at all times ; and it was THE AWARD. 247 observable, that during the whole time that he mingled in the family groups where the decision which had just been made was a subject of constant recurrence, he never permitted an expression relating to it to escape his lips. He sat but a few moments after the cloth was drawn, leaving the table in the occupation of his company, and retired to the study, where he employed himself amongst the papers belonging to the law-suit. As the long afternoon wore away, the boundary line and all its concerns were forgotten ; and our party fell into the various amusements their situation afforded. At length, the hour came for our return to Swallow Barn. Prudence, at the persuasion of the ladies, had consented to remain during the night. Ned Haz- ard informed Mr. Tracy that he was requested by Meriwether to I invite the whole family, with Mr. Swansdown, to dinner at Swal- I low Barn the next day. The old gentleman expressed great pleasure in accepting the invitation, and the rest promised to keep the appointment without fail. Having dispatched these matters, Mr. "Wart and Rip mounted their horses, and rode slowly down the hill from the mansion. But just as Hazard, who had delayed a moment after his comrades, was leaving the door, his horse, grown restive by seeing his two companions moving off, after neighing, and tossing up his head, and champing his bit, made a sudden start, broke his bridle, and went off at full speed, leaping and flinging himself into wild and playful motions as he disappeared in the direction of the road. All pursuit was vain. And as it was apparent that he would make the best of his way to his own stable, Ned got into the car- riage with the little girls and myself ; and, followed by Wilful, we were wheeled off from the Brakes as rapidly as old Carey could urge his mettlesome cattle forward. CHAPTER XXVIIL THE GOBLIN SWAMP. n m The sun was not above half an'hour higli when we took our depar- , ture from the Brakes ; and the heat of the atmosphere was begin- i ; ning to yield to the partial distillation of the dew, and the slow ; invasion of the night breeze. The road lay principally along the \ river, upon a bank some ten or twelve feet above the tide, shaded ! with low black-jacks, dogwood, cedar, or tall pines. It occasionally ; digressed to head an inlet, or thread a brake ; and sometimes ! extended, with a single meandering track, through the neighboring ' fields, which were guarded, — according to a common arrangement in the Old Dominion, — by a succession of peculiarly inconvenient, rickety, and weather-worn gates, that dragged heavily upon their wooden hinges, and swung to again, with a misdirected aim at their awkward bolts, to the imminent peril of the tails of all way- faring animals that travelled through them. In a short time, we reached a point where the read turned <. -, abruptly from the river and took an inland direction, making a ' l circuit of a mile or more, to pass the famous Apple-pie, \7hich it does at some distance below the old mill, so conspicuous in my former sketches. At this turn Ned Hazard proposed that we | ^ should perform the rest of our journey on foot. He wished to show me the Goblin Swamp ; a region of marsh, about half a mile THE GO U LIN SWAMP. 240 distant, formed hy tlio diffusion of the Apple-pie over the flat grounds, near its confluence with the James River. An old road bad once traversed the swamp at this place ; and the remains of ihe causeway were yet, Ned afl&rmed, sufficiently solid to afford a DESsage to pedestrians ; besides, the Goblin Swamp showed to jreat advantage about twilight. We accordingly committed our little companions to the guar- lianship of Carey ; and, quitting the coach, entered a wood that )ordered the road, where we soon found ourselves involved in a abyriuth of young pine-trees springing up so close together as Imost to forbid a passage through them. The ground was trewed with a thick coat of pine-straw, — as the yellow sheddings f this tree are called, — so slippery as to render it difficult to walk iver it ; and the tangled branches caught in our clothes, and fre- uently struck our hats from our heads. But we succeeded at ast in gaining an obscure path, so much embowered in shade as be scarcely discernible. This conducted us through the mazes f the wood, and in a few moments we emerged upon the confines f an open country. Before us lay a plain, surrounded by forest which in front owered above a copse that sprang from an extensive marsh at the arther extremity of the plain. The earth was clothed with a lin vesture of parched grass ; and the still distinct furrows of ncient cornfields furnished proof that the tract had been, at some lemote period, under cultivation, but long since abandoned, per- aps on account of its sterility. A few clumps of meagre persim- lon-trees were scattered over this forsaken region, and deep Tillies, washed into the gravelly soil, exposed to view its signal overty. Somewhere near the middle of this open ground stood a soli- ary, low brick chimney, conspicuous for its ample fire-place, and urrounded by a heap of ruins, to which a more striking air of 11* 250 THE GOBLIN SWAMP. desolation was added by a luxuriant growth of weeds that taken root in the rank compost formed by the wreck of household timber. Amongst these relics of former habitation were the ves- tiges of a draw-well, choked by the wash of the land ; the weeds sprang from its mouth ; and the tall post, with the crotch in its upper extremity, still supported the long piece of timber thai balanced the bucket, according to a device yet in use in manj parts of the country. Immediately around the ruin, in what waf once the curtilage of the dwelling, a few crabbed fruit-trees, witl; chalky joints, and bowed down with years, flung their almost leaf i less and distorted limbs athwart the mouldering homestead f There were also to be seen, about fifty paces off, a black heap o I dross, and some faint traces of the nre of a former smithy, o ' which the evidence was more unequivocal in the remains of a door! on which was burnt the figure of a horse-shoe. ■ "When we arrived at this spot the sun was just peering, witlj his enlarged disk, through the upper branches of the trees, in tb; western horizon. The clouds were gorgeous with the golden an*| purple tints that give such magnificence to our summer evenings j and the waning light, falling on the volume of forest around ml communicated a richer gloom to its shades, and magnified thil gigantic branches of some blasted oaks on the border of the plsum} iitb as they were seen relieved against the clear sky. Long an«i distorted shadows fell from every weed, bush, and tree, and corj tributed, with the forlorn aspect of the landscape, to impress u- with an undefined and solemn sensation, that for a moment thrc , us into silence. Flights of crows traversed the air above ou heads, and sang out their discordant vespers, as they plied thei way to a distant roost ; the fish-hawk had perched upon the hig) est naked branch of the tallest oak, and at intervals was seen 1 stretch forth his wing and ruffle his feathers, as if adjusting b position for the night. All animated objects that inhabited th mt UK m H m ail THE GOBLIN SWAMP. 251 •egion seemed to be busy with individual cares ; aud the noctur- lal preparations for rest or prey resounded from every quarter. Hazard, taking advantage of the impression made by the ombre imagery around us, as we marched onward to the ruin, hrew out some hints that we were now upon a haunted spot, and )egan to converse in a lower tone, and walk closer to my side, nth an air of mystery and fear, put on to sort with the nature of he story he was telling. The ruin, he informed me, was formerly he habitation of Mike Brown, who had strange doings with the ^evil, and both Mike and his companion were frequently seen in he swamp after dark ; the negroes, he said, and many of the rhite people about the country, held this place in great terror ; rhich, he believed, was one reason why the road that formerly rossed the marsh at this place, had been disused. Certainly, he devil and Mike Brown could not have chosen a more secluded nd barren waste for their pranks. 1 At length we reached the opposite side of the plain, where it i)ecame necessary to halt, and examine more minutely our road. \"ed was under great embarrassment to discover the old causeway. Che shrubbery had grown up so thick as to render this a task of mcertain accomplishment. There were several paths leading uto the morass, made by the tramp of cattle. These so far perplexed my companion, that he was obliged to confess his igno- ance of the right way. We determined', however, to go on ; the pproaching night began already to darken our view, and the ludertaking seemed to be sufficiently perilous, even in daylight, kept pace with Hazard, and shared with him the difficulties of , path that at every step became more intricate ; until, at last, fe found ourselves encompassed by deep pools of stagnant water, vith a footing no better than that afforded by a mossy islet, carcely large enough for one person to stand upon, where we Ycre obliged to cling to the bushes for support ; whilst the soft 252 THE GOBLIN SWAMP. , texture of the earth yielded to our weight, and let in the watei above our shoe-tops. Here Ned began to swear that the place was strangely alfcerec • since he had last visited it, and to charge himself with a loss o memory, in not knowing better how to get through this wilder ness. He protested that Mike Brown or his comrade had be ; witched him, and brought him into this dilemma, as a punishmen" ', for his rashness. " I wish their devilships," he continued, " woulc i condescend to favor us with the assistance of one of their imps until we might arrive safely beyond the confines of their cursec dominion. What ho, good Mr. Belzebub !" he cried out jocu' larly, " have you no mercy on two foolish travellers ?" Ned had no sooner made this invocation, which he did at tht top of his voice, than we heard, at a distance from us, the indisl tinct rustling of leaves, as of one brushing through them, and th' frequent plash of a footstep treading through the marsh. Th'"; sounds indicated the movement of the object towards us, and ii became obvious that something was fast making its way to th : spot where we stood. ' "Truly," said Ned, " that Mr. Belzebub is a polite and civi' demon. He scarce has notice of our distresses, before he come: himself to relieve them." , By this time a grotesque figure became faintly visible throug.i' the veil of twigs and branches that enveloped us. All that w could discern was the murky outline of something resembling man. His stature was uncommonly low and broad ; apparentl ; he wore no coat, and upon what seemed his head was an ode shaped cap, that fitted closely to his skull. " Who goes there?" cried Ned briskly, as the figure came t a halt, and looked wildly about ; " ghost or devil ?" " Neither," replied the figure, with a husky voice, — such 4 that of a man with a bad cold, — and at the same instant steppic THi: GOBLIN SWAMP. 253 in )oldly before us, " but an old sinner, who is a little of both : a ort of castaway, that has more gray hairs than brains ; yet not 14 much of a buzzard as to be ignorant that the round-about way ;si |s often the nearest home." Hereupon, the figure broke out into loud, hollow, and unnatural laugh. " What, Hafcn 1 Is it possible ? what, in the name of the aj |oul fiend, brings you here?" cried out Ned, recognizing the peaker, who was Hafen Blok, a short, thick-set, bandy-legged ersonage, bearing all the marks of an old man, with a strangely reather-beaten face, intersected by as many drains as the rugged lope of a sand-hill. He had a large mouth, disfigured with tobac- 0, and unprovided with any show of teeth. He had moreover a mall upturned nose, a low forehead, and diminutive eyes that ;listened beneath projecting brows of grizzled and shaggy hair. •"or a man verging upon sixty-five, his frame was uncommonly igorous ; although it was apparent that he was lame of one leg. lis headgear, which had attracted our attention even at a dis- ance, was nothing more than the remnant of an antique cocked |iat, now divested of its flaps, so as to form a close, round cap. lis scraggy throat was covered with a prurient beard of half an Qch in length, and laid open to view between the collar of a coarse »rown shirt. Across his arm was flung a coat of some homely iiaterial, with huge metal buttons appearing to view ; and his rowsers and shoes were covered with the mud of the swamp. A )elt crossed his shoulder, to which was suspended a bag of herap- m cloth ; and in his hand he bore two or three implements for Tapping. There was a saucy waggishness in his gestures, of vhich the efi"ect was heightened by the fox-like expression of his jjountenance, and the superlatively vagabond freedom of his man- lers. " You are well met, Hafen," continued Ned. '• The devil of the swamp could never have sent us a better man. How are we to get through the bog ?" 254 THE GOBLIN SWAMP. " It is easy enough, Mister Ned Hazard, for a traveller wh knows a tussock from a bulrush," replied Hafen. " And pray, how old should he he to arrive at that kno\^ ledge?" " He should be old enough to catch a black snake in the wate: Mister Ned ; or, at least, he ought to have cut his eye-teeth," sai Hafen, with another of his strange, hollow laughs. " Save your jest for dry land, old fellow !" interrupted Hazarc " and tell us plainly how we shall find our way to Swallow Bar without going round." " They who have the folly to get in, ought to carry wit enough with them to get out," replied Hafen dryly. '*- '• Come, old gentleman," said Ned, with a tone of entreats " we shall take an ague if you keep us here. It grows late ; air if we can save a mile by crossing the swamp, who knows bi you may be all the better for it when we get safe to the oth(' side?" " You see, sir," said Hafen, with more respect in his manm; than before, " a fool's counsel is sometimes worth the weighing' but an old dog, you know. Mister Ned, can't alter his way of bar' ing ; so you and that gentleman must excuse my saucy tongttf! and if you will follow me, I will put you across the swamp as clci': as a bridge of gold. Though I don't mean to insinuate. Mist' Hazard, that you couldn't soon learn the way yourself" | Saying this, he conducted us back to the margin of the mars and passing some distance higher up, entered the thicket aga by the path of the old causeway, along which we proceeded wi no other caution than carefully to step in the places pointed o'" by Hafen, who led the way with the vigorous motion of a man the prime of life ; and in a brief space we found ourselves in safe on the opposite side. Here we gave our guide a liberal reward for his servic, which so elated the old man as to rouse all his talkativeness. i\ m THE GOBLIN SWAMP, 255 Hafcn is a -person of some notoriety in this district. He is a lessian by birth, and came to America with Count Donop, during he war of the Kevolution, as a drummer, not above fourteen years Id ; and he was present at the action at Red Bank on the Dela- rare, when that unfortunate officer met his fate. He was after- wards engaged in the southern campaigns, when he found means ■» desert to the American lines in time to witness the surrender f Lord Cornwallis. At the close of the war Hafen took up his uarters in the neighborhood of Williamsburg, where he set up he trade of a tinker, as being most congenial with his vagrant ropeusities. Being a tolerable performer on the violin, he ontrived to amass a sufficient capital to purchase an instrument, rith which he ever afterwards sweetened his cares and divided is business, wandering through the country, where he mended lie kettles, and fiddled himself into the good graces, of every amily within the circuit of his peregrinations. This career was pterrupted by but one episode, which happened in the year pventeen hundred and ninety-one, when, being attacked by an nusual restlessness, he enlisted in the army, and marched with ft. Clair against the Indians. The peppering he got in the isastrous event of that expedition, brought him home in the llowing year with a more pacific temper and a lame leg. It was ke Cincinnatus returning to his plough. He took up his nippers lid fiddle again, and devoted himself to the afiairs of the kitchen nd parlor. Being one of those mortals whose carelessness of ccommodation is mathematically proportioned to their aversion labor, Hafen was equally idle and ragged, and contrived gener- Uy, by a shrewd and droll humor, to keep himself in good quar- ers, though upon a footing that rendered him liable at all times be dismissed without ceremony. He has always been distin- jj'uished for his stores of old ballads ; and the women about the amilies where he gained a seat in the corner of the kitchen fire, vera indebted to him for the most accepted versions of the Grosport 256 THE GOBLIN SWAMP. I Tragedy, Billy Taylor, and some other lamentable ditties recorc ing the fates of " true lovyers" and " ladies fair and free," whic he taught them to sing in long metre, with a touching sadnes and agreeably to their authentic nasal tunes. Besides this, L was the depositary of much of the legendary lore of the neighbo hood, picked up from the old people of the Revolutionary time and, according to his own account, he had a familiar acquaintan( with sundry witches, and was on good terms with every reputah ghost that haunted any house along the James river. These characteristics gave him many immunities, and ofte gained him access to bower and hall ; and as he was gifted wil a sagacity which always knew how to flatter his patrons, he wj; universally regarded as a well-meaning, worthless, idle strolle who, if he could not make himself useful, was at least in nobodjij way. On all festive occasions his violin was an ample recoil mendation ; and as he could tell fortunes, and sing queer o' songs, he was connected in the imaginations of the younger foil with agreeable associations. From these causes he was seldom an unwelcome visitant ; and not being fastidious on the score personal entertainment, he was well content to get his supper the kitchen, a dram, — for which he had the craving of the daug ter of the horseleech, — and the privilege of a corner in the ha loft. Of late Hafen had lost some favor by his increasing propei sity for drink, and by the suspicion, that stood upon pretty stroi proofs, of not being over scrupulous in his regard for the riglj of property. Besides, for many years past, his tinkering h fallen into disuse, by reason, as he said, of these Yankee pedlc breaking up his honest calling. So that, at this time, Hafen m be considered like an old hound whose nose has grown cold. E employments are, in consequence, of a much more miscellaneo character than formerly. THE GOCLIN SWAMP. 257 Such was the individual who had rescued us from the perils : the swamp, and who now, having brought us to firm ground, -^ lad no further pretext for keeping our company. But he was not ) easily shaken ofi". His predominant love of gossip took advan- . ge of the encouragement he had already met, and he therefore rode resolutely in our footsteps, a little in the rear, talking irtly to himself and partly to us, without receiving any response, t length, finding that no further notice was likely to be taken ' him. he ventured to say, in a doubtful tone — I " The next time the gentlemen have a fancy to cross this vtay, i^rhaps they'll think a few pennies in the tinker's pouch, better [an a pair of swamp stockings." ' " And many thanks beside, Hafen," said I. " But how came a to be so close at hand this evening?" " sir," replied Hafen, availing himself of this overture, and ming up to our side, " bless you ! this is a quite natural sort of ace to me. I am too good for nothing to be afraid of spirits, ir I am not worth the devil's fetching, sir ;" here he laughed in s usual singular way. "The swamp is a very good mother to e, although I am a simple body, and can pick up a penny where ch folks would never think of looking for it." , "How is that?" I asked. " There is a power of muskrats about these parts, sir," he re- ied, "' and with the help of these tools," holding up his snares, I can sometimes gather a few ninepences with no more cost than jwet pair of breeches, which is fisherman's luck, sir, and of no ■count, excepting a little rheumatism, and not even that, if a man IS plenty of this sort of physic." So saying, he thrust his hand into his bag. and pulled out a ;'een flask that contained a small supply of whiskey. " Perhaps the gentlemen wouldn't be above taking a taste them- (Ives ?" he continued, " for it's a mighty fine thing against the irue." 258 THE GOBLIN SWAMP. We excused ourselves ; and Hafen put the flask to his mou and smacking his lips as he concluded his draught, observed — " It's a kind of milk for old people, and not bad for you , ones." "What success have you had to-day, with your traps?" inquired. " I have come ofl" poorly," he replied ; " the vermin are gett shy, and not like what they used to be. Now, I have got no m : than two rats. Some days even I don't get that much." " Then, I take it, Hafen, you do not thrive much in the worl I remarked. " Ah, sir," replied Hafen, still holding the flask in his ha . and beginning to moralize, " it is a great help to a man's c • science to know that he earns his bread lawfully : a poor mi 3 honesty is as good as a rich man's gold. I am a hobbling sor f person, and no better than I ought to be, but I never saw if \ good come out of deceit. Virtue is its own reward, as the para says ; and away goes the devil when he finds the door shut aga::t him. I am no scholar, but I have found that out without rul- ing books — " ■ At this moment the half-smothered cluck of a fowl was htd from Hafen's bag. "God never sends mouths," continued Hafen, "but he sds meat, and any man who has sense enough to be honest, will m'T want wit to know how to live ; but he m\ist plough with i h oxen as he has : some people have bad names, but all are )t thieves that dogs bark at." " So, you have only taken two muskrats to-day?" said M- " Have you nothing else in the bag?" "Nothing else. Mister Hazard." " Are they dead or alive ?" asked Ned. " Oh dead ! dead as old Adam ! they were swinging by l.'Jr necks long enough to strangle nine lives out of them." THE GOBLIN SWAMP. 259 " This swamp is haunted, Hafen/' said Ned archly. " Yes, sir," replied Hafen, " there are certainly some queer ^}. (loings here sometimes. But, for my share, I never saw any '.liing in these hobgoblins to make an honest man afraid. All :hat you have to do is to say your prayers, and that will put vny devilish thing out of heart." " Did you ever know a dead muskrat," asked Ned, " to be hanged into a live pullet? Now, master honest tinker! I can Jonjure up a devil to do that very thing." Here Hafen put on a comic leer, and hesitated for a moment, IS if collecting himself, whilst he was heard giving out a confused {buckling laugh. At length he observed, — " Mister Ned Hazard has always got some trick. I often tell ■oiks Mister Hazard is a pleasant man." " See now," said Hazard, striking the bag with his hand, ' does not that sound marvellously like a clucking hen ?" " Oh, I grant you," exclaimed Hafen, assuming a tone of sur- jrise, '• I had like to have forgotten ; when I said there was aothing but the rats in my bag, I set no account upon a pullet :hat Sandy Walker gave me this evening, for putting a few rivets n his copper still." " Come, Hafen," said Ned, " no lies amongst friends. Sandy ^"^alker never owned a still in his life." " Did I say a still. Mister Hazard 1 I spoke in a sort of un- 3ertain way, which was as much as to signify, — " said Hafen, puzzling his brain for a better account of the matter, and twisting jliis face into some shrewd contortions, which at last ended by his |eoming close to Hazard, and putting his finger against his nose, as he said in a half whisper, '• it was an old grudge against Sandy that I had, upon account of his abusing me before company for drinking, and insinuating that I made free with a shirt that his wife lost from the line in a high wind, last April, and some other 260 THE GOBLIN SWAMP. old scores I had. So, I thought a pullet was small damages enough for such a scandal. Pick-up law is the cheapest law for poor man, Mister Hazard ; and possession is nine points out oi ten. Isn't that true ?" Here he laughed again. " I think a gentleman who brags so much of his honesty an* virtue, might practise a better code. But as between you an* Sandy," said Ned, " your merits are so nearly equal, that takvMaj what you can, and keep what you get, is a pretty sound rule ; alMin though you are like to get the best of that bargain." *' Oh," replied Hafen, " I want nothing more than justice." The night was now closing in fast. We were walking alon. a narrow tongue of land which stretched into the swamp, froi the bosom of which, on either side, arose a forest of lofty tree; whose topmost branches were traced upon the sky with that bol configuration that may be remarked at the twilight, whilst tb; dusk rapidly thickened below, and flung its increasing glooii upon our path. Here and there a lordly cypress occurred i: view, springing forth from the stagnant pool, and reposing in luril shade. Half sunk in ooze, rotted the bole and bough of fallej trees, coated with pendent slime. The ground over which ^ ' trod took an easy impression from our footsteps ; and the chillir vapor of the marsh, mingled with the heavy dew, was to be fe in the dampness of our clothes, and compelled us to button i our coats. This dreary region was neither silent nor inanimate ; but ii inhabitants corresponded to the genius of the place. Clouds . small insects, crossed now and then by a whizzing beetle, play* their fantastic gambols around our heads, displaying their minu and active forms against the western horizon, as they marshullt us upon our way. The night-hawk arose, at intervals, with hoarse scream into this fading light, and swept across it with i graceful motion, sometimes whirling so near that we could he i:ii tvi tl[4 THE GOD LIN SWAMP. 261 he rush of his wing, and discern the white and spectral spot upon , as he darted past our eyes. Thousands of fire-flies lit up the loom, and sped about like sprites in masquerade ; at one mo- lent lifting their masks, as if to allure pursuit, and instantly gain vanishing, as in a prankish jest. A populous congregation f frogs piped from the secret chambers of the fen with might and lain. The whip-poor-will reiterated, with a fatiguing and me- incholy recurrence, his sharp note of discord. The little catadid ierced the air with his shrill music. The foxfire, — as the coun- "y people call it, — glowed hideously from the cold and matted c ^ 3Som of the marsh ; and, far from us, in the depths of darkness, pi. 16 screech-owl sat upon his perch, brooding over the slimy pool, tysi id whooping out a dismal curfew, that fell upon the air like the 'ies of a tortured ghost. We trudged briskly upon our way, but almost without ex- it* hanging words ; for the assemblage of striking objects in the wM ;ene had lulled us into silence. I do not wonder that a solitary laveller should grow superstitious, amidst such incentives to his Liagination. Hafen followed our steps, and, as I fancied, com- - letely subdued by faintheartedness. I thought he walked closer :ai p our skirts than a man perfectly at ease would do, and his lo- )k liacity was entirely gone. He firmly believed in the stories of a ke Goblin Swamp, and I was anxious to get them from his own Ips, as Hazard had given me to understand that I could not eet a better chronicler. With this purpose, I gave him timely _» pcouragement to follow us to Swallow Barn. And now, having if assed the confines of the wood, we found but little to attract our Hention for the rest of the journey. " You must tell me the story of Mike Brown to-night," said I A ) Hafen, as I invited him to bear us company. -(t In an instant, Hafen's imagination was full of the comforts -il |f the kitchen at Swallow Barn, as well as of the self-consequence 262 THE GOBLIN SWAMP. that belongs to a genuine story-teller. He consented with saucy alacrity, and then remarked, — " That the gentlemen always knew how to get something ' please them out of Hafen ; and that he always did like himself- keep company with quality." It was after candlelight when we arrived at Swallow Barn. CHAPTER XXIX. STORY-TELLING. [n the time of the Revolution, and for a good many years after- wards, Old Nick enjoyed that solid popularity which, as Lord Mansfield expressed it, follows a man's actions rather than is sought after by them. But in our time he is manifestly falling into the sere and yellow leaf, especially in the Atlantic States. Like those dilapidated persons who have grown out at elbows by [sticking too long to a poor soil, or who have been hustled out of jtheir profitable prerogatives by the competition of upstart num- bers, his spritish family has moved ofi", with bag and baggage, to the back settlements. This is certain, that in Virginia he is not seen half so often now as formerly. A traveller in the Old Do- minion may now wander about of nights as dark as pitch, over commons, around old churches, and through graveyards, and all the while the rain may be pouring down with its solemn hissing sound, and the thunder may be rumbling over his head, and the wind moaning through the trees, and the lightning flinging its sulphurous glare across the skeletons of dead horses, and over the grizzly rawheads upon the tombstones ; and, even, to make the case stronger, a drunken cobbler may be snoring hideously in the church door, (being overtaken by the storm on his way home.) and every flash may show his livid, dropsical, carbuncled face, 264 STORY-TELLING. like that of a vagabond corpse that had stolen out of his prisor to enjoy the night air ; and yet it is ten to one if the said travel ler be a man to be favored with a glimpse of that old-fashioned distinguished personage who was wont to be showing his clovei foot, upon much less provocation, to our ancestors. The oh crones can tell you of a hundred pranks that he used to play in thei day, and what a roaring sort of a blade he was. But, alas ! sin ners are not so chicken-hearted as in the old time. It is a terri bly degenerate age ; and the devil and all his works are fas growing to be forgotten. Except Mike Brown's humorsome pot-companion, I mucl question if there is another legitimate goblin in the Old Domic ion ; and in spite of Ned Hazard and Hafen Blok, who do al they can to keep up his credit, I am much mistaken if he doe not speed away to the Missouri or the Bocky Mountains one c \ these days, as fast and as silently as an absconding debtor. Lest I therefore, his exploits should be lost to the world, I will veritabl record this " Chronicle of the Last of the Virginia Devils," as i has been given to me by the credible Hafen, that most authenti of gossips, as may be seen by the perusal of what I am going t write. The substance of this narrative — for I do not deny som rhetorical embellishments — was delivered by Hafen after suppe: as we sat in the porch at Swallow Barn until midnight, Hafe all the while puffing a short pipe, and only rising on his feet i such times as his animation got beyond control, and inspired hii' to act the scene he was describing. The witnesses were M Wart and Frank Meriwether, who sat just inside of the door, a tended by Lucy and Vic, who for the greater part of the tin; had their arms about Frank's neck ; and Mr. Chub, who, thoug within hearing — for he was seated at the window, also smoking- I do not believe paid much attention to the story ; although 1 , I J\l 1 K E li K O \V N . 26r# was heard once or twice to blow out a stream of smoke from his mouth, and say " balderbash !" — an epithet in common use with him. But there were Ned and myself close beside Hafen ; and Rip, who sat on the steps in the open air, with his head occasion- ally turned over his shoulder, looking up at the story-teller with the most marked attention : and lastly, there were sundry wide- mouthed negroes, children and grown, who were clustered into a dusky group beneath the parlor window, just where a broad ray of candlelight fell upon them ; and who displayed their white teeth, like some of Old Nick's own brood, as they broke out now and then into hysterical, cowardly laughs, and uttered ejacula- tions of disbelief in Hafen's stories that showed the most implicit faith. MIKE B P^ O W N , Mike Brown was a blacksmith, who belonged to Harry Lee's light-horse, and shod almost all the hoofs of the legion. He was a jolly, boisterous, red-faced fellow, with sandy hair, and light blue eyes so exceedingly blood-shot, that at a little distance off you could hardly tell that they were eyes at all. He had no lei- sure, during the Revolutionary war, to get them clarified ; for what with the smoke of his furnace, and keeping late hours on patroles, and hard drinking, his time was filled up to the entire disparagement of his complexion. He was a stark trooper, to whom no service came amiss, whether at the anvil or in the field, having a decisive muscle for the management of a piece of hot iron, and an especial knack for a marauding bout ; in which latter species of employment it was his luck to hold frequent velitations with the enemy, whereby he became notorious for picking up stragglers, cutting off baggage-wagons, and rifling rum-casks, and 12 266 MIKE BROWN. I now and then, for easing a prisoner of his valuables. He cou handle a broadsword as naturally as a sledge-hammer ; and mai a time has Mike brandished his blade above his beaver, and mat , it glitter in the sun, with a true dragoon flourish, whilst he ga the huzza to his companions as he headed an onset upon Tarletot cavalry. Towards the close of the war, he served with Colonel Was ington, and was promoted to the rank of a sergeant for leading party of the enemy into an ambuscade ; and, in addition to tl: honor, the colonel made him a present of a full suit of regime i tals, in which, they say, Mike was a proper-looking fellow. B black leather cap, with a strip of bearskin over it, and a whi buck-tail set on one side, gave a martial fierceness to his red fla nel face. A shad-bellied blue bobtail coat, turned up with bro buff, and meeting at the pit of his stomach with a hook and e^ was well adapted to show the breadth of his brawny chest, whi was usually uncovered enough to reveal the shaggy mat of r hair that grew upon it. A buckskin belt, fastened round I waist by an immense brass buckle, sustained a sabre that rattl upon the ground when he walked. His yellow leather breed were remarkable for the air of ostentatious foppery which th imparted to the vast hemisphere of his nether bulk ; and, tak together with his ample horseman's boots, gave the richest effc to his short and thick legs, that, thus apparelled, might be said be gorgeous specimens of the Egyptian column. Such was the equipment of Sergeant Brown on all festii occasions ; and he was said to be not a little proud of this rewa of valor. On work days he exhibited an old pair of glazed, bro buckskin small-clothes, coarse woollen stockings, covered wi spatterdashes made of untanned deer hide, and shoes garnish with immense pewter buckles*, though, as to the stockings, he c3i not always wear them. Hose or no hose, it was all the same MIKE BROWN. 267 Mike ! I am minute in mentioning the regimentals, because, for a long time after the war. Sergeant Mike was accustomed to indue himself in this identical suit on Sundays, and strut about with the air of a commander-in-chief. Mike's skill in horseshoes rendered him very serviceable in the campaigns. On a damp morning, or over sandy roads, he ^« I could trail Tarleton like a hound. It was only for Mike to ex- amine the prints upon the ground, and he could tell, with aston- ishing precision, whether the horses that had passed were of his own shoeing, how many were in company, how long they had gone by, and whether at a gallop, a trot, or a walk ; whether they had halted, or had been driving cattle, and, in fact, almost as many particulars as might be read in a bulletin. Upon such occasions, when appearances were favorable, he had only to get a few of his dare-devils together, and Tarleton was sure to have some of Ser- geant Brown's sauce in his pottage, before he had time to say grace over it. Mike used always to commence these adventures by drinking the devil's health, as he called it ; which was done, very devoutly, in a cup of rum seasoned with a cartridge of gunpowder, which, he said, was a charm against sword cuts and pistol shot. When his expedition was ended, he generally called his roll, marked down the names of the killed, wounded and missing, by the scratch of his black thumb-nail, and then returned the dingy scroll into jhis pocket, with a knowing leer at the survivors, and the pithy ; (j ppothegm, which he repeated with a sincere faith, " that the devil .„, was good to his own." This familiarity with the '-old gentleman," ^1 jas Mike himself termed him, added to his trooper-like accomplish- jjj, ment of swearing till he made people's hair stand on end, begat a ^ common belief in the corps that he was on very significant terms ^y with his patron ; and it was currently said, '• that Mike Brown and the devil would* one day be wearing each other's shirts." 268 MIKE BROWN. When the war was over, the sergeant found himself a dis- banded hero, in possession of more liberty than he knew what to do with ; a sledge and shoeing hammer ; an old pair of bellows ; a cabinet of worn-out horseshoes ; a leather apron ; his Sunday regimentals in tolerable repair ; and a raw-boned steed, somewhat spavined by service : — to say nothing of a light heart, and an arm as full of sinew as an ox's leg. Considering all which things, he concluded himself to be a well-furnished and thriving person, and began to cast about in what way he should best enjoy his laurels, and the ease the gods had made for him. In his frequent ruminations over this momentous subject, he fell into some shrewd calculations upon the emolument and com- fort which were likely to accrue from a judicious matrimonial partnership. There was at that time a thrifty, driving spinster, bearing the name of Mistress Ruth Saunders, who lived at the landing near Swallow Barn. This dame was now somewhat in the wane, and, together with her mother, occupied a little patch of ground on the river, upon which was erected a small one-storied frame house, the very tenement now in possession of Sandy Walker. Here her sire had, in his lifetime, kept a drinking tavern for the accommodation of the watermen who frequented the landing. The widow did not choose to relinquish a lucrative trade, and therefore kept up the house ; whilst the principal cares of the hostelry fell upon the indefatigable and energetic Mistress Kuth, who, from all accounts, was signally endowed with the ne- cessary qualifications which gave lustre to her calling. Mike, being a free and easy, swaggering, sociable chap, and endowed with a remarkable instinct in finding out where the best liquors were to be had on the cheapest terms, had fallen insensi- bly into the habit of consorting with a certain set of idle, muddy- brained loiterers who made the widow Saunders' house their head- quarters on Sunday afternoons, and as often on week days as they :>i Uv v: a ii o \v n . 269 JDuld find au excuse for getting together. And such had been ike's habits of free entertainment in the army, that he acquired me celebrity for serving his comrades in the same manner that le had been used to treat the old Continental Congress ; that is, je left them pretty generally to pay his scot. By degrees, he began to be sensible to the slow invasion of the bnder passion, which stole across his ferruginous bosom like a plume of dun smoke through a smithy. He hung about the bar- bom with the languishing interest of a lover, and took upon him- jlf sundry minute cares of the household, that excused some iu- ease of familiarity. He laughed very loud whenever Mistress uth affected to be witty ; and pounced, with his huge ponderous aws, upon the glasses, pitchers, or other implements which the ame fixed her eye upon, as needful in the occasions of her calling ; ot a little to tlie peril of the said articles of furniture : — for like's clutch was none of the gentlest, in his softest moods. In hort, his assiduities soon made him master of the worshipful listress Ruth, her purse and person. She had seen the devil, ccording to the common computation, three times, and had been much alarmed at his last visit that — the story goes — she swore n oath that she would marry his cousin-german, rather than be mportuned by his further attentions. There is no knowing what , woman will do under such circumstances ! I believe myself, hat Mistress Ruth chose sergeant Mike principally on account of lis well kno^nm dare-devil qualities. The dame whose worldly accomplishments and personal charms ad dissolved the case-hardened heart of the redoubted black- mi th of the legion, was altogether worthy of her lord. A suc- jession of agues had spun her out into a thread some six feet long. ?L tide-water atmosphere had given her au a.shen, dough face, iprinkled over with constellations of freckles, and exhibiting fea- f^ures somewhat tart from daily crosses. Her thin, bluish lips had 270 MIKE BROWN, something of the bitterness of the crab, with the astringency ol the persimmon. Her hair, which was jet-black, was plastered across her brow with the aid of a little tallow, in such a manne* as to give it a rigid smoothness, that pretty accurately typified: her temper on holiday occasions, and also aided, by its sleekness in heightening the impression of a figure attenuated to the greati est length consistent with the preservation of the bodily functions A pair of glassy dark eyes, of which one looked rather obliquelj out of its line, glared upon the world with an habitual dissatisfao tion ; and in short, take her for all and all, Mistress Ruth Saua ders was a woman of a commanding temper, severe devotion U business, acute circumspection, and paramount attraction fo] Mike Brown. After the solemnization of the nuptials, Mike took a lease o Mr. Tracy of the small tract of land bordering on the Goblii Swamp, which, even at that day, was a very suspicious region and the scene of many marvellous adventures. Of all places ii the country, it seemed to have the greatest charm for Mike. H' accordingly set up his habitation by the side of the old count; road, that crossed the marsh by the causeway ; and here he alsi opened his shop. Mistress Mike Brown resumed her former oc cupation, and sold spirits; whilst her husband devoted his tim-: to the pursuits of agriculture, the working of iron, and the up roarious delights of the bottle : whereto the managing Ruth alsi!' attached herself, and was sometimes as uproarious as the seil geant. i In process of time they were surrounded by four or five impsj of either sex, whose red hair, squinting eyes, and gaunt and squa : figures, showed their legitimate descent. As these grew apace they were to be seen hanging about the smithy barefooted, hal covered with rags, and with smutty faces looking wildly out c mops of hair which radiated like the beams of the sun in th image of that luminary on a country sign. M I K K B R OWN. 27 1 ! The eldest boy was bred up to his father's trade ; that is, he [flirted a horse-tail tied to a stick, all day long in summer, to keep jthe flies from the animals that were brought to be shod ; at which i^leepy employment Mike was wont to keep the youngster's atten- tion alive by an occasional rap across the head, or an unpremcdi- itated application of his foot amongst the rags that graced the iperson of the heir-apparent. Upon this system of training, it is |reported, there were many family differences betwixt Mike and his spouse, and some grievously disputed fields. But Mike's muscle was enough to settle any question. So that it is not wonderful that the suffering Ruth should sometimes have taken to flight, and had recourse to her tongue. I In this way, the spoiler Discord stealthily crept into the liti'e Eden of the Browns ; and from one flower-bed advanced to 'another, until he made himself master of the whole garden. Quarrels then became a domestic diversion ; and travellers along the road could tell when the patriarch Mike was putting his house- hold in order, by the sound of certain lusty thwacks which pro- ceeded from the interior, and the frequent apparition of a young elf darting towards the shop, with one hand scratching his head, and the other holding up what seemed a pair of trowsers, but which, in reality, were Mike's old leather breeches. The custo- mers at the shop, too, affirmed that it was a usual thing to hear Mistress Brown talking to herself, for two or three hours, in an amazingly shrill key, after Mike had gone to his anvil. And some persons went so far as to say, that in the dead hour of night, in the worst weather, voices could be heard upon the wind, in ^■^ , the direction of Mike Brown's dwelling, more than a mile off; f^ one very high, and the other very gruff ; and sometimes there ^ji was a third voice that shook the air like an earthquake, and made ^1 the blood run cold at the sound of it. iii From this it may be seen that Mike's house was not very 272 MIKE BROWN. comfortable to Iiim ; for he was, at bottom, a good-natured fellow who loved peace and qniet ; or, at any rate, who did not like the clack of a woman, which, he said, '• wore a man out like water on a drip-stone." To be sure, he did not care about noise, if it was of a jolly sort ; but that he neyer found at home, and therefore. " as he took no pride in Ruth," to use his own phrase, upon Ha- fen's report, " he naturally took to roaming." He was an open-hearted fellow, too, who liked to spend his j money when he had it ; but the provident Mistress Mike began to get the upper hand ; and in nothing are the first encroachmentftii of female despotism more decisively indicstted than in the regulars tion of what is called the family economy. Ruth purl.an( Mike's breeches, robbed the pockets, and secured the treasura^ She forestalled his debtors, and settled his accounts, paralyzed fli^t his credit, and, in short, did every thing but publish her determi^j nation to pay no debts of his contracting. The stout dragooi quailed before these vexations tactics. He could never have beei taken by storm ; but to turn the siege into a blockade, and fret his soul with mouse-nibblings, it was enough to break theli spirit of any man ! Mike, however, covered himself with glory ; for after being reduced to the last stage of vassalage, as happens sometimes with an oppressed nation, he resolved to be his own master again, (thanks to the lusty potations, or he would nevei have made so successful a rebellion !) and gave Mrs. Brown, oe a memorable occasion, a tremendous beating, by which he regain- ed the purse-strings, and spent where and when and as freely sa suited his own entertainment. There was one thing in which Mike showed the regularity and' discipline of an old soldier. He was steady to it in the worst oi times. No matter where his vagrant humors might lead him, U what distance, or at what hours, or how topsy-turvy he might hav( grown, he was always sure to make his way home before morning fi no answer. it " Humph !" said Mike, as he stood stock still, with his hands i in his breeches pockets, and began to laugh. '• That's a genius i for you !" said he, with a kind of perplexed, drunken, half-humor ous face. ♦ As he found he was not likely to make much out of it, he < walked on, and began to talk to himself, and after a while to ' whistle louder than ever. Whilst he was struggling forward in this way, he heard something like a cat-call down towards the swamp ; and immediately there rushed past him the shadows of a 11 be a Ml Irnei iowei kk k] Wjt! feu MIKE BROWN. 275 pack of hounds, making every sort of yelping, and deep-mouthed !cry. He could even hear the little chips of ice that were flung from their feet, whizzing along the crust of snow ; but still he could see nothing but shadows ; and the sounds grew fainter and ifainter until they melted away in the bosom of the swamp. Mike now stopped again, and folded his arms across his breast, ! — although he could not help tottering a little, from being rather top-heavy ; — and, in this position, he fell gravely to considering. {First, he looked all around ; then he took off his hat and ran his ficgers through his hair, and after that he rubbed his eyes. " Tut," said he, " it's all a botheration ! There's no drag in the world will lie upon this snow. That's some drunken vagabond that had better be in his bed." " What's that you say, Mike Brown ?" said the same harsh oice he had heard before, '' you had better look out how you take any freedom with a gentleman of quality." '• Quality !" cried Mike, turning his head round as he spoke. " You and your quality had better be abed, like a sober man, than o be playing off your cantrips at this time of night." Mike looked on the snow, and there was the shadow of the horse again, standing still, and the figure upon it had one arm set i-kimbo against his side. Mike could now observe, as the shadow lurned, that he wore something like a hussar-jacket, for the shadow showed the short skirt strutting out behind, and under this was the shadow of a tail turned upwards, and thrown across his shoul- ler. His cap appeared to be a fantastical thing perched on the rery top of his head ; and below the ribs of the skeleton horse he Bould perceive the legs dangling with hoofs, one of which was cloven. "Aha!" exclaimed Mike, "I begin to understand you, sir. You are no better than you should be : and I will not keep com- pany with such a blackguard." 276 MIKE BROWN. i '• Then, good night, Mike Brown !'' said the voice, " you are an uncivil fellow, but I'll teach you manners the next time I meet you ;" and thereupon the shadow moved off at a hard trot, rising up and down in his saddle, like a first-rate jockey. " Good night !" replied Mike; and he made a low bow, taking off his hat, and scraping his foot, in a very polite fashion, through the snow. After this, Mike pushed home pretty fast, for he was growing more sober, and his teeth began to chatter with cold. He had a way of thrusting aside a back-door bolt, and getting into the house without making a disturbance ; >and then, before he went to bed, he usually took a sleeping-draught from a stone jug which he kept in the cupboard, Mike went through this manual on the night in question, and was very soon afterwards stretched out upon his couch, where he set to snoring like a trumpeter. He never could tell how long it was after he had got to bed j that night, but it was before day, when he opened his eyes and . saw, by the broad moonlight that was shining upon the floor through the window, a comical figure vaporing about the room. It 1 had a thin, long face, of a dirty white hue, and a mouth that was | drawn up at the corners with a smile. A pair of ram's horns seemed to be twisted above his brows, like ladies' curls ; and his head was covered with hair that looked more like a bunch of thorns, with a stiff cue sticking straight out behind, and tied up with a large knot of red ribbons. His coat was black, herring- boned across the breast with crimson, and bound round all the seams with the same color. It fitted as close to his body as the tailor could make it ; and it had a rigid standing collar that seemed to lift up a pair of immense ears, which were thus pro- jected outwards from the head. The coat was very short, and terminated in a diminutive skirt that partly rested upon a long, pliant tail, which was whisked about in constant motion. He j MIKE BROWN. 277 ore tight crimson small clothes, bound with black ; and silk ockings of black and red stripes, one of which terminated in a iiof instead of a human foot. As he walked about the room he lade a great clatter, but particularly with the hoof, that clinked ith the sound of loose iron. In his hand he carried a crimson ip with a large black tassel at the top of it. ' Mike said that as soon as he saw this fellow in the room, he new there was "something coming." He therefore drew his llanket well up around his shoulders, leaving his head out, that B might have an eye to what was going forward. In a little ime the figure began to make bows to Mike from across the room. jirst, he bowed on one side, almost down to the floor, so as to jirow his body into an acute angle ; then, in the same fashion, on le other side, keeping his eyes all the time on Mike. He had, ?cording to Mike's account, a strange swimming sort of motion, ever still a moment in one place, and passing from spot to spot ke something that floated. At one instant he brandished his i-ms and whisked his tail, and took one step forward, like a dan- ng master beginning to dance^ a gavot. In the next, he made a veep, and retreated to his first position ; where he erected his gure very stiffly, and strutted with pompous strides all round the )om. All this while he was twisting his features into every sort f grimace. Then he shook himself like a merry-andrew, and orang from the floor upwards, flinging about his arms and legs ke a supple-jack, which being done, he laughed very loud, and inked his eye at Mike. Then he skipped on the top of a chest, nd from that to a table, from the table to a chair, from the chair 3 the bed, and thence off, putting his foot upon Mike's breast as e passed, and pressing upon him so heavily, that for some mo- lents Mike could hardly breathe. After this, he danced a mor- ice dance close up to the bedside, and fetched a spring that •rought him astride upon Mike's stomach ; where he stooped down 278 MIKE BROWN. i ■^ SO as to bring tis long nose almost to touch Mike's, and there ht twisted his eyebrows and made faces at him for several minutes From that position he flung a somerset backwards, as far as th( room permitted. All this time the foot with the loose iron clanked very loud Mike was not in the least afraid ; but he tried several times tc ' speak without being able to utter a word. He was completely tongue-tied, nor could he move a limb to help himself, being, aE he affirmed, under a spell. But there he lay, looking at all these strange capers, which appeared so odd to him, that if he had had the power he would have laughed outright. At last the figure danced up to him, and stood still. " I have the honor to address myself to Sergeant Brvwn the blacksmith?" said he, interrogatively, making a superlativelj punctilious bow at the same time. " The same," replied Mike, having in an instant recovered the power of speech. " My name," said the figure, " is ," here he pronounced a terrible name of twenty syllables, that sounded something like water pouring out of a bottle, and which Mike never could repeat; " I am a full brother of Old Harry, and belong to the family oi the Scratches. I have taken the liberty to call and make my respects this morning, because I want to be shod." Thereupon he made another bow, and lifted up his right foot to let Mike see that the shoe was loose. " No shoeing to be done at this time of night," said Mike. " It does not want but two new nails," said the figure, " and the clinching of one old one." '• Blast the nail will you get till daylight !" replied Mike. " I will thank you, Mr. Brown," said the figure, " if you will only take my hoof in your hand, and pull out the loose nail that makes such a rattling." MIKE BROWN. 279 I '' I can't do that," answered Mike. I "Why not?" ' I " Because I am afraid of waking Ruthy." ' " I'll answer for the consequences." said the other. " Mistress .rown knows me very well, and will never complain at your doing good turn to one of my family." I " I'm sleepy," said Mike, " so, be about your business." " Then, Mike Brown, I will waken you," cried tho other, in a e ; "I told you I would teach you manners." Saying these words he came close to Mike, and siezed his nose tween the knuckles of the two first fingers of his right hand, d wrung it so hard that Mike roared aloud. Then, letting go ,s hold, he strutted away with a ludicrous short step, throwing s legs upwards as high as his head, and bringing them back arly to the same spot on the floor, and, in this fashion, whis- ing all the time a slow march, he passed directly out of the indow. When Mike had sufficiently come to his senses, he found his ntle consort standing by his bedside, with a blanket wrapt round T spare figure, calling him all sorts of hard names for disturb- sg her rest. Her account of this matter, when she heard from the neigh- )rs Mike's version of this marvellous visit from the devil, was, at she did not know when he came into the house that night ; )r did she see any thing of his strange visitor ; although she was ire Old Nick must have been with him, and flung him into such 1 odd position as he was in ; for he made a terrible, smothered >rt of noise with his voice, which wakened her up, and there she >und him stretched across the bed with his clothes on, and his ead inclined backwards over the side, with both arms down )wards the floor. She said, moreover, that he was a drunken rute, and she had a great mind to tweak his nose for him. Itti IDli 280 M IKE BROWN. " And I will be bound she helped the old devil to do that ver thing !" said Rip. " I don't know how that was," replied Hafen, " but Mike's nos got bluer and bluer after that, and always looked very muc bruised, which he said was upon account of the devil's fingers beiii,^ hot, and scorching him very much." This adventure of Mike's gave him great celebrity in tb neighborhood ; and, b}"" degrees, the people began to be almost ai much afraid of Mike as they were of the goblin who was suppose to frequent the swamp. Mike added to this impression by ce/tai mysteries which he used in his craft. He had the art of tamin wild colts by whispering in their ears, which had such an eSei that he could handle them at his shop as safely as the older horses. And he professed to cure the colt's distemper, sween^ and other maladies, by writing some signs on a piece of paper, ani causing the horse to swallow it in his oats. These accomplishments, of course, were set down to the pr(^ jj^ account ; namely, to Mike's intimacy with his old companioi which was known now to be very great, as will appear by tfc following incidents. Some years after the last adventure, in the summer, abou*, the month of June, when the moon was in her third quarter, MiW i^ was crossing the common late at night, just as the moon was ri.i ing. He was in his usual condition ; for latterly Mike ws; scarcely ever sober. There had been rain that night, but tl: clouds had broken away, and he was talking to himself, and mal ing the road twice as long as it was, by crossing and recrossin his path, like a ship tacking in the wind, and every now and the bringing himself up against a tree or sapling, and sometinit stepping, with a vast stride, across a streak of shadow, thinkiii it a gully; and at others, walking plump into a real gully withoi seeing it, until he came upon his back in the mud. On am 'Pre k M 1 K E B U O \V N . 28 1 ;3identSj he would swear out a good-natured oath, get up, and on his way rejoicing, as usual. It happened, as he was steering along in this plight, there sddenly stood before him his old friend in the herring-boned i'ket. "How do you do, Mike?" was his usual salutation. " Pretty well, I thank you, sir." Mike was noted for being upulously polite when he was in his cups. So, he made a jw, and took off his hat, although he could hardly keep his und. • " Sloppy walking to night, Mr. Mike." I '' Sloppy enough, sir," replied Mike, rather short, as if he didn't ^sh to keep company with the devil. " How is Mistress Brown this evening !" said the other, follow- i; Mike up. " Pretty well, I thank j^ou, sir." returned the blacksmith, ^ Iking as fast as he could. " Trade brisk, Mr. Brown ?" " Quite the contrary," replied Mike ; " there's nothing to do virth speaking of." " How are you off for cash ?" asked the other, coming up close ;)ng side. " I have none to lend," answered the blacksmith. " I did not suppose you had, sergeant ; you and I have been "{uainted a long while. I hope there is no grudge betwixt us." ; " I never knew any good of you," said Mike. I " Let us drink to our better friendship," said the gentleman, king a flat bottle from his pocket. " With all my heart !" cried Mike, as he stretched out his nd and took the flask. '• Here's to you, Mr. Devil !" Hereupon they both took a drink. "Now." said Mike. " let us take another to old Virginia," 282 MIKE BROWN. 1 " Agreed," answered the gentleman ; so they took another. .\ " You're a very clever fellow !" said Mike, beginning -j brighten up. " I know that," replied the gentleman. " You are a man after my own heart," continued Mike, " her your health again. Give us your paw, old fellow." Then m shook hands. i "Let us drink to Mistress Brown," said the gentleman,) litely. " Damn Mistress Brown ! I'll make you a present of her.'j "I accept your offer," replied the other; "here's her heait| " Well," said Mike, " here's the health of your wife," * " I am much obliged to you," replied the gentleman. " M tr«ss (here he pronounced his own unspellable name.) will th: you herself some of these days, when you may honor her w your company. But, Mike, as I have taken a liking to you, '. make your fortune." l " Will you?" cried the blacksmith ; " then I'm your manl'j " Come with me," said the other, " and I will show you wh- you may find as much gold as you can carry home in a bag. I you must not mind trouble." " Trouble ! exclaimed Mike. '• Any trouble for money !" " Follow me," said the gentleman. Upon this they both turned their steps towards the swai the broadest part of which they reached not very far from ■ scene of their colloquy. The morass here was covered with she of water, some of them ten or twelve yards in diameter. T gentleman in black and crimson easily traversed these, with' soiling his habiliments more than if he had been in a drawi ■ room ; but Mike made his way with great difficulty, miring h ■ self first in one hole, and then in another, and sometimes plung ; up to his middle in water. But his companion exhorted him ) 0ted off homeward as fast as his legs could carry him. \ All the next day IMike ruminated sullenly over this adventure. 286 MIKE BROWN. and the more he thought upon it the more wroth he becan There is nothing more to be dreaded than a pleasant-tempere sociable, frolicksome fellow, of good bone and muscle, when he once roused. Quarrel not being one of his habits, he manages roughly and with great energy, — or as Mike would say, — " like view hand at the bellows." The affront put upon him the nigli || before went very hard with Mike, and he therefore resolved ) call his false friend to an account. It was singular that after th; thought took possession of his mind, there seemed to be a reliij in it that almost brought him into a good humor. The idea j, j., standing upon his prowess with the devil, and giving him j fair beating, was one of those luxurious imaginings that no mij ever dreamt of but Mike Brown. There was a whimsicalness | it that vibrated upon the strongest chord in his character. Ml| |«| had never met his match in daylight, and he had a droll convictifj that he could master anything in darkness, if he could only coij to it, arm to arm. His first and most natural suggestion was, ■ put himself in order for the projected interview, by making j merry evening of it, and then to depend upon his genius for 1 success in the subsequent stages of the adventure. | Mike followed one half of the old Scythian custom in | affairs of perplexity : he first considered the subject when he Wi drunk, but he did not revolve it again in a sober mood. On t ; present occasion his reflections had the advantage of being maturj under circumstances of peculiar animation, induced by the d turbed state of his feelings ; for he has often said that when a thing fretted him it made him awfully thirsty. There was o determination that was uppermost in all the variety of lights ,- which he contemplated his present purpose ; — and that was, asj was a delicate affair, to treat it like a gentleman, and to give li adversary fair play. Accordingly, as soon as Mike had cast ' work for the day, he put on liis regimentals, took his broadswo MIKE BROWN. 287 ad set out for his usual haunt to prepare himself for the business I hand. Never did he enter upon a campaign with a more wary, rcumspect, or soldier-like providence. He remained at the tavern in the neighborhood until he had irly put all his compotators asleep ; and then, in the dead hour the night, when the moon was but a little way above the hori- in, and divided her quiet empire with Mike's own nose, he crept rth silently upon his destined exploit. It was a goodly sight ; see such a valiant blacksmith, so martially bedight, with his lusty sword tucked under his arm, stealing out at such an hour, id wending his silent way to the Goblin Swamp, there to have pass at arms with the fiend ! the night breeze blowing upon his 'arthy cheek, and his heavy, sullen tramp falling without an ho upon his own ear, and not a thought of dread flickering about 3 heart. With his head spinning like a top, and his courage considerably ove striking heat, Mike, after many circumgyrations, arrived in ; out half an hour on the frontier of the field of action. Here 1 halted, according to a military fashion ; and, like a cautious 'icer entering upon an enemy's territory, he began to explore 1e ground. Then, drawing his sword and straightening his ]rson, he commenced an exhortation to himself in the manner (la general addressing his troops. " Now, my brave boy, keep a stifi" upper lip ! mind your eye ! l)k out for squalls ! don't fire until you see the whites of their •es ; carry swords ; advance !" All this he uttered with a solemn, drunken wisdom, and with t3 flourish of an old soldier. At the words he stepped forward, : d continued to approach the swamp, muttering half articulated mds, and occasionally falling one step backward, from carrying 1 nself rather too erect. As soon as he reached the edge of the Drass, he gave the word " halt" in a loud and defying tone of 288 MIKE BROWN. sj voice, as if to inform his adversary of his presense. He did noiiflitij wait long before he heard a crackling noise as of one breakin^«|i through the thick shrubbery ; and full before him stood, on ail«ii old log within the swamp, his adversary, in his customary dressBjgte with the addition of a Spanish cloak of scarlet that was muffledBgi about his neck. M^i Mike, immediately upon seeing this apparition, brought hill^ij sword with an alert motion up to his breast, with the blade reacbfli^i ing perpendicularly upward in the line of his face ; then, with |lii stir abroad." jl t|' "I am come to night," said Mike very stiffly, and with ailgof affectation of cold politeness, " to see you on a piece of busines [m q\ I require satisfaction for the affront you put upon me last nightJI||||^ " You shall have it. What's your weapon?" I' " It is in my hand," answered the sergeant. i " Then follow me," said the devil with great composure. ! Kl They both stepped forward into the swamp; and, after tri i|f, versing some defiles, and passing around ponds, and making mar tiresome circuits through the most intricate parts of the mars Mike at length stopped to inquire which way the devil meant lead him. " As I am the challenged party, I have the right to choose ii own ground," said the other. " Certainly !" rejoined Mike. " It is all one to me." At length they reached a spot that was covered with tall tretj at the foot of which the oartli seemed to be of a more firm textu; I MIKE li It O W N . 289 than in the rest of the fen. There was a fire smoking through a heap of rubbish near the middle of the ground, and a little, peaked 'Id woman, almost black with the smoke, sat upon her haunches ^0 near the fire that by the flash of the small flame Mike could icreeive that she was smoking a pipe. Her elbows were placed ipon her knees, and her chin rested in the palms of her hands in uch a manner that her long fingers were extended, like the bars >f a gridiron, over her cheeks. Her eyes looked like burning oals, and could be seen through the dark at a great distance. I '• Wife," said the devil, '• Mike Brown. Mike Brown, my wife." '•Your servant," said Mike, with one of his best flourishes, and I bow. '• Pish !" cried the old woman with a sort of scream, " sit lown !" " Much obliged to you, ma'am," replied Mike, " I'd rather land." " What brings you with Mike Brown into my bedroom at this ime of night?" said the old woman to her husband. ' " Mind your own business," was the reply, " and give me my word. I have an affair of honor to settle with this gentleman." I " Get it yourself," said the wife. So the devil stepped inside of a hollow tree, and brought out i. huge old fashioned, two-handed straight sword, that was covered jvith rust, and immediately began to feel the edge with his thumb. " It is very dull ; but it will do. Now, sergeant, we will go a ittle way further, and settle this matter in a twinkling." '' Agreed ! and remember, as you set up for a gentleman, I xpect fair play." " Honor bright !" said the devil, putting his hand to his breast. " No striking till each says he is ready." " By no means," said the devil. " Nor no hit below the knee." o 290 MIKE BROWN. " Of course not," said the devil. " Time to breatlie, if it is asked." " Assuredly !" " Points down at the first blood." " Just as you say," replied the devil. " Then," said Mike, " move on." " We ought to drink together, sergeant, before we get to blo^ I am for doing the thing civilly," said the devil. " So am I," replied Mike. " I am entirely of your opinioB So the devil put into Mike's hands a large gourd, that had stopper in the top of it, which the sergeant pulled out, and appl ing the orifice to his mouth, took a hearty drink, first turning the old woman, who sat all this time in silence by the fire, av saying, " My service to you, ma'am !" The devil having likewi performed his part in this ceremony, they once more resumi their walk. In their progress towards the ground which the devil h chosen for the theatre of this mortal rencounter, they came to tv small islands, the soil of which was a yielding black mud covert with moss. These little parcels of ground arose out of the mars with well-defined banks, perhaps twelve inches high, and we; separated from each other by a channel of deep water, not mo than five feet in width, so that to pass from one to the other i quired a leap that was somewhat perilous, because the foothold «; the opposite bank was not only very soft, but the ground itse scarcely one pace in breadth. The chances were, therefore, tb in leaping to it, the momentum employed would precipitate i leaper into another pond of water beyond it. The devil skipp over this strait with great ease, and called on Mike to folio The sergeant, however, hesitated, and looked for some momer upon the spot with anxious concern. He traversed the groui in the neighborhood, to observe if there was any other passa MIKE D 11 O W N . 2'J I round this hazardous channel ; meditated upon the consc "All the satisfaction in the world, Sergeant Brown. Rai satisfaction," said the devil, laughing and holding his sides. "You are a coward," cried Mike, drawing his sword, an flourishing it over his head, " Step out, sergeant, and make your words good." "You are no gentleman." " Granted," said the devil ; " I never set up for one. But don't think you are much better, or you would never stand vapo: ing there with your sword, and straddling as if you thought you: self a man of consequence." " What's the use," said Mike, in a gentle persuasive tont , " of keeping a man here all night, tearing the life out of him h inches? Just give us a hand, like a genteel Christian ; and as t the quarrel, I'll not be particular about it." " Good night, Sergeant Brown," said the devil ; " I see yo have no mind to fight ; and as I did not come here to trifle, . will wait no longer for you." So the devil turned round and disappeared from Mike's vicT? with a bitter, scoffing laugh. The sergeant being thus left alone without relief, found hi torment becoming every moment more insupportable ; and there fore, without further efibrt to reach the ground on either side, ht plunged head-foremost into the pond, from whieh he rose in ; moment covered with black mud, and with a multitude of rope; of green slime clinging to his shoulders, and platted about hi- throat. This shock hud the cft'ect to bring the blacksmith jiartially to is senses, lie awoke from his intoxication, like one from a ream, wondering at the cliauces that brought him into such a redicameut, and with a confused recollection of the strange ad- enturc he had just been engaged in. His conclusion was, '• that 16 old chap had taken him iu again," and he therefore set off omeward, very much ashamed of the failure of his expedition, nd not loss vexed to hear, as he once more arrived on dry land, be usual valedictory, " Good night !" with its hoarse, wild and endish accompaniment. I will not pretend to give any further avouch for these facts ban the authority of Hafen, who affirmed that he had them from like himself ; and as Mike was a little prone to exaggerate when is personal prowess was in question, the judicious reader will lake some grains of alloAvance on that score. There were various incidents in Mike's life similar to those bove narrated ; but it is only material to know, that not long fter this last adventure, Mike began to grow jealous of his old rony's attentions to Mistress Brown. There was a spirited in- ercourse kept up between this worthy and the family, which re- ulted at last in the sudden disappearance of the matron from the leighborhood. The folks in these parts have their own notions )f the matter ; but they don't like to speak freely on the subject. ^like, however, bore his misfortune like a philosopher. He very cdately increased his allowance of comfort by doubling the trength of his cups, and, in consequence, was more frequently han ever beside himself, — a very refreshing expedient for a man vho has been left alone in the world. The heir-apparent and the ii "est of the progeny abdicated their birthright, and wandered off, t is supposed, in search of food. The shop was deserted, the an- » n\ was sold, and the bellows fell a victim to a pulmonary attack. The roof of the dwelling had decayed so as to give the wind and •ain free admission. The relics of the smithy were, one windy 294 MIKE EKOWN. night, blown down. The frame of tlio house first became twist out of its perpendicular line, and gradually sunk to earth, at t base of the brick chimney that stands, at this day, a monume to show that another of the host of Revolutionary heroes has ( parted. The well grew to be choked up with weeds ; the balam pole waxed stiff, and creaked in its swivel ; and, finally. Mi ceased to be seen in the country side. It is now many years gone by, since these mysterious. ever employed the gossip of the neighborhood ; and many credil witnesses, — amongst the rest Hafen Blok, — aflGirm that Mike a his wife are yet seen to hold occasional conventicles with th old associate, in that part of the swamp known as the devil's b chamber. " Well, Hafen," said I, when this story of Mike Brown y concluded, "do you believe it all?" " Why, I don't know," replied Hafen, "it does seem to me if it might be partly true. But Mike was a monstrous liar, a an uncommon hard drinker." " It is reasonable," said Hazard, " to suppose that the de should be fond of such a fellow as Mike Brown." Said Rip, " For my share, I don't believe it. Hafcn's maki fun : how could the devil walk over the swamp in silk stockin and not get them muddy ?" CHAPTER XXX. AN INTERLUDE. A.BOUT the same hour of the night when Hafen Blok was regaling lis circle of auditors in the porch at Swallow Barn, it fell out that iwo sympathetic souls, who have frequently been brought to view in this narrative, were weaving closer the network of sentimental 1 iffinities in a quiet conference in one of the chambers at The - Brakes. As this contemporary incident may serve to give my readers some insight into the family history, I will relate it as it eyas told to me by Harvey Riggs ; only premising that Harvey is isomewhat dramatic in his nature, and therefore apt to put words into the mouths of his actors, which, if the matter were investi- gated, it might be discovered they never spoke. Be that as it may, if the story be not a positive fact, (Harvey makes a distinc- tion between a positive and a simple fact.) it is at least founded ;on a real event. The bustle attending the negotiation of the treaty that had just been concluded by our plenipotentiaries at The Brakes, had subsided, upon the departure of the Swallow Barn cavalcade, into an unusual calm. The family retired from the tea-table with a sedateness that might be ascribed to exhausted spirits : and, what was most worthy of observation. Swansdown, neglectful of his customary assiduities, relinquished the company of the ladies. 29G AN INTETRLUDE. I and sauntered Avith Mr. Tracy towards the back door, wliere, in ; chair inclined against a column of the portico, he fixed himsell with one foot resting upon the front bar, and with his right le^ thrown aci'os» his left knee in such fashion as to po-int upwards a an angle of forty-five ; and in this, posture he incontinent!; launched into a long, prosing discourse with Mr. Tracy, who sa opposite to him, which lasted all the evening. He was tuned t too high a key for light company. The achievement of the aware had wrought him into that state of self-complacency which gcc , erally attends upon ambition when saturated with a great exploil He had done a deed of mould, and was pleased to float upon th billow of his vanity, high borne above all frivolous things. This humor did not pass unobserved, nor^ perhaps, unn^ sented : for as soon as affairs had fallen into the posture I hav described. Prudence Meriwether and Catharine Tracy, in an aj parently careless spirit, set to walking up and down the hall, an' afterwards sallied forth, amidst the lingerings of the twilighi upon the open hill-side, and, with no better protection agains, the damps of the evening than their handkerchiefs thrown acroS' their shoulders, strolled at a snail's pace towards the river ; an' talked — -heaven knows what ! — or, at least, they only know, wh know what ruminative virgins^ on river banks at dewy eve, ar wont to say. It T£as nine by the clock, — -or even later, — when they returnc' to the front door and sat down upon the steps, still inteiat upo the exchange of secret thoughts. After a brief space, they ros again, and with locked arms stepped stately through the hall, ti and fro. Still the interminable Swansdown pursued his incessaD ! discourse. Another interval, and the two ladies slowly wende their way up stairs, and in the eastern chamber, looking toward the river, lighted by a solitary taper which threw a murky ra across the room, they planted their chairs at the window ; beneat AN INTERLUDE. 297 wliicb, until late at niglit, was heard a low, murmuring, busy note of ceaseless voices, like the flutter of the humming-bird in a wil- derness of honeysuckles. Haryey pretends that the subject of this long communing between our thoughtful dames had a special regard to that worthy personage whom but now my reader has seen seated at the porch, with his foot as high as his head. I have said somewhere that Prudence was oratorical ; and, indeed, I have heard it remarked that the ladies of the Old Dominion, in general, are not sparing of their tropes. Upon that subject I have no opinion to give, but leave the world to draw its own conclusions from the following authentic conversation ; authentic as far as Harvey Riggs is a credible witness. j It is characteristic of Prudence Meriwether, — as it is of sun- j dry other ladies of my acquaintance, — to lavish much fervor of I imagination in the advocacy of any favorite opinion. The glow of her feelings is, of course, reflected upon her subject, and the I glow of her subject is again reflected back upon her feelings ; and I thence, backward and forward successively, until the greatest i possible degree of heat is obtained by the process ; exactly as we Bee the same result produced between two concave mirrors'. It seems to me that an attentive observation of this phenomenon may go a great way to explain the mystery of a love afiair. The present theme was one of those upon which Prudence was wont to expatiate with a forcible emphasiij. Her rhetoric might be said to be even hyperbolical, and her figures of speech were certainly of the most original stamp. First, she gave an inventory of Swansdown's gentle qualities. " He was amiable^ mild, soft, and polished." Then again, " his voice was silvery, his motion graceful, his manners delicate." In this enumeration of dainty properties she sometimes paused to ask Catharine if she did not think so. 298 AN INTERLUDE. Catharine thought so, of course. " There was a gravity in his demeanor," said Prudence, '• which gave authority to his presence, and seemed to rebuke familiarity ; and yet it was so mixed up with the sallies of a playful imagina- tion, that it won the good opinion of the world almost by stealth." " He is very generally respected," said Catharine. Prudence continued the catalogue with increasing warmth ; and although Catharine was not so figurative, she was not less energetic in her panegyric. She not only echoed Pru's sentiments, but even magnified their proportions. Where two persons agree, the debate must be short. Such congeniality of thinking oceludes discussion, and the two ladies therefore travelled rapidly through the inventory. Prudence rose to the height of the stature of his mind, and descanted upon his abilities. " He had the art," she said, '• to impart a charm to the dullest subjects. His discrimination was intuitive, and facilitated his journey through the mazes of research, like one that wandered over a shorn meadow. Who but a man of genius could unravel the occult darkness of the boundary line, and shed certainty, in one day, upon an imjDortant question, in opposition to all the courts and all the lawyers of a state that boasted of both, with that forensic jurist Mr. Wart (manifestly prejudiced against his opi- nion) on the other side ! There was a moral romanticity in it. It was like casting a spell of " gramarie" over his opponents. The world would talk of this thing hereafter !" " It is very surprising," muttered Catharine. '• Think of it, my dear !" cried Prudence. " The country, before long will discover his dorman-t talents, and he will be com- pelled to forego his reluctance to guide the destinies of his native state." " It can be nothing but liis modesty," rejoined Kate, - that , AN INTERLUDE. 299 keeps him in the background now. He never would have been beaten three times for Congress, if he had not been so diffi- dent." " He is what I denominate emphatically," said Prudence, " a man of lofty sentiments : nothing sordid, nothing paltry, nothing tawdry, nothing — " " Nothing," replied Kate, " nothing of the sort." " Such sound opinions !" " And spoken in such chaste language !" " Such a strain of charity ! such a beautiful commingling of the virtues that mollify, with the principles that fortify, the heart !" " Such a rare union !" echoed Kate. Never has the world seen more perfect harmony than that which ruled in the counsels of our two damsels. At length they fell into a speculation upon the question, why he did not marry. Women consider, very naturally, life to be a sort of comedy, and constantly look to see the hero pairing off by way of preparation for the catastrophe. They agreed that there were not many of the sex who would not think themselves fortu- nate in an overture from Mr. Swansdown. But it was allowed that he was fastidious. It resulted from the peculiar nature of his organization. " I confess," said Prudence, " it puzzles me. It is one of the inexplicable arcana of human action that I cannot explain." " Nor I, neither," replied Kate. " There are men," said Miss Meriwether, " of such attenuated fibre, that they shrink at the rude touch of reality. They have the sensitiveness of the mimosa, and find their affections withering up where the blast of scrutiny blows too roughly upon them. Such a man is Singleton." " I believe that is very true," rejoined Miss Tracy ; •• and 300 AN INTERLUDE. besides, I think Mr. Swansdown is a little dashed by being refused so often." To this succeeded a shrewd inquiry as to what was his present purpose. " For," said Prudence, " it is quite clear to me that he medi- tates an important revolution in his fate." " Prudence, I have lately taken up the same idea." " There is something," continued Prudence, " in his thoughts that disturbs him. He is variable, vacillating, and visionary : sometimes, you would suppose, all mirthful exuberance. — if vour opinion were governed by the beaming expression of his face, — but, when he speaks, it is only to say some common-place thing, with an air of earnestness, that shows his thoughts to be looking upon some invisible idea. He is, at other times, so pensive, that one would think ' melancholy had marked him for her own.' What can it signify ?" " Can he have taken a religious turn?" asked Kate, with an air of wonder. " No," replied the other, thoughtfully. — " It has the fitfulness of genius distracted by its own emotions. It is not religion : we should wish it were so. But it is not that. It is the agitation of sensibility. — An imaginative temperament recreating amidst the attractive creations of its own handiwork." " Oh, Prudence ! how much that is like Swansdown himself?" " I think," returned Miss Meriwether, " I have studied his character well. And, to tell you the truth, my dear Catharine, I fancy he recognizes some affinity between us. I perceive that when he is anxious to share his thoughts with a friend, he flies to me ; and it strangely happens, that some secret instinct brings us into that holy confidence, where friendship puts on its garb of naked simplicity, and ideas flow together on the same high road, without reserve." AN INTERLUDE. 301 " Indeed ! I did not know you were so intimate with Mr. wansdown. It is strange it should have escaped me." " Why, it was sudden. It is wonderful to think how long vo spirits may associate in the same sphere without striking pen that chord which vibrates in unison in the hearts of both. ■ut for an accidental walk we took three or four mornings ago, efore breakfast, I doubt if I should ever have been brought to U |iat conviction which I entertain of his high qualities. And, ke him altogether, Kate, I think him a timid man. He is even mid in his intercourse with me ; although he passes so many oments in my company," " I did not think him timid," said Kate. " Oh, Tam sure that he is so, my dear ! To tell you the truth, ith that frankness which should preside over the breathings of .violable friendship, I have no question, from his manner, that 5 has something of a very delicate nature." — " No ! Prudence ! You don't think so ! My dear, you de- iive yourself. You are entirely mistaken in his views. Indeed, know you are," cried Catharine with energy. " Indeed, I am sure I am not, Kate. I have it in every thing it words." " Then," said Kate with emphasis, " there's no faith in man !" " Why not, my dear Catharine ?" " It is of no consequence," replied the other, in a tremulous, urmuring voice. '• The thing is not worth investigating. From ly other lips than yours, Pru, I never would have believed that (vansdown harbored such a thought. Well, I wish you joy of mr conquest. I renounce — " " Heavens, Catharine ! Do I understand you right ? What dreadful truth do you divulge to my mind ! I comprehend pur silence, my dearest Catharine, and do not ask an explanation, j3cause I see it all. This is one of the crudest bolts that Fate as treasured up in her quiver." 302 AN INTERLUDE. f " What shall we do, my dear Prudence ? I am all amaj ment !" " Po ! What ought we to do, but banish him from our fav \ as a false-hearted minion : banish him to the antarctic circle ; our regard, and fix upon him the indelible stain of our displeasur< From this moment I discard him from my heart." " And I from mine," said Catharine. " Now we are free." cried Prudence. " Is it not lucky tb we have had this interview ?" " Most fortunate. But are you sure, my dear Prudence, th; you have not made some mistake? Do you think he serious aimed at entrapping 3'our aflfections ?" " Sure, my love ! He did every thing that man could do, aij said every thing that man could say, short of falling on his 1 and offering me his hand." " What unparalleled perfidy ! When I contrast what you t» me with what I know, and for seven long months have so fi quently experienced — " " For seven months ?" " For seven months, believe me, my dear Prudence, for sev months." " Why he told me, Catharine, only this morning, that he ncT could grow intimate with you. That you had a reserve in yo manners which repelled all advances ; that — " " Good .heavens ! does Swansdown say so 1 There is hypocrisy in that, my dear Prudence, which shocks me. He b had some sinister design." " Oh ! forbear, Catharine. Do not mention it. I alwa thought him somewhat worldly-minded ; a little hollow-heart( He shows it in- the expression of his countenance." " Particularly," replied Catharine, " about the eyes, when smiles. Do you know, I always suspected him. I have a horr AN INTERLUDE. 303 of a man of extravagant professions, and have often doubted tho sincerity of Swansdown." '' Sincerity ! Let not the word be profaned by wedding it ■A'ith his name. It is plain, that all those apparently deep emotions ny which he vainly endeavored to wrench from me — yes, to wrench jfrom me, my affections, were but the false glitter that plays about ;:he sunny summit of worldly profession." " But when you tell me," said Catharine, interrupting her 'ricnd, '-that he has made an assault upon your affections, I am .est in amazement. He has twenty times insinuated to me, that dthough he thought you a woman of some pretensions, yet you yere the last woman in the world that could interest his regard. He said he thought your manners unnatural, and your tone of eeling superficial. I recollect his very words." " What reason have I to be thankful," exclaimed Prudence, lasping her hands, ^- that I have escaped the snare he has infused nto my cup ! He has been lavish of expedients to entrap me. |iVould you believe it, Catharine, he has actually written a long, md, I must do him the justice to say, talented letter, depicting he misery of the Greek matrons, and their devotion to the cause j»f their country, with a view to gratify me, and inspire me with a oftier sentiment of admiration for him. He was aware of my jcal in that cause." ' " The Greeks !" said Catharine. '■ Does he pretend to be an 'dvocate for the cause of the Greeks ? His precise words to me rere, that he thouofht the Greeks the most barbarous, the most uninteresting, and the vilest wretches in the world." " The infidel ! the preposterous man ! What a fatal mildew aust have struck its fangs into the understanding and the heart f the being that uttered such a sentiment ! And then, what ypocrisy must have varnished his face, whilst his pen traced his ppeal to the sensibilities of Virginia in behalf of the suffering >atriots ! 304 AN INTERLUDE. " It could not have been his own," replied Catharine. " Indeed, I should doubt it myself," said Prudence, '• if it wi not remarkable for those affected ornaments of style which 'figure even the best of his effusions. You may easily see tha' abounds in those vicious decorations which betray a false tai those superfluous redundancies that sparkle out in his comp tions, like the smothered embers of an extinguished furnace." " I think," added Catharine, " that it will invariably be fou: that a bad heart — " " Yes, my dear, that is perfectly true : a bad heart never pi pen to paper, but its guardian imp stands at its elbow, and infm into the composition a spice of hypocrisy. And had he the ; surance to say that he thought my manners unnatural ?" " Yes ; he said you were stiff and formal, and almost inace sible." " That shows his poverty of thought, Catharine ; for he ma) use of the same terms in reference to you." "He said he thought it strange," continued Catharine, -^i), you should fancy you were doing good by circulating tracts, j observed this was another of your follies ; that these tracts — " " And so he had the effrontery to attack the Tract Societ}' " He had, and went further ; he remarked that the soci ' was a mere invention to give employment to busy-bodies 8 1 country-gossips." "Heavens and earth! had he the rashness to question ' motives ?" " To be sure he had ; and called you one of the immaculate ' " Then, I am done with man. Depend upon it, Cathari , the sex is not to be trusted. There is a natural propinquit;- proclivity I mean — in this baser part of creation, to undervo 3 all that is virtuous. I never saw one man whose impulses Vi c- not essentially wicked." AN INTERLUDE. 305 DeTtfj uiiiiji ttiiM fb in?,' ICL- :-]■:! , " Nor I. neither, except my father," replied Catharine. " Of course, I except my brother Frank," said Prudence. i' Henceforward I abjure the sex." 1 " I think I will too," said Catharine in a lower tone. " Well now, Catharine," continued Miss Meriwether, " it be- i3omes us to take a decided part in reference to this Mister Swansdown." " What do you propose, Pru ?" " To treat him with that cutting coldness which we both so ifirell know how to assume." " I don't think we ought to make him of so much importance." " My dear," said Prudence, after a moment's hesitation, " per- aps you are right. There is nothing puffs up these lords of 'creation so much as to find our sex guilty of the weakness of ^ven the homage of contempt. Suppose we indicate to him by lour manner that we have unveiled his treachery, and show him, that although it has been so assiduous to insinuate himself into our good opinion, we regard him as an object of perfect indiffer- ence." " As one," added Catharine, " whose ways were known to us." " Whose fate," said Prudence, in continuation, '• is a subject that has never occupied our thoughts." " Whose duplicity has failed of its aim," said Catharine. '' Whose tergiversation and ambidexterity have alike excited our ridicule," replied Prudence. " Agreed ! let us do so," continued Catharine : — '• how shall we manage it ?" " By our looks, my dear Catharine ! I will look into the deep- est recesses of his heart with a glance, and wither him into a spectacle of scorn." " Looks may do a great deal," replied Catharine, " and I will regulate my demeanor by yours. " I am glad we have found him out !" 306 AN INTERLUDE, " Let us retire to rest, my dear/' said the other. " Let us our prayers, and be thankful that we have escaped these impen ing dangers." For a while, all was silent. But at midnight again, and loi afterwards, a buzzing sound of suppressed voices was heard fro the chamber. CHAPTER XXXI. SUMMER MORNINGS. N the country every thing wears a Sunday look. The skies have deeper blue, the clouds rest upon them like painting. The soft jutter of the groves hushes one into silence. The chirp of the Irasshopper, as he leaps in his short semi-circles along your path, as the feebleness of a whisper ; and the great vagabond butter- iy, which gads amongst the thistles, moves noiseless as a strag- ling leaf borne upon a zephyr. Then, there is a lowing of cows 'pon a distant meadow, and a scream of jay-birds, heard at inter- als ; the sullen hammer of a lonely woodpecker resounds from )me withered trunk ; and, high above, a soaring troop of crows, oarse with cawing, send forth a far-off note. Sometimes a huge ad miry mother of the sty, with her litter of querulous pigs, eps leisurely across the foreground ; and a choir of locusts in 10 neighboring woods spin out a long stave of music, like the upils of a singing-school practising the elements of psalmody. till, this varied concert falls faintly upon the ear, and only seems ) measure silence. Our morning pursuits at Swallow Barn partake somewhat of le quiet character of the scenery. Frank Meriwether is an early iser at this season, and generally breakfasts before the rest of le family. This gives him time to make a circuit on horseback, 308 SUMMER MORNINGS. to inspect the progress of his farm concerns. He returns befor the heat of the day, and, about noon, may be found stretche I upon a broad settee in the hall, with a pile of books on the floe beneath him, and a dozen newspapers thrown around in grer confusion : not unfrequently, too, he is overtaken with a dec sleep, with a volume straddling his nose ; and he will continue i this position, gradually snoring from a lower to a higher key, ui til he awakens himself by a sudden and alarming burst thatri! sembles the bark of a mastiff. He says the old clock puts hhj asleep, and, in truth, it has a very narcotic vibration ; but Fran is manifestly growing corpulent. And, what is a little amusio: he protests in the face of the whole family that he does not snor The girls get at the piano immediately after breakfast ; an Ned and myself usually commence the morning with a stroll, there happen to be visitors at Swallow Barn, this after-breakfa; hour is famous for debates. We then all assemble in the pore and fall into grave discussions upon agriculture, hunting, ( horsemanship, in neither of which do I profess any great pr ficiency, though I take care not to let that appear. Some of tl party amuse themselves with throwing pebbles picked from tl gravel walk, or draw figures upon the earth with a cane^ as if ■: assist their cogitations ; and when our topics grow scarce, t saunter towards the bridge, and string ourselves out upon tl. rail, to watch the bubbles that float down the stream ; and a:i sometimes a good deal perplexed to know what we shall do unl dinner time. There is a numerous herd of little negroes about the estati and these sometimes afford us a new diversion. A few mornin;,, since, we encountered a horde of them, who were darting aboi tlie bushes like untamed monkeys. They are afraid of me, l cause I am a stranger, and take to their heels as soon as they s me. If T ever chance to get near enough to sjieak to one 1 SUMMER MORNINGS. 309 .em, he stares at me with a suspicious gaze ; and, after a mo- ent, makes off at full speed, very much frightened, towards the (bins at some distance from the house. They are almost all Jid in a long coarse shirt which reaches below the knee, without ay other garment : but one of the group we met on the morning jspeak of, was oddly decked in a pair of ragged trowscrs, con- flicuous for their ample dimensions in the seat. These had ^idently belonged to some grown-up person, but were cut sLort i|the legs to make them fit the wearer. A piece of twine across i3 shoulder of this grotesque imp, served for suspenders, and Ipt his habiliments from falling about his feet. Ned ordered t.s crew to prepare for a foot-race, and proposed a reward of a pee of money to the winner. They were to run from a given jSint. about a hundred paces distant, to the margin of the brook, (jir whole suite of dogs were in attendance, and seemed to un- olrstand our pastime. At the word, away went the bevy, accom- jjiied by every dog of the pack, the negroes shouting and the dj^s yelling in unison. The skirts ran with prodigious vehe- njnce, their speed exposing their bare, black, and meager shanks, t(jthe scandal of all beholders ; and the strange baboon in trow- s struggled close in their rear, with ludicrous earnestness, ding up his redundant and troublesome apparel with his hand, a moment they reached the brook with unchecked speed ; and, the banks were muddy, and the dogs had become tangled with tl racers in their path, two or three were precipitated into the wj;er. This only increased the meriiment, and they continued tl| contest in this new element, by floundering, kicking, and S]'ishing about, like a brood of ducks in their first descent upon ^ ool. These young negroes have wonderfully flat noses, and tl most oddly disproportioned mouths, which were now opened tcheir full dimensions, so as to display their white teeth in sljking contrast with their complexions. They are a strange 310 SUMMER MORNINGS. pack of antic and careless animals, and furnish the liveliest ? ture that is to be found in nature, of that rafce of swart fail < which, in the old time, were supposed to play their pranks in _> forest at moonlight. Ned stood by, enjoying this scene likei ! amateur ; encouraging the negroes in their gambols, and hal . ing to the dogs, that by a kindred instinct entered tumultuouf^ I into the sport and kept up the confusion. It was difficult to • cide the contest. So the money was thrown into the air, anc ~ it fell to the ground, there was another rush, in which the h p J of the trowsers succeeded in getting the small coin from ground in his teeth, somewhat to the prejudice of his finery. E-ip asserts a special pre-eminence over these young serfs, ; 1 has drilled them into a kind of local militia. He sometimes 9 them all marshalled in the yard, and entertains us with a revi . They have an old watering-pot for a drum, and a dingy pool - handkerchief for a standard, under which they are arrayed 1 military order. As they have no hats amongst them, Rip ma s each stick a cock's feather in his wool ; and in this guise t v parade over the grounds with a riotous clamor, in which K shrill voice, and the clink of the old watering-pot, may be he 1 at a great distance. Besides these occupations, Hazard and myself frequently i ' out during the morning ; and we are apt to let our horses t their own way. This brings us into all the by-places of neighborhood, and makes me many acquaintances. Lucy ; 1 Victorine often accompany us, and I have occasion to adn their expert horsemanship. They have each a brisk little, p< >' and these are wonderful favorites with them ; and, to hear tl n talk, you would suppose them versed in all the affairs of *' stable. With such amusements, we contrive to pass our mornii % not listlessly, but idly. This course of life has a winpiug qua v SUMMER MORNINGS. 311 that already begins to exercise its influence upon my habits. There is a fascination in the quiet, irresponsible, and reckless na- ture of these country pursuits, that is apt to seize upon the im- agination of a man who has felt the perplexities of business. Ever since I have been at Swallow Barn, I have entertained a very philosophical longing for the calm and dignified retirement of the woods. I begin to grow moderate in my desires ; that is, I only want a thousand acres of good land, an old manor-house, on a pleasant site, a hundred negroes, a large library, a host of friends, and a reserve of a few thousands a year in the stocks,— in case of bad crops, — and, finally, a house full of pretty, intelli- gent, and docile children, with some few et ceteras not worth men- tioning. I doubt not, after this, I shall be considered a man of few wants, and great resources within myself. CHAPTER XXXII, A COUNTRY GATHERING. The day that followed our adventure in the Goblin Swamp wr a busy one. We were to have our dinner party at Swallow Bar:. At an early hour, before breakfast a servant waited at t\ front door for Hazard's orders. This was a negro boy equippe for service on horseback. He was rather more trig in his appea ance than I was accustomed to see the servants. From h jockey air, and the conceited slant he had given to an old dar colored cap with a yellow band, which stuck upon one side of h head, I was not wrong in my conjecture that he had somethii to do with the race-horses. He was mounted upon one of th stock; a tall, full-blooded bay, just ready to start, when Hazai, came to .instruct him in the purpose of his errand. "Ganymede," said Ned, "you will go to the Court Hou5 and give my compliments — " " Yes, sir," said the messenger, with a joyful countenance. — " To Mister Toll Hedges and the" doctor, and tell them th' we expect some friends here at dinner to day." " Yes, sir," shouted the negro, and striking his heels into h horse's sides at the same instant, plunged forward some paces. " Come back," cried Ned ; " what are you going after ?" " To ax Mas Toll Hedges and the doctor to come here to di ner to-day," returned the impatient boy. A COUNTRY G ATHEILINC;. 313 " Wait until you hear what I have to tell you," continued Ned. " Say to them that your Master Frank will be glad to see them ; and that I wish them to bring any bod}- along with then: they choose." " That's all !" exclaimed the negro again, and once more ■ hounded off towards the high road. '• You black rascal !" cried Ned at the top of his voice, and i laughing, "come back again. You are in a monstrous hurry. 1 1 wish you would show something of this activity when it is more wanting. Now. hear me out. Tell them, if they see the 'squire, to bring him along." " Yes, sir." " And as you pass by Mr. Braxton Beverly's, stop there, and ask him if he will favor us with his company. And if he cannot come himself, tell him to send us some of the family. Tell him to send them, at any rate. Let me see ; is there any body else? If you meet any of the gentlemen about, give them my compli- ments, and tell them to come over." "Yes, sir." " Now can you remember it all ?" "Never fear me, Mas Ned," said the negro, with his low- country, broad pronunciation, that entirely discards the letter R. " Then be off," cried Hazard, " and let me hear of no loiter- ing on the road." " That's me !" shouted Ganymede, in the same tone of exces- sive spirits he evinced on his first appearance. " I'll be bound I make tracks !" and, saying this, the negro flourished his hand above his head, struck his heels again on the horse's ribs, hallooed with a wild scream, and shot forward like an arrow from a bow. Soon after breakfast the visitors from The Brakes began to appear. First came Prudence Meriwether with Catharine, in Mr. Tracy's carriage. About an hour afterwards, Swansdown's glit- 14 314 A COUNTRY GATHERING. i tering curricle arrived, bringing Bel Tracy under the convoy the gentleman himself. After another interval, Harvey Eig and Ralph followed on horseback. Mr. Tracy had not accoi panied either of these parties ; but Harvey brought an assuran from him that he would be punctual to the engagement. A dinner party in the country is not the premeditated, anxio : affair it is in town. It has nothing of that long, awful inten ! between the arrival of the guests and the serving up of the dish« . when men look in each other's faces with empty stomachs, ai utter inane common-places with an obvious air of insincerity, not of actual suffering. On the contrary, it is understood to a regular spending of the day, in which the guests assume all t privileges of inmates, sleep on the sofas, lounge through the hal read the newspapers, stroll over the grounds, and, if pinched appetite, stay their stomachs with bread and butter, and tod made of choice old spirits. There were several hours yet to be passed before dinner-tin Our company, therefore, began to betake themselves to such ^ cupations as best sorted with their idle humors. Harvey Ri£ had already communicated to me the incidents I have record of the interview between Prudence and Catharine, and our cc osity had been accordingly aroused to see in what way the t damsels intended to pursue the measures which both had vot». necessary in their emergency. An occasion now occurred to | them in practice. Prudence was seated at the piano strummi : a tune ; Swansdown was in the courtyard, looking through i) open window, with a flower in his hand regaling his nose, a listening to the strains, the syren strains, that fell from his f ' enemy. Presently the piano ceased, the maiden turned careles: towards the window. Swansdown put on a winning smile, sji some unheard, gallant thing, and presented the nosegay to 1 > lady. She smelt it, and sat down at that very window. T ' A COUNTRY GATHERING. 315 osition brought her ear right opposite the gentleman's lips. It } pretty obvious what must follow, when a cavalier has such an • dvantage over even an angry dame. Soon Prudence was obser. ' ed to smile ; and, straightway, the conference became soft and )W, accompanied with earnest, sentimental looks, and ever and ' bon relieved by a fluttering, short, ambiguous, and somewhat •■ teathless laugh. It was plain, Prudence was enforcing her J jictics. She was heaping coals of fire upon the head of the luck- ■ ;ss swain. In truth, if she yet nursed her wrath, it seemed to '" ave grown monstrous charitable. Perhaps she relented in her ' tern purpose, and gave way to the gentler emotions of pity, in ' le hope of converting the sinner. Perhaps she had tempered i er censure of man's oblicjuities, by the spontaneous and irresist- 'i )le overflow of her own tenderness ; or, perhaps she had been ■-! Itogether in a mistake. Whatever was the truth, her present furpose, motive, and action, certainly seemed to me marvellously s lexplicable. :i Whilst this private interview was going on, the members of i le household passed freely along the hall. A drawing would 1 liow my reader how one might have looked thence into the par- :: )r, and seen the position of the speakers ; and how from the lit- I e porch where Harvey and I were seated, we could discern ; wansdown through a screen of rose-bushes, as he stood with his ? ead rather inside of the casement. But, for want of a good map 1 r sketch of the premises, these things must be conceived. At ■ pngth Catharine, who till now had been engaged with other cares, hd who had, I presume, supposed that the war against the per- 3 jdious poet, philosopher, and future pillar of the state, was to be i De of extermination, came flaunting along the hall, carolling a li ay tune, and wearing an outside of unaccustomed levity. When .' pe arrived opposite the parlor door, the same phenomenon that ' |ad put us at fault seemed all at once to strike her. An emo- 316 A COUNTRY GATHERING. kf- tion of surprise was visible upon her countenance. She passe went back, looked into the parlor, hesitated, returned towards tl front door, stood still a moment in a fit of abstraction, wheele round, and finally entered the room with a face all smoothne^ and pleasure. Her plans were concerted during these motion Her accost was playful, loud, and even unusually gracious ; an from that moment the trio fell into an easy, voluble, and pleasai discourse, in which the two ladies talked without intermissicn, an without listening to each other, for a good half hour. " That's strange 1" said Harvey, looking at me with a fac, full of wonder. ' " You have misrepresented them, Harvey," said I, " Not a jot ; for Bel has had the whole detailed to her, nc' exactly in the words I have given you, but in substance, frori each of them separately this morning. They have both, in turji confided to her the conversation of last night ; and, like a goo \ secret-keeper, she has told it all to me, — knowing my anxiety i i the matter, — but with a strict injunction that it was to go D | further. And so I, in order that I may have a witness to m fidelity, have told it all to you, who of course will understand i as confidential, and not permit a word of it to escape your lip; There you have the whole pedigree of the secret, and you see tha I am as close as a woman. In the detail, I have not in any di: gree impaired the excellence of the story, I assure yon." ; " Then the wind blows from another quarter to-day," said I ^t " The thing is perfectly plain," said Harvey ; " that solemij ass, Swansdown, has a greater hold on these women than they ar ! willing to allow to each other. Prudence is not quite agreed tij trust Kate ; and Kate is half inclined to disbelieve every wori that Prudence has toM her. And both of them think it at lea? very probable that there is some mistake in the matter. So, fo fear there might be a mistake, Pru has set about making a d( monstration for herself; and Kate has taken the alarm froi iii A COUNTRY C A THE RING. 317 what she lias discovered, and is afraid that Pru, if let alone, will get the whip-hand of her. In this state of things, they have dis- .solved the alliance, and each one is coquetting on her own ac- count. It is something like a panic against a bank, when the creditors are all dashing in to get the jDreference in the payment of their notes." Swansdown was at last relieved from the spirited lun that had been made upon his courtesy. The two ladies drew oiF to other ! engagements, and the disencumbered gentleman came round to the door where we were sitting. It happened that Rip, a few moments before, had been released from school, and had walked into the parlor where Prudence and Catharine were entertaining the poet ; but, finding them earnestly occupied, had made a circuit round the room and out again without stopping, and then came and seated himself on the sill of the front door, where he remained when Swansdown joined our party. What had previ- ously been occupying Rip's brain I know not, for he sat silent and abstracted ; but at last, drawing up his naked heels on the floor, so as to bring his knees almost in contact with his chin, and embracing bis legs with his arms, in such manner as to form a hoop round them with his fingers interlaced, he looked up at us with a face of some perplexity, as he broke out with the excla- mation, — '• Dog them women ! If they ar'nt too much !" " Whom do you mean, Rip ?" inquired Harvey. " Aunt Pru and Catharine." " What have they been doing ? you seem to be in a bad hu- mor," , " Oh, dog 'em, I say ! they won't let Mr. Swansdown do any thing he wants : always tagging after him. (Swansdown was a great favorite of Rip's, principally on account of his horses.) I don't wonder he don't like to stay with them." " What fault have you to find with the ladies, Rip ?" asked 318 A COUNTRY GATHERING. I Swansdown, amused with the boy's manner. '• You are not angrj, with them on my account, I hope ?" " Yes, I am. They're always a talking about you. For mj share, I think they must be in love with you." Here Harvey laughed aloud. " What do they say of Mr. Swansdown, Rip ?" '• You needn't laugh, Mr. Riggs," said Rip. " Havn't I heard them both talking about Mr. Swansdown? Oh, oh! I wouldn't like any body to talk about me so !" " I hope they said nothing ill of me, Rip ?" said Swansdown, a little confused. "I guess they didn't," replied Rip. "But you had better look out, else every body will say that you are going to get mar- ried to both of them. That would be queer, wouldn't it?" " But you havn't told us what they said," interrupted Har- vey. " No matter, Rip,^ about that," said Swansdown. " We must not tell tales out of school, you know." " Catch me !" replied Rip, " I'm not going to tell." Saying these words, he jumped up and ran off to his sports, with his natural careless and irresponsible manner, not dreaming that the slightest consequence could be attached to any thing he had uttered. This simple incident had a sensible influence upon the conduct of Swansdown during the rest of the day. He had of late been haunted by an apprehension that he was almost ashamed to acknowledge, namely, that it was possible his civilities both to Prudence and Catharine might be overrated and misconstrued. They had both flattered his vanity, and allured him by that means into a somewhat intimate intercourse, although it was very far from kindling up a serious interest in his feelings. Still, this attention was agreeable to him ; and once or twice the suspicion A COUNTRY GATHERING. 310 might have crossed his mind, that he was permitting matters to go too far ; an indiscretion which he foresaw might produce some unpleasant consequences. It was in this state of doubt that he had left the ladies but a few moments since ; and it was, there- fore, with something of trepidation and alarm that he heard Rip's abrupt disclosure, made with the boyish recklessness I have described. Harvey Riggs saw this, and was inclined to make advantage of it ; but Rip took the caution inculcated by Swans- down, and frustrated the object. The most amusing feature in the whole transaction was, that it brought about the very state of things, by the voluntary choice of Swansdown, that Prudence and Catharine, on their part, had resolved the night before to compel ; but which their uncertain and distrustful policy to-day had countervailed. Swansdown came to the sudden determination to allay the false hopes he had raised, by assuming, for the future, a more circumspect and reserved behavior, and, as soon as the opportunity favored, to decamp from the field of action, and make his way back to his native oaks, where, he hoped, his absence would in a short time — at least in as short a time as so sore a disease allowed — heal up the wounds his innocent and unwary perfections had inflicted upon the peace of two unquiet and un- happy spinsters. Full of this sentiment, he suddenly became pensive, formal, punctilious, prosy, and cold. Never did the thermometer fall more rapidly to zero. Whilst these things were going on, our company continued to assemble. Two odd-looking figures arrived on horseback at the gate, followed by our trusty boy Granymede, who had staid behind to accompany the guests he had been sent to invite. The older of the two was the doctor, a fat, short-winded gentleman, dressed, notwithstanding the heat of the season, all in woollen cloth. Behind his saddle he carried a small valise, such as gentlemen of his profession use in the country for the conveyance of drugs and 320 A COUNTRY GATHERING. t medicines. The other was our old friend Taliaferro Hedges., considerably improved in attire, but with his pantaloons — some! white cotton fabric — rubbed up, by the action of his horse, almost ; to his knees. He wore his broad, shapeless, and tattered straw ; hat, that flapped over his eyes with a supreme air of waggishness ; i and as he dismounted at the gate, he deliberately disburdened' i his mouth of a quid of tobacco^ and walked up to the door. It; was now past one o'clock : and as it is usual in this part of Virgi-,j nia to follow up the introduction of a guest at this hour of the; day with an invitation to take &ome of the toddy, our new; comers were ushered into a back room, where an immense bowl^ had been prepared by Ned Hazard, who was there present witbl Meriwether and Mr. Wart to administer it. f In the midst of the jest, clamor, and laughter of the convoca-j tion that was now assembled, admiring and doing homage to thej icy and well-flavored bowl, other visitors were introduced, amongst! the rest Mr. Braxton Beverly, an extensive breeder of sheep and blooded horses. He was a tall, thin, talkative gentleman, who had an authoritative way of besieging the person he addressed, and laying down the heads of his discourse by striking the fingers of his right hand upon the palm of his left, and shaking his head . somewhat as I have seen a bullying school-boy, when he was going to fight. Mr. Chub formed a part of this group, but stood rather- in the background, with his hands tucked under the skirts of his coat, so as to throw them out like the tail of a bantam cock, whilst he erected his figure even beyond the perpendicular line. For a time, this was a busy and a gay scene, characterized by the exhi- ' bition of that good-humored and natural freedom from tlie con- straint of forms, which constitutes one of the most unequivocal" features of a genuine hospitality. The tumult gradually subsided, ! as the several personages in the room retreated towards the hall ; and it was not long before the whole party seemed to be entirelj^ '0 lili A cor NTRY GATHERING. 321 omesticatcd, and had separated into as many fragments as whim r chance produced. Some sauntered towards the bridge, and (lence to the stable ; some sat in the shade of the porch, and iscussed the topics that interested the country ; and others landcred as far as the schoolhouse, whence miglit be heard an pcasional obstreperous laugh, the sudden consequence of some jell-told story. As the dinner hour drew nigh, our scattered forces were fast pncentrating upon one point. The ladies had assembled in the rawing-room ; and there were many signs that could not bo istaken, that the hour dedicated to the imperious calls of appe- te was near at hand. Still, Mr. Tracy had not yet appeared, ivers sf coulations were set on foot as to the cause of his absence, [erhaps he had forgotten his engagement ; but that was not •obable, considering how careful he was known to be in all such atters ; and especially after the interest he had expressed to lieve Meriwether from the sense of mortification which he .pposed his friend felt in his defeat. He could not have lost his iy ; nor could he have mistaken the hour. A general anxiety, length, began to prevail on the subject. Meriwether was ^rticularly desirous to meet his neighbor at this moment of Lcification ; and the rest of the party were curious to note the i gentleman's behavior at so critical a juncture. The dinner hour had now come, and every one was still on the Dkout for our ancient guest. Most of the gentlemen were con- egated about the door, watching every object that came in sight ton the road leading to the gateway. At last, slowly emerging Dm behind a clump of trees, at some distance off, where the road ^ist occurred to view, was seen the venerable veteran himself e had dismounted from his horse, and, unattended by any ser- nt, was walking leisurely with his arms behind his back, the jidle dangling from one hand, and his horse dodging along after 14* 322 A COUNTRY GATHERING. him, as slow as foot could fall. Both the steed and the ride? looked patiently and pensively upon the ground. A long intervii elapsed before they reached the gate. The worthy gentlemayj all unconscious of the lateness of the hour, or of his proximitj to his point of destination, and the impatient crowd that wei ' gazing at him, advanced in deep thought. The exterminate lawsuit disturbed him. He thought sorrowfully over the exti guished controversy. A favorite fancy had been annihilate untimely cropped, as a flower of the field. He could not reali: the idea. The privation had left him no substitute. All thi was plainly read in his movements. He travelled forward a fe paces, then stopped, raised his head, by a careful, circuitous m tion of his hand, took his handkerchief out of his pocket, paust and adjusted it in his grasp, then, stooping forward, applied it his nose, and returned it, with the same deliberation, to its pla of deposit. This operation was several times repeated, and £ companied with looks of bewildered abstraction. Poor gent! man ! He had parted with a friend when he gave up his su He arrived, at length, at the gate, where he was met by Meri\^ ther, and almost by the whole company. It was a surprise to Li to find himself so near ; and, immediately dismissing the medi" tive air which had rendered his march so tardy and perplexed, put on his accustomed demeanor of studied and sprightly ci lity, and replied to the numerous greetings with an alacrity tl astonished every one. " I fear I have kept you waiting, my friend," said he to Mc wether ; " that, you know, is not my way ; but, body-o'-me ! I h like to have made a slip ; my timepiece is to blame. Wc old i lows," he continued, looking at his watch, " havn't so much of t> commodity to lose either, Mr. Meriwether, ha, ha ! Time d«"' not spare such an old curmudgeon as I : he has handled me pre^ well already." A COUNTRY GATHERING. 323 "Papa, what made you stay so long?" asked Bel. " We have '. (en waiting for you until I began to be alarmed lest something ■ id happened to you." " My dear," replied the father, " I thought I would just ride ' jjand by the Apple-pie to take a look at the grounds ; and I : lllieve I staid there rather too long." 5 i " And what had you to look at there, all by yourself, I should : l:etoknow?" " Nothing, my dear, but we must not talk of the Apple-pie, — ^ it a word ! That subject is to be buried for ever. It is done, . lissure you, my dear, it is done." With these words, the old gentleman entered the hall and ingled with the crowd. CHAPTER mill. THE DINNER TABLE, About half after three, Carey, with a solemn official air m \ was well set off by a singularly stiff costurae, — assuming for nonce the rank and station of head-waiter, — announced that ( - ner was on the table. The greater part of the company was ■ iected in the drawing-room ; some two or three loitered thro'i the hall. At the summons, Mr. Tracy, with that alacrious :- tion which sometimes belongs to old men, sprang upon his : t and hastened to the opposite side of the room, where my coi-u Lucretia was seated, took her hand, and, with a repetition of - mal bows after a fashion in vogue in the last century, led he!o the dining-room. Meriwether stood at the door beckoning to < after another of his guests, with that kind smile and unstudtl grace which are natural to a benevolent temper ; his tall fi^ '^' somewhat constrained in its motion by an infusion of mod(), which is always discernible in him when placed in any consj i- ous position. As soon as Mr. Tracy led the way, Swansddi, with some particularity, offered his arm to Bel. The other laCs found an escort among the more gallant of the gentlemen ; i^l after them the rest of the party pressed forward pell-mell tow l^^ the dining-room, leaving Meriwether to bring up the rear, ' }^- upon arriving at the table, with that considerateness which n cr THE DINNER TADLE. 325 jrsakes him in the smallest matters, placed Mr. Wart, Mr )hub, and one or two of his elder guests near his own seat. I must not forget to mention, that before we had taken our (hairs, Mistress "Winkle, decked out in all the pomp of silk and liusliu, sailed, as it were, with muffled oars into the room from a [ide door ; and, with a prim and stealthy motion, deposited her ime-worn person near to my cousin Lucretia. It is a custom of fifectionate courtesy in the family, to accord to this venerable jlic of the past generation the civility of a place at table. Mr. 'racy was aware of Meriwether's feelings towards the aged dame ; ad, prompted by his overflowing zeal on the present occasion to lanifest his deference to his host, he no sooner observed her thaii e broke out into a jocose and gallant recognition : — " Mistress Winkle ! what, my old friend ! It rejoices me to e you looking so well — and so youthful ! The world goes mer- ly with you. Gad's-my life ! if Colonel Tarleton were only ive again to make another visit to the James River, it would e hard to persuade him that time had gained so small a victory ver the romping girl whom he had the impertinence to chuckle der the chin so boldly. A saucy and stark trooper he was in ose days, Mistress Winkle ! But the gout, the gout, I warrant, id his business for him long ago ! Ha, ha ! You hav'nt forgot d'times, Mistress Winkle, although they have well nigh forgot- jn you." The housekeeper, during this outbreak, courtesied, hemmed pd smiled ; and, with much confusion, rustled her silken folds ji her chair, with somewhat of the motion of a motherly hen in 'le process of incubation. Mr. Tracy had touched upon an ind- ent which, for nearly half a century, had been a theme that armed up all her self-complacency, and which- owed its origin to Qe of the English partisan's forays upon the river side, during le Revolution, in which be was said to have made himself very 826 THE DINNER TABLE. i much at home at Swallow Barn, and to have bestowed some cc .. plimental notice upon the then buxom and blooming dependji of the family. The table was furnished with a profusion of the delicac i afforded by the country ; and, notwithstanding it was much m( i ample than the accommodation of the guests required, it seeir'. to be stored rather with a reference to its own dimensions tl . to the number or wants of those who were collected around . At the head, immediately under the eye of our hostess, in '■! customary pride of place, was deposited a goodly ham of bac , rich in its own perfections, as well as in the endemic honors ti ; belong to it in the Old Dominion. According to a usage worl- of imitation, it was clothed in its own dark skin, which the : • aginative mistress of the kitchen had embellished by carving • to some fanciful figures. The opposite end of the table smol . with a huge roasted saddle of mutton, which seemed, from > trim and spruce air, ready to gallop off the dish. ^ Between th '; two extremes was scattered an enticing diversity of poultry, p • pared with many savory adjuncts, and especially that topical 1 :• ury, which yet so slowly finds its way northward, — fried chi • ens, — sworn brother to the ham, and old Virginia's standard di The intervening spaces displayed a profusion of the products '. the garden ; nor were oysters and crabs wanting where ro i allowed ; and, where nothing else could be deposited, as if so • pulous of showing a bare spot of the table-cloth, the bounti 1 forethought of Mistress Winkle had provided a choice select i of pickles of every color and kind. From the whole array of ' board it was obvious, that abundance and variety were deemed > less essential to the entertainment, than the excellence of ' viands. A bevy of domestics, in every stage of training, attended • on the table, presenting a lively type of the progress of civil) ■ THE DINNER TADLE. 327 )n, or the march of intellect ; the veteran waitingman being ill-contrasted with the rude half-monkey, half-boy, who seemed have been for the first time admitted to the parlor ; whilst, be- een these two, were exhibited the successive degrees that mark ii ie advance from the young savage to the sedate and sophisti- a ited image of the old-fashioned negro nobility. It was equal to :S igallery of caricatures, a sort of scenic satire upon man in his :2 ^rious stages, with his odd imitativeness illustrated in the broad- ;,^ (t lines. Each had added some article of coxcombry to his ;i (ess; a pewter buckle fastened to the shirt for a breast-pin ; a ::• ^^SJ parti-colored ribbon, ostentatiously displayed across the ■.J least, with one end lodged in the waistcoat pocket ; or a prcpos- • i> i'ous cravat girding up an exorbitantly starched shirt collar, yr tit rivalled the driven snow, as it traversed cheeks as black as ,;3 idnight, and fretted the lower cartilage of a pair of refractory, M iren-hued ears. One, more conceited than the rest, had platted ., 1; wool (after a fashion common amongst the negroes) into five !r ( six short cues both before and behind ; whilst the visages of J tj whole group wore that grave, momentous elongation which peculiar to the African face, and which is eminently adapted t express the oiEcial care and personal importance of the wearer. As the more immediate, and what is universally conceded to the more important, business of the dinner was discussed, to ^b, the process of dulling the edge of appetite, the merriment of tp company rose in proportion to the leisure afi"orded to its ex- cpse ; and the elder portion of the guests gently slid into the Vacity of the younger. Mr. Tracy did not lose for an instant tjit antiquated cavalier air which he had assumed on entering tj) room. As Harvey Riggs expressed it, "he was painfully po- h and very precisely gay." The ladies, for a time, gave their tie to the table ; and, under this influence, we found ourselves fling into detached circles, where each pursued its separate 328 THE DINNER TABLE. theme, sometimes in loud and rapid converse, mingled with iC. quent bursts of laughter that spread an uudistinguishable |in through the room ; and sometimes in low and confidential i ij. murings, of which it was impossible to say whether they ire grave or gay. Swansdown's voice was poured into Bel's ecjiii gentle and unremitting whispers, of which Ned Hazard alonjof all the guests — to judge by his intense and abstracted gaze— sa able to unriddle the imjDort. Prudence, equally abstracted, jOS unnaturally merry, and laughed much more than was neces'ry at Harvey's jokes. Catharine talked with singular sagacity, jid listened, with still more singular earnestness, to Mr. Beve y. who was instructing her, with equal interest and eloquence, ipn the wholesome effects he had found in the abundant useof fla.el — which he described with unnecessary amplitude of details tin repelling the assaults of an ancient enemy, the rheumatism. ;)w and then a loud and rather obstreperous laugh, not altog(,er suited to the region he inhabited, and which some such conscis- ness seemed abruptly to arrest, was set up by Taliaferro He' . This worthy had already begun to occupy that questionable grind which a gentleman of loose habits and decaying reputatic; ifl pretty sure to arrive at in his descending career. Bissip jOn had lowered him somewhat in the world, and had already i re- duced him to a class of associates who had made a visible im.es- sion on his manners, a circumstance which very few men ha so little shrewdness as not to perceive, nor so much hardihood a lot to be ashamed of. In truth. Toll had imbibed some of the £ Qg, and much of the boisterousness of the bar-room ; but he ha pot yet given such unequivocal indications of the incurableness >'h^ infirmity, as to induce his acquaintances (who for the mostjart upheld him on some family consideration) to exclude him jom their houses. On the contrary, a certain strain of disorder) uul generous companionship, breaking out and shining above the>cci) THE DINNER TABLE. 329 thich it was akin, still recommended him to the favor of those were unwilling to desert him as long as his case was not ' a olutely hopeless. The course of intemperance, however, gravi- ties by a fatal law downwards : it is unfortunately of the most ■ rle occurrence, that the mind which has once been debauched by ' aiabit of intoxication, ever regains that poise of self-respect which ~ n''serves the purity of the individual. It was easy to perceive tit Hedges labored under a perpetual struggle to constrain his d>ortment within even the broader boundaries that limit the ii ulgence of the class of gentlemen. " Amidst these diversified exhibitions, Mr. Wart ate like a man \Jh a good appetite, and gave himself no trouble to talk, except iiphe intervals of serving his plate ; for he remarked, " that he '" w not accustomed to these late hours, and thought them apt to " irke one surcharge his stomach ;" whilst the parson, who sat " ovosite to him, wore a perpetual smile during the repast ; some- ■ ti es looking as if he intended to say something, but more gen- ■ e:lly watching every word that fell from Mr. Wart's lips. The courses disappeared ; a rich dessert came and went : the •' sjjrits of the company rose still higher. The wine, iced almost ■ t<;he freezing point, moved in a busy sphere ; for the intense t of the weather gave it an additional zest. We had made til usual libations to the ladies, and exchanged the frequent Iths, according to the hackneyed and unmeaning custom which vails unquestioned, I suppose, over Christendom, when the ejeh arrived at which, by the arbitrary law of the feast, the wpankind are expected to withdraw ; that time which, if I were abvereign in this dinner-party realm, should be blotted from the ive calendar. I should shame me to acknowledge that there ' any moment in the social day when it was unseemly for the tdperate sex to look upon or listen to the lord of creation in W pastimes ; but I was neither monarch nor magician, and so we 230 THE DINNER TABLE. i were left alone to pursue unreproved the frolic current upon -w ah we had been lifted. Before us glittered the dark sea of the t le, studded over with " carracks," " argosies," and '• barks'' freig ed | with the wealth of the Azores, Spain, Portugal and France ; ad i with the lighters by which these precious bulks were unladen id i deposited in their proper receptacles. In sooth, the wine 'as very good. Almost the first words that were spoken, after we had : .d- lusted ourselves from the stir occasioned by the retreat oJhe ladies, came from Mr. Tracy. He had been waiting for a sul )le opportunity to acqjiit himself of a grave and formal duty, he occasion of the dinner, he conceived, demanded of him a pec ar compliment to the host. His strict and refined sensitivene to the requirements of gentle breeding would have forbidden lii ; to sleep quietly in his bed with this task unperformed ; and t ire- fore, with a tremulous and fluttered motion, like that of a y ng orator awe-struck at the thought of making a speech, he re -to ^ command the attention of the table. A faint-hearted snail ^t rigidly upon his visage, " like moonlight on a marble statu ■— his eye glassy, his cheek pale, and his gesture contrived to a int and feeble counterfeit of mirth. It was evident the old gentl an was not accustomed to public speaking : and so he remarb as he turned towards Meriwether, and continued an address me- what in the following terms : — " Since we have, my dear sir, so fortunately succeeded ii ut- ting an end to a vexatious question, — which, although i iias resulted in throwing upon my hands a few barren and unprof ble acres, has given all the glory of the settlement to you ;— ^r^' his voice quavered considerably,) for it was indubitably, my^n worthy and excellent friend, at your instance and suggestior liat we struck out the happy thought of leaving it to the arbitn out of our kind friends : — and to tell the truth, (at this poii <'"' THE DINNER TABLE. 331 )ld gentleman brightened up a little and looked jocular, although le still had the quaver.) I don't know but I would as lief have the awsuit as the land, — seeing that it has been the occasion of many jnerry meetings : — I will take upon myself to propose to this good tiompany of neighbors and friends, that we shall drink, — ha ha ! [continued the veteran, waving his hand above his head, and inclining towards the table with a gay gesticulation.) that we shall rink, gentlemen, a bumper ; (here he took the decanter in his and, and filled his glass.) '• Fill your glasses all around, — no inching !" " Fill up ! fill up !" cried every one, anxious to help the old entleman out of his difficulties, " Mr. Tracy's toast in a bum- ^er !" '• Here," continued Mr. Tracy, holding his glass on high with trembling hand, " here is to our admirable host, Mister Francis jleriwether of Swallow Barn ! — a sensible and enlightened gentle- lan, — a considerate landlord, — a kind neighbor, an independent, pright, sensible, — enlightened — (here he became sadly puzzled 3r a word, and paused for a full half minute,) reasonable defender fright and justice ; a man that is not headstrong (his perplexity ill increasing) on the score of landmarks, or indeed on any score ! -I say, gentlemen, here's wishing him success in all his aims, od long life to enjoy a great many such joyous meetings as the resent; besides — " I " Health of our host, and many such meetings !" exclaimed Ir. Wart, interrupting the speaker, and thus cutting short a )ast of which it was evident Mr. Tracy could not find the end. " Health to our host, — ^joyous meetings !" cried out half a ozen voices. And thus relieved from his floundering progress, the old gen- eman took his seat in great glee, remarking to the person next ) him, " that he was not much practised in making dinner 332 THE DINNER TABLE. speeches, but that he could get through very well when he waj once pushed to it." j Meriwether sat out this adulatory and unexpected assault wit!-: painful emotions, sinking under the weight of his natural diffidenc( The rest of the company awaited in silence the slow, drawling and distinct elocution of the speaker, with an amused and lud ! crous suspense, until Mr. Wart's interruption, which was thi signal for a shout of approbation; and in the uproar that eil sued, the wine was quaffed ; while Mr. Tracy chuckled at ih i eminent success of his essay, and Meriwether stood bowing an; blushing with the bashfulness of a girl. j When the clamor subsided, Philly Wart remarked in a quii • tone, — " I think our friend Meriwether will scarcely escape a speec in reply to this compliment. The fashion is to return the broa< side whenever it is given." " I pray you," said Meriwether, with an emotion amountii almost to alarm, " do not ask me to say any thing. I have i insuperable aversion to such efforts: my nerves will not stand ; Mr. Tracy knows how kindly I take the expression of his i gard." Harvey Riggs, who observed Meriwether's real embarra^ ment, rose to divert the attention of the company to anoth. quarter; and putting on an air of great solemnity, observed tb he was unwilling to lose so favorable an opportunity of payio^ tribute to two very worthy, and on the present occasion he migi say, conspicuous persons; "I mean, gentlemen," said he, "^' Philpot Wart and Mr. Singleton Oglethorpe Swansdown. I plenish, gentlemen ! Here's to the health of the pacificators ! t : men whose judgments could not be led astray by the decisions I courts, and whose energies could not be subdued by the forini plause. In this point of view, my worthy friend who has , t spoken, seems to have considered the case in hand. The seed motive for the act, may it please you, — Mr. Meriwether, — may\ and such I take it, a certain intent, inter alia, to promote tJ encourage cheerful companionship. With whatever gravity e res gesta may be conducted, I hold that it is to be looked u n diverso intuitu^ according to the temper and condition of «' company for the time being. " Now, sir, I will not venture to say that my learned fri tl lias not wisely considered the toast in the present instance »s intended and made in all gravity of purpose; but, seeing ^^t this company did certj^inly manifest some levity on the occasn. THE DINNER TABLE. 335 [ choose, sir, to stand on the sunny side of the question, as the iiafest, in the present emergency. Vcrc sajnt^ sir, qui alicno per- \culo sapit : I, therefore, sir, go for the joke. I have sometimes jeen an old hound tongue upon a false scent ; but then there is (ttusic made, and, I believe, that is pretty much all that is wanting iin the present occasion. " When a man is praised to his face, gentlemen of the jury," i,e continued, rising into an energetic key, and mistaking the ribunal he was addressing, — " I beg pardon, gentlemen, you see he ermine and the woolsack will stick to my tongue : Oinnihiis joc intium cantoribus^ as an ancient author (I forget his name) ery appropriately remarks. What is bred in the bone, — you :now the proverb. But when a man is praised to his face," — ere the speaker stretched out his arm, and stood silent for a loment, as if endeavoring to recollect what he intended to say, — 3r he had lost the thread of his speech, — and during this pause is countenance grew so irresistibly comic that the whole compa- y, who had from the first been collecting a storm of laughter, ow broke out with concentrated violence. i I " Poh, Ned Hazard ! you put every thing I had to say out of liy head with that horse laugh," continued the orator, looking at I^ed, who had thrown himself back in his chair, giving full vent his merriment. Philly patiently awaited the blowing over of this whirlwind, l^ith an increased drollery of look ; and then, as it subsided, he ade a bow with his glass in his hand, saying, in an emphatic ay, "your healths, gentlemen !" swallowed his wine, and took 'is seat, amidst renewed peals of mirth. At the same moment, rom the depths of this tumult, was distinctly heard the voice of Ir. Chub, who cried out, with his eyes brimful of tears, and a lalf suffocated voice, — " A prodigious queer man, that Mister i'hilly Wart !" t 336 THE DINNER TABLE. Segars were now introduced, the decanters were tilled for th<^ second time, and the flush of social enjoyment reddened into ; deeper hue. Some one or two additional guests had just arrived and taken their seats at the table, a full octave lower in tone thai their excited comrades of the board : it was like the mingling o a few flats too many in a lively overture ; but the custom of ih' soil sanctions and invites these irregularities, and it was notlonr before this rear-guard hastened on to the van. The scene pre sented a fine picture of careless, unmethodized and unenthrallei hospitality, where the guests enjoyed themselves according t their varying impulses, whether in grave argumentation or tof pling merriment. Now and then, a song, — none of the best i execution, — was sung, and after that a boisterous catch was trollec with some decisive thumpings on the table, by way of markin time, in which it might be perceived that even old Mr. Tracy wa infected with the prevailing glee, for his eyes sparkled, and hi head shook to the music, and his fist was brandished with a dowr ward swing, almost in the style of a professed royster. In th intervals of the singing a story was told. Sometimes the convo sation almost sank into a murmur ; sometimes it mounted to gale, its billow rolling in with a deep-toned, heavy, swelling roa until it was spent in a general explosion. Not unfrequently, collapse of the din surprised some single speaker in the high roa of his narrative, and thus detected him recounting, in an uppe key, some incident which he had perhaps addressed to one audito and which, not a little to his disconcertment, he found himse compelled to communicate to the whole circle. It was in sue an interval as this, that Hedges was left struggling through tl following colloquy with Ralph Tracy : — " I made a narrow escape." " How was that ?" asked Ralph. " Oh, a. very serious accident, I assure you ! I came with; THE DINNER TABLE. • 337 in acc of getting yoked that triji ; married, sir, by all that's ovely !" " No !" exclaimed Ralph, " you didn't, sure enough, Toll ?" '• If I didn't," replied Toll, " I wish I may be (here ho lipped out around, full and expressive malediction.) I'll tell you ow it was. At the Sweet Springs I got acquainted with a pre- !»osterously rich old sugar planter from Louisiana. He had his ,ife and daughter with him, and a whole squad of servants, i'orty thousand dollars a year ! and the daughter as frenchified s a sunflower : not so particularly young neither, but looking as [inocent as if she wa'nt worth one copper. I went in for grace, nd began to show out a few of my ineffable pulchritudes, — and rhat do you think ? — she was most horribly struck. I put her ttto an ecstasy with one of my pigeon-wings. She wanted to find ut my name." " Well, and what came of it ?" '• Thar were only three things," said Toll, - in the way. If : had not been for them, I should have been planting sugar this ay. First, the old one didn't take to it very kindly ; and then, be mother began to rear a little at me too : but I shouldn't have onsidered that of much account, only the daughter herself seemed 8 much as to insinuate that the thing wouldn't do." " Did you carry it so far as to put the question to her ?" " Not exactly so far as that. No, no, I was not such a fool s to come to the ore tenus ; I went on the non-committal princi- le. She as much as signified to a friend of mine, that she didn't ish to make my acquaintance : and so, I took the hint and was ff: — wa'nt that close grazing, Ralpb ?" This concluding interrogatory was followed up by one of j'oll's loud cachinations, that might have been heard a hundred iaces from the house, and which was, as usual, chopped short jy his perceiving that it did not take effect so decidedly as he 15 338 THE DINNER TABLE, expected upon the company. Upon this, Hedges became rati silent for the next half hour. The dining-room had for some time past been gradually assu ing that soft, mellow, foggy tint which is said by the painters spread such a charm over an Indian-summer landscape. T volumes of smoke rolled majestically across the table, and th' rose into the upper air, where they spread themselves out int( rich, dun mass, and flung a certain hazy witchery over the see: ; The busy riot of revelry seemed to echo through another Cimr rium, and the figures of the guests were clad in even a spect obscurity. Motionless, exact and sombre as an Egyptian obeli old Carey's form was dimly seen relieved against the light o; , window, near one end of the table ; all the other domestics I fled, and the veteran body-guard alone remained on duty. 1 wine went round with the regularity of a city milk-cart, stopp;:; at every door. A mine of wit was continually pouring out ; recondite treasures : the guests were every moment growing 1 ; fastidious ; and the banquet had already reached that stage wl i second-rate wit is as good as the best, if not better. The g(i humor of our friend Wart had attracted the waggery of Ri|! and Hazard, and they were artfully soliciting and provoking 1 1 to a more conspicuous part in the farce of the evening. L ) Munchausen's frozen horn, the counsellor was rapidly melt ^ into a noisy temperature. He had volunteered some two or th ) stories, of which he seemed, somehow or other, to have lost ' pith. In short, it was supposed, from some droll expressior f the eye, and a slight faltering of the tongue, that Mr. "Wart ^ ^ growing gay. Harvey Riggs, when matters were precisely in this conditi , contrived, by signs and secret messages, to concentrate the att - tion of the company upoL the old lawyer, just as he was sett '^ out with the history of a famous campaign. THE DINNER TABLE. 339 " You all remember the late war." said Pliilly, looking around, and finding the eyes of every one upon him. This announcement was followed by a laugh of applause, indicating the interest that all took in the commencement of the oarrative. " There is certainly nothing particularly calculated to excite ^our risible faculties in that !" said he, as much amused as his ^uditory. — " I was honored by his Excellency the Governor of Virginia with a commission as captain of a troop of horse, having jeen previously elected to that station by a unanimous vote at a neeting of the corps." '• Explain the name of the troop," said Ned Hazard. " The Invincible Blues," replied the other ; " the uniform be- ng a blue bobtail, and the corps having resolved that they would lever be vanquished." " I am told," interrupted Harvey Higgs, " that you furnished yourself with a new pair of yellow buckskin small-clothes on the )Ccasion ; and that with them and your blue bobtail you produced I sensation through the whole country." " Faith !" said Mr. Chub, speaking across the table, '• Mr. [liggs, I can assure you I don't think a horseman well mounted ;^ithout leather small-clothes." " I took prodigious pains," continued Philly, not heeding the nterruption, '• to infuse into my men the highest military disci- pline. There wasn't a man in the corps that couldn't carry lis nag over any worm fence in the country. — throwing off the •ider— " " The rider of the fence, you mean," said Hazard, dryly. " To be sure I do !" replied Philly, with briskness, " you don't mppose I meant to say that my men were ex equis dejecti — ixephippiated, if I may be allowed to coin a word ? No, sir, while he horse kept his legs, every man was like a horse-fly." 340 THE DINNER TABLE. j "What system of discipline did you introduce?" inquire. Harvey. '• The system of foxhunting," answered Mr. Wart ; " the ver best that ever was used for cavalry." " Go on," said Harvey. "We received intelligence, somewhere m the summer of eiglj teen hundred and thirteen, that old Admiral Warren was begir;! ning to squint somewhat awfully at Norfolk, and rather takin liberties in Hampton Roads. Ratio7ie cujus^ as we lawyers saj it was thought prudent to call into immediate service some of th most efficient of the military force of the country ; and, accord ingly, up came an order addressed to me, commanding me t repair with my men, as speedily as possible, to the neighborhoc of Craney Island. This summons operated like an electric shoci It was the first real flavor of gunpowder that the troop had eve snuffed. I never saw men behave better. It became my dut; to take instant measures to meet the emergency. In the firs place, I ordered a meeting of the troop at the Court House ;— for I was resolved to do things coolly." " You are mistaken, Mr. Wart," said Harvey, " in the orde of your movements ; the first thing that you did was to put oj your new buckskin breeches." '• Fonsense !" said the counsellor ; " I called the meeting a the Court House, directing every man to be there in full equip ment." " And you sent forthwith to Richmond," interrupted Hazarc " for a white plume three feet long." '^ Now. gentlemen !*' said Philly, imploringly, '• one at a time if you wish to hear me out, let me go on. Well, sir, the men mc in complete order. Harry Davenport, (you remember him. Mi Meriwether, a devil-may-care sort of a fellow, a perfect walkin nuisance in time of peace, an indictable offence going at large I Tin; i)ii\Ni:j; taui. i: ;j41 10 was my ordcrlv; and the very best, I suppose, in Virginia. I iirnishcd Harry (it was entirely a thought of my own) with a lulbcrt, the shaft twelve feet long, and pointed with a foot of [lolished iron. As soon as I put this into his hands, the fellow |;et up one of his horse-laughs, and galloped about the square like I wild Cossack," " I should think," said Meriwether, " that one of our country- nen would scarcely know what to do with a pole twelve feet long, ifter he had got into his saddle : however, I take it for granted ^ou had good reason for what you did." " The Polish lancers," replied Philly, '• produced a terrible impression with a weapon somewhat similar." " No matter," said Ned, ••' about the Polish lancers ; let us get upon our campaign." '• Yf ell." continued Mr, Wart, - 1 thought it would not be imisSj before we started, to animate and encourage my fellows nrith a speech. So, I drew them up in a hollow square, and gave them a flourish that set them half crazy." '• That was just the way with Tyrtaeus before Ithome !" ex- claimed Mr. Chub, with great exultation, from the opposite side of the table. •'• I should like to have heard Mr. Wart exhorting his men !" " I will tell you exactly what he said, for I was there at the time," said Ned Hazard ; " Follow me, my brave boys ! the eyes of the world are upon you ; keep yours upon my white plume, land let that be your rallying point !" I " Pish !" cried Philly, turning round and showing his black teeth with a good-natured, half-tipsy grin, '• I said no such thing. 1 told them, what it was my duty to tell them, that we had joined j issue with the British Government, and had come to the ultima ' ratio ; aad that we must now make up our minds to die on the field of our country's honor, rather than see her soil polluted with 342 THE DliNiNEIl TABLE. the footsteps of an invader ; that an enemy was at our doc threatening our iiresides." " You told them." interrupted Hazard again, " that the ne: morning's sun might find them stark and stiff and gory, on tl dew-besprinkled sod. I can remember those expressions as wc as if it were yesterday." " I might have said something like that," replied Philly, " I way of encouragement to the men. However, this you recoUe well enough, Ned, that there was not a man in the corps whoi. mind was not as perfectly made up to die as to eat his dinner." " All, except^ old Shakebag, the tavernkeeper," said Ned, " ar he was short-winded and pursy, and might be excused for prefe ring his dinner." " I except him," replied Mr. Wart, and then proceeded wil his narrative. " As soon as I had finished my address, I di solved the square, and instantly took up the line of march." " You should say rather that you took up the charge," sai Ned, " for you went out of the village in line, at full speed, wit swords brandishing above your heads. You led the way, wit Harry Davenport close at your heels, thursting his long lan( right at the seat of your yellow buckskins, and shouting like savage." " What was that for?" I asked with some astonishment. " Ned puts a coloring on it," replied the counsellor ; " I di go out from the court house at a charge, but there was r brandishing of swords ; we carry our swords, Mr. Littleton, in tl charge, at arm's length, the blade being extended horizontally e; actly parallel with the line of the eyes. I did this to give tl men courage." " How near was the enemy at this time ?" I inquired. " They had not landed," answered Ned gravely, " but wei expected to land at Craney Island, about one hundred miles off Here was a shout of applause from the table. THE DINNER T A IJ L E . 343 " I can tell you what," said Mr. Wart, for he was too much flustered to take any thing in joke that passed, " there is no time so important in a campaign as when an army first breaks ground. If you can keep your men in heart at the starting point, you may make them do what you please afterwards." " That's true !" said Mr. Chub, who had evinced great interest in Philly's narrative from the beginning, and was even more im- pervious than the lawyer himself to the waggery of the table. " Cyrus would never have persuaded the Greeks to march with him to Babylon, if he had not made them believe that they were going only against the Pisidians. Such stratagems are consider- ed lawful in war. It was a masterly thing in my opinion, this device of Mr. Wart's." " Had you severe service ?" asked Meriwether. " Tolerably severe," replied Philly, '•' while it lasted. It. rained upon us nearly the whole way from here to Norfolk, and there was a good deal of ague and fever in the country at that time, which we ran great risk of taking, because we were obliged to keep up a guard night and day." " You had an engagement I think I have heard ?" said I. " Pretty nearly the same thing," answered Mr. Wart. " The enemy never landed whilst I remained, except, I believe, to get some pigs and fowls on Craney Island : but we had frequent alarms, and several times were drawn up m a line of battle, which is more trying to men, Mr. Littleton, than actual fighting. It gave me a good opportunity to see what my fellows were made of. Harry Davenport was a perfect powder-magazine. The rascal wanted us one night to swim our horses over to the Island. Gad, I believe he would have gone by himself if I hadn't forbidden him !" " Your campaign lasted some time ?" said I. " About a week," replied Philly. " No, I am mistaken, it was rather more, for it took us three days to return home. And such 344 THE DINNER, TABLE. a set of madcaps as we had all the way back to the court house Nothinsr but scrub races the whole distance !" •' Now," said Harvey Riggs, looking at Mr. Wart with a fact, of sly raillery, " now that you have got through this celebratee campaign, tell us how many men you had." " Seven rank and file," said Ned, answering for him. " Tiddle-de-dee !" exclaimed Mr Wart. " I had twenty !" '• On your honor, as a trooper ?" cried Ned. " On my voir dire]'' said Philly, hesitating. — " I had nine ir uniform, and I forget how many were not in uniform, — because I didn't allow these fellows to go with us ; but they had very gooc hearts for it. Nine men, bless your soul, sir, on horseback, strung out in Indian file, make a very formidable display !" " Well, it was a very gallant thing, take it altogether," said Harvey. ''• So, gentlemen, fill your glasses. Here's to Captain Wart of the Invincible Blues, the genuine representative of the chivalry of the Old Dominion !" As the feast drew to a close, the graver members of the partj stole off to the drawing-room, leaving behind them that happy remnant which may be called the sifted wheat of the stack. There sat Harvey Kiggs, with his broad, laughing face mellowed by wine and good cheer, and with an eye rendered kindly by long shining on merry meetings, lolling over two chairs, whilst he urged the potations like a seasoned man, and a thirsty. And there sat Meriwether, abstemious but mirthful, with a face and heart brim- ful of benevolence ; beside him, the inimitable original Philly Wart. And there, too, was seen the jolly parson, priestlike even over his cups, filled with wonder and joy to see the tide of mirth run BO in the flood ; ever and anon turning, with bewildered eagerness, from one to another of his compotators, in doubt as to which pleased him most. And there, too. above all, was Ned Hazard, an imp of laughter, with his left arm dangling over the THE DINNER TABLE. 345 ck of his chair, and his right lifting up his replenished glass i, high, to catch its sparkling beams in the light ; his head tossed igligently back upon his shoulder ; and from his mouth forth iiuing, with an elongated puflF, that richer essence than incense (I Araby : his dog Wilful, too, privileged as himself, with his ilthful face recumbent between his master's knees. Such arc the images that gladden the old-fashioned wassail of rginia. 15* ft CHAPTER XXXIV. A BREAKING UP. '^- They wlio remained at the dinner table were at last summoi to tea and coffee in the adjoining apartment, where the ladies the family were assembled. It was about sunset, and Mr. Trac carriage, with two or three saddle-horses, was at the door, soon as this short meal was dispatched, Catharine and Bel mr their preparations for departure. Ned, like a flustering lov was officiously polite in his attentions to the lady of his afi tions : he had brought Bel her bonnet, and assisted in adjusti it to her head, with supererogatory care ; and, as he led her the carriage, he took occasion, with many figures of speech, to i her how much he participated in the affliction she had experien( by the loss of Fairbourne ; and, as he was sure the recreant ( not meditate a total separation from his mistress, he vowed , bring him back to her if he was to be found alive in the coud Bel endeavored to evade the service tendered ; and, getting i: ' the coach, she and Catharine were soon in full progress hoi '• ward. Mr. Tracy's horse was led up to the steps, and the old gen^ man, after some civil speeches to the company, a little bragg { of his ability as a horseman, and a respectful valedictory to Mh wether, clambered up with a slow but unassisted effort into ^ saddle. A BREAKING UP. 347 " I should make a brave fox-hunter yet, Mr. Wart," said he ith some exultation, -when he found himself in his seat, " and ould puzzle you to throw me out on a fair field. You see I can •ink, too, with the best of you. I am good pith yet, Mr. Meri- :ther !" " Upon my word, sir," said Meriwether, smiling, '• you do .nders ! There is not to-day in Virginia, a better mounted •rseman of the same age." j " Good eating and drinking, Mr. Meriwether, and good wine, irm the blood of an old grasshopper like me, and set him to lirping, if he can do nothing else. Come, Kalph, you and Har- y must get to your horses : I will have my aide-de-camps. Ofint, you young dogs, and never lag ! I allow no grass to grow my horse's heels, I warrant ye ! Mount and begone !" The two attendants obeyed the order, and reined their steeds ar to his. " Now don't run away from us," said Harvey. " Why, as I think upon it again, Harvey, more maturely," i ilied the old gentleman. " I think we will jog along slowly ; we ght alarm the horses of the carriage if we got to any of our rum-scarum pranks. So, good evening ! good evening !" With these words the cavalcade set forward at a brisk walk, ilr. Tracy gesticulating in a manner that showed him to be en- ■ aed in an animated conversation with his companions. Soon after this, Mr. Swansdown's curricle was brought to the )r. This gentleman, with a languid and delicate grace, ap- /.cd Meriwether that he was about '-to wing his flight" to 'herrin, there to immerse himself in pursuits which his present V it had suspended ; and, consequently, he could not promise uself the pleasure of soon again meeting his worthy friend at ' allow Barn. He reminded his host, however, that he would cItj into his retirement the agreeable consciousness that his 348 A BREAKING UP, visit had not been a fruitless one, since it had contributed so hj pily to the termination of an ancient dispute. He particulaij insisted on the honor of a return visit from Meriwether and friends. His parting with the ladies might be said to have been ei touching. It presented an elegant compound of sensibility a | deference. Prudence could not possibly mistake the impress*^ he designed to convey to her. He gently shook her gloved jj ger, as he said, with a gentle and embarrassed smile, " I partij larly regret that the nature of the occupation to which I am al to return is such as to engross me for some months, and m* probably may compel me again to cross the Atlantic. ItO likely, therefore, that I shall have added some years to my count before we meet again. Your fate will be doubtless chanjj before that happens : as for mine, I need scarcely allude to iti am already written down a predestined cumberer of the soil still may hope, I trust, to be sometimes remembered as a pass] shadow." " He means to write a book, and die a bachelor, poor del That is the English of this flourish," said Ned to Prudence soon as Swandsdown walked towards the front door. Pru was silent, and inwardly vexed. At length she saici^ Ned, " He attaches more consequence to his movements than body else." Shortly after this, the glittering vehicle, with its dainty 1*- den, was seen darting into the distant forest. One after another our guests followed, until none were jt but Mr. Wart and Hedges, who having determined to ride J- i gether as far as the Court-House, were waiting, as they said, y til the night should fairly set in, in order that they might Ip the coolness of the "little hours" for their journey. i " Well, Mr. Chub," said Philly, " what do you think of fr friend Swansdown?" A BREAKING UP. 349 • I am glad he is gone," replied the parson ; " in my opinion 'his very fatiguing." '] lln a few minutes after this, the counsellor dropped asleep in hi chair, leaving Meriwether in an unusually argumentative ' in()d, but unfortunately without a listener. Frank had drawn ujto the window, and thrown his feet carelessly against the sill, 'bAs to give himself that half recumbent posture which is sup- picd to be most favorable to all calm and philosophic discus- ■~si!is. He had launched upon one of those speculative voyages ' inyhich it was his wont to circumnavigate the world of thought ; " ai as there were no lights in the room, he continued to pour io the unconscious ears of his friend Wart his startling random- sits of wisdom, for half an hour before he became aware of his njdifying labor. Finding, however, that no answer came from tl quarter to which he addressed himself, he suddenly stopped sht with the exclamation, '• God bless me ! Mr. Wart, have you bca asleep all this time? truly, I have been sowing my seed njn a rock. But sleep on, don't let me disturb you." ■ I" Asleep !" replied Philly, waking up at hearing himself ad- dipsed by name, as a man who dozes in company is apt to do ; **l)t I, I assure you: I have heard every word you have said. ' itas altogether just ; indeed I couldn't gainsay a word, but I tljik, Mr. Hedges, it is time for us to be moving." Meriwether laughed, and remarked that Mr. Hedges had left : tlj room some time since with Mr. Chub. ''•At all events," said Philly, "we will have our horses. It isjime we were upon our journey." 'Every effort was made to detain him and his companion uu- tithe next morning; but the counsellor was obstinate in his re- s(|'e to be off that night, observing that he had already taken a •loj^er holiday at Swallow Barn than he had allowed himself in tl last fifteen years ; " and as to the hour," said he, '• I am an 350 A DUE AKIN G UP. | . i old stager on the road, and have long since lost all discriminatk; between night and day." : •'But it is very dark," said Hazard, "and threatens rail You will assuredly be caught in a thunder-storm before you g-! three miles." " Wet or dry," replied the other, " it makes but a small ma ter in the account. I don't think a shower would take much •{ the gloss from my old coat," he added, looking round at h skirts, " and as for Hedges here, I know he is neither sugar nc' salt." "With a julep before we go," said Hedges, "and anoth( when we stop, you may put as much wet and darkness betwec the two as you please, for me. So let us pad our saddles accor ing to the old recipe, ' A spur in the head is worth two on tl heel.' " ] Saying this, he went to the sideboard and helped himse' rather beyond the approved allowance. " I have a laudable a tempt for thin potations, Mr. Wart," he added as he took oflF h glass. The horses were at the door ; it was now about ten o'clock when the two travellers were mounted, Philly whistled up Li hounds, and they set forward on their dark journey. I I CHAPTER XXXV. KNIGHT ERRANTRY. E next morning Hazard appeared a little perplexed. Not- hstanding the apparent recklessness of his character, it be- gs to him, as it does to the greater number of those persons put on an irresponsible face in the world, to feel acutely any pposed diminution of the esteem of his friends induced by his indiscretion. In the present insta^ace he was particularly oxious to this sentiment. Bel's good opinion of him was the y breath of his nostrils, and her rigid estimate of the proprie- "es of life the greatest of his terrors. His perplexity arose from is, that he had given way the day before at the dinner- table to e natural impulses of his character, and in spite of the admoni- )ry presence of the lady of his soul, nay, perhaps elevated into , more dangerous gayety by that very circumstance, he had pos- jibly (for such a temper as his is least of all others able to know le true state of things), in her very sight and hearing, committed thousand trespasses upon her notions of decorum. AVhether e had or not, he was in doubt, and afraid to inquire. All that 3 knew of the matter was, that, like a man in a dream, he had lassed through a succession of agreeable changes ; had begun the ay with a certain calm pleasure, rose from that into a copious ow of spirits, thence to an exuberant merriment, and thence ito — what he could not precisely tell : heavens knows if it were 352 KNIGHT ERRANTRY. I riot or moderate revelry, outrageous foolery or lawful mirth!— the prospect from that point was a misty, dreamy, undefinec mass of pleasant images. Of this he was conscious, that afte; drinking much wine, and while recking with the fumes of tobac CO, (a thing utterly abhorrent to Bel,) he had certainly venturet into her presence, and had said a great many things to her ii very hyperbolical language, and, if he was not mistaken, in some, what of a loud voice. Perhaps, too, he might have been rathe thick of speech ! The recurrence of the scene to his thought, this morning rather disturbed him. There was one consolation in the matter. Bel's father, th very personation, in her view, of all that was decorous and prope — the Nestor of the day — the paragon of precision — had, it wa admitted on all hands,- left Swallow Barn very decidedly exhih; rated with wine. If Bel believed this, (and how could she fa:, to see it?) the fact would go a great way towards Ned's extenur tion. And then the occasion too ! — a special compliment to M; Tracy. Tut! It was as pardonable a case as could be mad; out! Amidst the retrospects of the morning Hazard had not fo; gotten the promise he had made Bel the night before, to attemj the recovery of her hawk. Harvey Riggs before dinner had ii| formed him of Bel's loss, and of his, Harvey's, engagement th?; Ned should bring back her bird. Hazard was not aware that had heard him pledge himself to this task as he assisted Bel I, the carriage ; nor did he mention it to me toiday, when he atj nounced after breakfast that he had ordered our horses toil' *. ... J door for a ride. Without questioning his purpose, I readijj agreed to accompany him; and, therefore, at an early hour v were both mounted, and, followed by Wilful, we took the rof j ' leading from Swallow Barn immediately up the river. | " Now," said I, after we had ridden some distance, " prij Itan M % KNIGHT ERRANTRY. 353 I me what is the object of this early and secret enterprise, and Vat makes you so abstracted this morning?" " I wish to heaven, Mark," replied Ned, half peevishly, '• that tls business were settled one way or another!" — Ned always ■g;)ke to me of his courtship as '• this business ;" he had a boy- iji repugnance to call it by its right name. " Here am I," he citinued, '• a man grown, in a girl's leading-strings, ' turned fj-ehorse to a smock,' as Shakspeare calls it. Saint David speed and put me out of misery ! Now, what do you think, Mark, all the adventures in the world, I am bound upon at this mo- int?" "Why, sir," I answered, "upon the most reasonable wild- jjose chase that ever a man in love pursued. I never knew you I'fore to do so wise a thing ; for I take it that you and I are jjready in search of Bel's hawk. There are not more than a I'.Uion birds about ; and I'll be bound Fairbourne is one of them ! |e is certainly within a hundred miles, and I have no doubt Jxiously expecting us." : " Conjurer that thou art !" said Ned, " how did thy foolish brain |id that out ?" I "Didn't I hear you last night, when you were so tipsy that >(i could hardly stand, bleat into Bel's ear that you would neither ke rest nor food until you restored her renegade favorite to her lit?" " Did I say that ?" exclaimed Ned. " Was I not supremely |diculous?" ' V-- i " I can't pretend to do justice to your Jphguage on the occa- on. It would require higher poetical powers than I boast of to |aitate, even in a small degree, the euphuism of your speech, 'he common superlatives of the dictionary would make but poor psitives for my use, if I attempted it." ( " Look you, now !" said Hazard, " Is not this deplorable, that 354 KNIGHT ERRANTRY. lP#' a man should have a mistress who hates a fool above all worldl plagues, and yet be so bestridden by his evil genius that he ma never appear any thing else to her ! I am not such a miserabl merry-andrew by nature, and yet, by circumstances, wherevc Bel is concerned, I am ever the v'-y crown-piece of folly !" " And do you think," said I, '• that this little girl, so instinc; as she is, with the liveliest animal impulses, — a laughing nympl — is such a Cato in petticoats as to be noting down your nonsens in her tablets for rebuke ? Why, sir, that is the very point upo which you must hope to win her !" " I am afraid I wasn't respectful," said Ned. " I assure you," I replied, " that, so far from not being r spectful, you were the most ridiculously observant, reverentia and obsequious ass, — considering that you were in your cups,— ever saw." " Was I so ?" exclaimed Ned. " Then I am content ; for.c that score, Bel is as great a fool as I am or any other. Now, • tk]k I can only bring her back her bird," he said exultingly, — " and [ have some presentiment that I shall get tidings of him, — I sha] rise to the very top of her favor." ' \ Saying this, Ned spurred forward to a gallop, and flourishci his whip in the air as he called to me to follow at the sanr; speed ■-' I fkm " Mark, watch every thing that flies," he cried out ; " you mt] see the harness about his legs ; and listen for the bells, for tf ! truant can't move without jangling, — ' I live in my lady's gracod his prize, by seizing his wing and bearing him off to the it. 358 KNIGHT ERRANTRY. The good fortune of this discoyery and the singular succei that attended it, threw us into transports. Ned shouted b.) huzzaed, and tossed up his hat in the air, until the old negl woman began to look in his face to see if he were in his sens* j The hawk, the unconscious cause of all this extravagance, look ' like a discomfited prisoner of war, bedraggled, travel-worn a:' soiled, — a tawdry image of a coxcomb. His straps and be hanging about his legs had the appearance of shabby finery ; a his whole aspect was that of a forlorn, silly, and wayward minii, wearing the badge of slavery instead of that of the wild and g lant freebooter of the air so conspicuously expressed in i character of his tribe. Congratulating ourselves on our good luck, we began to p pare for our homeward journey. The negro received an am ; bounty for the assistance afi'orded in the capture : the jesses w ; repaired and secured to Fairbourne's legs, and the bird himjf made fast to Hazard's hand. In a few moments we were - mounted and cantering in the direction of Swallow Barn, wit i lightness of spirits in Hazard that contrasted amusingly with s absolute despondence half an hour before. ' .J CHAPTER XXXVI. A JOUST AT UTTERANCE. "We had not travelled far on our return to Swallow Barn, before we arrived at a hamlet that stands at the intersection of a cross- road. This consists of a little store, a wheelwright's shop, and one or two cottages, with their outhouses. The store was of that miscellaneous character which is adapted to the multifarious wants of a country neighborhood, and displayed a tempting as- sortment of queensware, rat-traps, tin kettles, hats, fiddles, shoes, ! calicoes, cheese, sugar, allspice, jackknives and jewsharps, — the i greater part of which was announced in staring capitals on the i window-shutter, with the persuasive addition, that they were all of the best quality and to be had on the most accommodating terms. The rival establishment of the wheelwright was an old ; shed sadly bedaubed with the remainder colors of the paint-brush, , and with some preposterous exaggerations in charcoal of distin- guished military men mounted on preternaturally prancing steeds ; I and, near the door, a bran-new blue wagon and a crimson plough showed the activity of the trade. I As may readily be conjectured, this mart of custom was not ! without its due proportion of that industrious, thriving and repu- i table class of comers who laudably devote their energies to dispu- ' tation, loud swearing, bets and whisky, — a class which, to the 360 A JOUST AT UTTERANCE. ^1 0i U % glory of our land, is surprisingly rife in every country side. • Some six or seven of these worthies were congregated on the rail i of the piazza, which extended across the front of the store, like so • many strange fowls roosting along a pole. The length of our t previous ride and the heat of the day made it necessary that we ! should stop here for a short time to get water for our horses. | We accordingly dismounted. . < Fairbourne excited the curiosity of the inhabitants of thai porch; and Ned, who seemed to be well acquainted with the per-; sons about him, answered their many questions with his custom-- ary good-humor. During this brief intercourse, one of the party approached with a swaggering step, and began to pry, with rathcp| ^'^ an obtrusive familiarity, into the odd equipment of the hawLi U His air was that of a shabby gentleman : He had an immense! pair of whiskers, a dirty shirt, and a coat that might be said tci be on its last legs; but this, however, was buttoned at the waist i fpeth with a certain spruce and conceited effect. As Ned held th< bird upon his hand, this complacent gentleman brought himsel:; ill into a rather troublesome contact, and finall}'^ threw his arn' across Hazard's shoulder. Ned, at first, gently repelled him, bu' as the other still intruded upon him, and placed himself again ir the same situation — '• Softly, Mr. Rutherford !" he said, slipping away from be neath the extended arm ; " you will excuse me, but I am avers< to bearing such a burden." " You are more nice than neighborly, Ned Hazard," replieci the other, stiffly erecting his person. " I think I can reraembei| a time when even you, sir, would not have found me burdensome ] that time may come again." " I am not in the habit," rejoined Ned, " of arguing the righ to shake off whatever annoys me." " Aye, aye !" said the other, walking to the opposite end O' A JOUST AT UTTERANCE. 361 the porch. '• There arc dogs enough to bark at the wounded lion, that dare not look him in the face when he is in health. It is easy enough to learn, as the world goes, what is likely to annoy ia fair-weather friend. Honesty is of the tailor's making — " 1 These and many other expressions of the like import were ; muttered sullenly by the speaker, with such glances towards Hazard as indicated the deep offence he had taken at the rebuke jjust given. This man had been originally educated in liberal studies, and had commenced . his career not without some character in the country, but had fallen into disgrace through vicious habits. An unfortunate reputation for brilliant talents, in early life, had misled him into the belief that the care by which a good naine is iwon and preserved is a useless virtue, and that self-control is a |tax which only men of inferior parts pay for success. This de- ilusion brought about the usual penalties ; first, disappointment, Ithen debauch, and after that, in a natural sequence, the total jwreck of worldly hopes : — a brief history which is often told of Imen, and varied only in the subordinate incidents which color the jeommon outline, j Rutherford still retained, (as it generally happens to a vain iman.) unimpaired by the severe judgment of the world, his origi- jnal exaggerated opinion of the extent of his abilities ; but, having llost the occasions for their display, he became noted only by a domineering temper, a boastful spirit, a supreme hatred of those in better circumstances than himself, and, sometimes, by excessive and ferocious intemperance. • His conduct on the present occasion passed unheeded. Haz- ard had no disposition to embroil himself with a man of this description, and therefore made no reply to these muttered over- flowings of his spleen. " I have seen your bird before, Mr. Ned Hazard," said a plain Ills: ik 362 A JOUST AT UTTERANCE. countrymaiij who sat without a coat on the bench of the piazza. mF " If I am not mistaken, that hawk belonged to one of Mr. Tracy's m^ daughters, over here at the Brakes." " It did," replied Ned ; " she has nursed it with her own hand." j "Well, I have been studying," said another, " ever since youj came here, to find out what all these things are stuck about its legs for. It is the most unaccountablest thing to me ! I don't consider one of these here hawks no more than vermin. What is it good for, Mr. Hazard, any how?" " Indeed, I declare I can't exactly tell," answered Ned. " In the old time they kept hawks pretty much as we keep hounds,— ^ to hunt game with." 't j. " Oh, they are amazing swift, and desperate wicked, — that'nj a fact !" said the first speaker. " Did you never see how spitefal these little king-birds take after and worry a crow ? They are v sort of hawks too — " I " Many's the time," said another of the company, " that I hav<; known how to follow a fox from looking at the crows tracking him across a field ; and I have seen hawks take after vermin jus.) in the same way." " But what is the use," asked the second speaker again, ^d these here silver rings ? and here are words on one of them, tofi Let me see, — ' I live — in my lady's — grace,' " he continuedi straining his sight to make out the legend. ! Rutherford had now approached to the skirts of the grouji and stood leaning against the balustrade of the porch, with a unsocial and vexed air, as if disposed to take advantage of wha' ever might occur to vent his feelings. " My lady's grace !" said he, tartly, " My lady's grace I ; suppose we shall hear of my lord's grace, too, before long ! Thert ' jin} arc some among us who, if they durst do it, would carry the ! ^ii lii p m Hot A JOUST AT UTTKllANCi:. 303 eads high enough for such a title. If that stark old English Dry, Isaac Tracy, of the Brakes, — as he calls himself — " " Miles Rutherford," interrupted Hazard, angrily, " look to oursclf, sir ! I am not disposed to put up with your moody umor. Do not give me cause to repent my forbearance in not junishing your insolence at its first outbreak." "A better man than you, Ned Hazard," said the other, .proudly as you choose to bear yourself, might have cause to 3pent his rashness in making such a threat. Insolence, do you ill it, sir ! Take care that I do not teach you better to know ho I am !" " I know you already," replied Ned, " for a brawling bully — a iisturber of the common peace — a noisy churl — a nuisance, sir, p the whole country round." j " I know you," said Hutherford. " Silence !" cried Ned ; " Not another word from your lips, r, by my life ! unworthy as you are of the notice of a gentleman, will take the pains to chastise you here upon this spot." i " Good gentlemen ! Good gentlemen ! Mercy on us ! Stop [lem I" exclaimed our old acquaintance, Hafen Blok, who, until his moment, had been seated in the store, and now came limping 3 the porch, on having recognized Hazard's voice. " For God's ake, Mr. Ned Hazard, don't put yourself in the way of Miles llutherford ! Take a fool's advice. Mister Edward," he continued, 'oming TT-p to Ned, and holding him by the coat : " It isn't fit for juch as you to concern yourself with Miles Rutherford ; the man's |alf in liquor, and of no account if he wasn't." I Several others of the company crowded round Hazard to beg im not to be disturbed by his antagonist. In the mean time lutherford had worked himself up to a pitch of fury, and, spring- ing over the balustrade upon the ground, he took a station in jront of the house, where, vociferating in his wrath a hundred 364 A JOUST AT UTTERANCE. y opprobrious epithets, he challenged Hazard to come out of th(' crowd if he dared to face him. I interposed to remind Hazard that he should restrain hif- anger, nor think of matching himself with such an enemy. H( listened calmly to my remonstrance, and then laughing, as i: nothing had occurred to ruffle his temper, though it was manifesi; that he was much flurried, he remarked in a tone of assumec good humor, — " You mistake if you imagine this ruffian moves me ; but stil • I think it would be doing a public service if I were to give him t sound threshing here on his own terms." i " Don't think of such a thing, Mister Edward 1" said Hafen , " you are not used to such as Miles. He is close built, and abovr fourteen stone. You are hardly a feather to him." i " You underrate me, Hafen," replied Ned, smiling, " and ? have a mind to show you that weight is not so great a matter a; a good hand." " You are bold to speak amongst your cronies," said Rutherj ford. " You can make a party if you can't fight. But I shal' take the first opportunity, when I meet you alone, to let you knoT that when I choose to speak my mind of such hoary-hcadct' traitors as old Isaac Tracy, I will not be schooled into silence h] you." ' At these words Hazard turned quickly round to me, and whisi pered in my ear, with more agitation of manner than was usua : to him, " I will indulge this braggart ; so, pray don't interrup Wkp me. You need not be anxious as to the result ;" then, speaking to the assemblage of persons who surrounded him, he said, " No^j my good friends, I want you to see fair play, and on no accoun ' to interfere with me as long as I have it." j With this he left the porch, and stepping out upon the grouni where Rutherford stood, he told him that he would save him th In less than an hour we regained Swallow Barn : returning! like knights to a bannered castle from a successful inroad,—! flushed with heat and victory, — covered with dust and glory ! our enemies subdued and our lady's pledge redeemed. < h hi h CHAPTER XXXVII. MOONSHINE. [e were too much elated with having achieved the recapture of le hawk, to postpone the communication of our good fortune to ke family at The Brakes longer than our necessary refreshment pquired ; and accordingly, about five o'clock in the evening, hav- ig then finished a hearty dinner, and regained our wasted ;rength, we were on our way to the habitation of our neighbors. Whether it was that the rapid succession of scenes, through hich we had past during the forepart of the day, and the vivid incitements we had experienced, had now given place to a calmer lad more satisfied state of feeling; or whether it arose only from bme remaining sense of fatigue from previous toil, our present jnpulse was to be silent. For more than a quarter of an hour, 'e trotted along the road with nothing to interrupt our musings iut the breeze as it rustled through the wood, the screams of the |iy-bird, or the tramp of our horses. At length Ned, waking up 13 from a reverie, turned to me and said — " Mark ! not a word about that fight to-day." " Truly, you speak with a discreet gravity," said I. " What I'ould you have ?" j " Not the slightest hint that shall lead Bel Tracy to suspect ! have had a quarrel with Miles Rutherford." 370 MOONSHINE. " I pity you, Ned," said I, laughing. " Out, hyperbolica- fiend ! why vexest thou this man ?" " Ah !" replied Ned," that is the curse of the star I was hor \ under. The most innocent actions of my life will bear a readin that may turn them^ in Bel Tracy's judgment, into abiding topic; of reproof. I dread the very thought that Bel should hear c this quarrel. She will say — -as she always says — that I have dn scended from my proper elevation of character. I wish I had hornbook of gentility to go by ! It never once occurred to ni when I was chastising that blackguard, that I was throwing asid' the gentleman. My convictions always come too late." " Why, what a crotchet is this !" said I. " To my thinkinij you strangely misapprehend your mistress, Ned, when you fane- she could take offence at hearing that you had punished an ins ! lent fellow for reviling her father." "It is the manner of the thing, Mark," replied Ned. "Tl' idea that I had gone into a vulgar ring of clowns, and soiled rr; hands in a rough-and-tumble struggle with a strolling bull; Now if I had encountered an unknown ruffian in the woods, wil: sword and lance, on horseback, and had had my weapon shiverc in my hand, and then been trussed upon a pole ten feet long,-: Gad, I believe she would be thrown into transports ! — that wou;; be romance for her ; it would be a glorious feat of arms ; and,!, doubt not, she would attend me in my illness, like the king daughter in the ballad, — the most bewitching of leeches! Bi to be pommeled black and blue, with that plebeian instrument j fist — pugh ! — she will turn up her nose at it with a magnificei" disdain. Do you sec any traces of the fight about me ? have , any scar or scratch? do you think I may pass unquestioned?" \ " You may thank your skill in this vulgar accomplishment! I answered, " tliat you do not carry a black eye to The Brake | As it is, you have nothing to fear on that score ; and, I promi! MOONSHINE. 371 tou, although I doubt your apprehension of 13cl, that I will say 'lothing that shall lead to your detection." " This is only of a piece with my other miseries," said he. \ It is another proof of the tyranny to which a man is exposed iVho is obliged to square his conduct to the caprices of a mistress. [ declare to you I feel, at this moment, like a schoolboy who is jompelled to rack his wits for some plausible lie to escape a shipping." " Truly, Ned, you are a most ridiculous lover," said I. '• Of j; dl men I ever knew, I certainly never saw one who took so little irouble to square his conduct to any rule. This is the merest arce that ever was acted. Little does Bel suspect that she has n her train such a trembling slave. Why, sir, it is the perpetual m ^urthen of her complaint that your recklessness of her rises to he most flagrant contumacy : and, to tell you the truth, I think y 3he has reason on her side." |, " Well, well !" said Ned, laughing, " be that as it may ; say / lothing about the feat to-day, because, in sober earnest, I am not . i;[uite satisfied with the exploit myself. I certainly was under no ., bbligation to drub that rascal Rutherford." In the discussion of this topic we arrived at The Brakes, Tfhere both joy and surprise were manifested at finding Fair- : bourne brought back in fetters to his prison. Harvey Biggs flapped his hands and called out '• Bravo ! Well done Hazard ! . Did'nt I say, Bel, that Ned would perform as many wonders as the seven champions altogether? Is there such another true knight in the land ?" J As for Bel, she was raised into the loftiest transports. She laughed, — asked !i thousand questions, — darted from place to jplace, and taking Fairbourne in her hand, smoothed his feathers, jind kissed him over and over again. The rest of the family joined in similar expressions of pleasure, and Ned gave a circum- 372 MOONSHINE. , I stantial detail of all the facts attending the recovery, carefully j omitting the least allusion to the affair that followed it. Wheu^ this was done, Harvey again heaped a torrent of applause uponj the Knight of the Hawk, as he called Hazard, and with a lively] sally sang out, in a cracked and discordant voice, — l " Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love, that rules us all completely, j Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love commands, and we obey — " — which he concluded with sundry antics, and danced out of the', room. Bel, upon hearing the part that Wilful acted in the re-j capture, declared that she would take him into high favor, and' that thenceforth he should have the freedom of the parlor ; say-j ing this, she patted him upon the back, and made him lie dowiH at her feet. I " Hey day ! this is a fine rout and pother about a vagabond | bird !" said Mr. Tracy. "Will you lose your senses, good folks i Mr, Edward, you see what it is to gather toys for these women! You have made Bel your slave for life." ' ; Bel blushed scarlet red at this intimation ; and Ned observ-j ing it, followed suit : their eyes met. A precious pair of fools to make so much of so small a thing ! Fairbourne was carried to his perch, and regaled with a meal tj and the composure of the family being restored, after the conclui sion of this important affair, we sat down to talk upon other mat! ters. Swansdown, we were told, had taken his departure aftei! breakfast. Mr. Tracy, Harvey assured us, had been in his stud} I nearly all day, conning over the papers of the arbitration. " Th(j old gentleman," he said, " was not altogether satisfied with tbt award, inasmuch as there were certain particulars of fact whicl he conceived to be misstated, especially in regard to a survey affirmed to be made of the mill-dam, wliich did not appear in hii- notes. I have no doubt," Harvey added, " that before a montl. ^i liiifii iIeii ik m MOONSHINE. 373 jiy venerable kinsman will be in absolute grief for this untimely htting short of the law-suit in the vigor of its days." : Ned sat beside Bel, occupied in a low, tremulous, and earnest i)nversation, until the stars were all shining bright, and even lien, he unwillingly broke his colloquy at my summons. Our prses had been waiting at the door for the last hour. We galloped nearly the whole way back to Swallow Barn ; j ed rapidly leading the way, and striking his whip at the bushes 1 the road side, whistling, singing, and cutting many antics pon his saddle. "What the deuce ails you?" I called out. " I feel astonishingly active to-night," said he. " I could do ich deeds !" and thereupon he put his horse up to full speed. " The man is possessed," said I, following,- however, at the jime gait. That night we did not go to bed until the moon rose, which i think the almanac will show to have been near one o'clock. < m CHAPTER XXXVIIL THE LAST MINSTREL. As I do not at all doubt that you, my dear Zack, have by thi time become deeply interested in the progress of Ned Hazard'; love affairs ; and as I find, (what greatly surprises myself,) thas Ned has grown to be a hero in my story ; and that I, who orig nally began to write only a few desultory sketches of the 01] Dominion, have unawares, and without any premeditated purpos absolutely fallen into a regular jog-trot, novel-like narrative, — i least, for several consecutive chapters, — it is no more than wh I owe to posterity to go on and supply such matters of fact i may tend to the elucidation and final clearing up of the presei involved and uncertain posture into which I have brought in. principal actors. Feeling the weight of this obligation, as soo as I had closed the last chapter I began to bethink me of tl best means of compassing my end ; for, like a true historiogr pher, I conceived it to be, in some sort, my bounden duty to r sort to the best sources of information which my opportunitii afforded. Now, it must have been perceived by my clear-sigh t(' readers, that I am already largely indebted to Harvey Rig: for the faithful report of such matters as fell out at the Brak when I was not there myself to note them down ; and I therefo thought, that in the present emergency I might, with great pro: THE LAST MINSTIIKL. 375 my labor, have recourse to the same fountain of intelligence. L this I do but imitate and follow in the footsteps of all the ustrious chroniclers of the world, who have made it their busi- ss to speak primarily of what they themselves have seen and lown, and secondarily, to take at second-hand, (judiciously pcr- nding the force of testimony.) such things as have come to em by hearsay : for, nothing is more common than for these ave wights to introduce into their books some of their weight- it and most important morsels of history by some such oblique sinuation as this ; — " I have heard people say," or " the re- (wned Gregory of Tours, or William of Malmsbury, or John of okes affirms," or, " it was currently reported and believed at time," — or some such preface, by which they let in the neces- ry matter. Henceforth, then, let it be understood, that as I ofcss to speak in my own person of what happened at Swallow irn, so I rely mainly on my contemporary Harvey, as authority Ir all such synchronous events as transpired at The Brakes. ith this explanatory advertisement, I proceed with my story. I have described, in the last chapter, the unnatural speed th which Hazard and myself had ridden to Swallow Barn. el too, it seems, was possessed in some such strange mood after 3 were gone ; for she moved about the house singing, dancing. Iking unconnectedly, and manifesting-^ many unaccountable imors. I devoutly believe that both she and Hazard were -'witched. It might have been the hawk, — or some other little iimal with wings on his shoulders. — But I leave this to the )nsideration of the Pundits, and pass on to events of more im- >rtance. We had not left the Brakes above half an hour when the ■raping of a violin was heard in the yard, near the kitchen door he tune was that of a popular country-dance, and was executed 1 a very brisk and inspiring cadence. 376 THE LAST MINSTREL. j •' That sounds like Hafen Blok's fiddle," said Kalpb. «£; has come here for his supper, and we shall be pestered with biy" nonsense all night." " If it be Hafen," said Bel, " he shall be well treated, for tli poor old man has a hard time in this world. He is almost tl only minstrel, cousin Harvey, that is left. " ' The bigots of this iron time, i Have called his haiinless art a crime.' " And truly, I wish we had more like him ! for, Hafen has- great many ballads that, I assure you, will compare very w( with the songs of the troubadours and minnesingers." "There you go," cried Harvey, "with your age of chivalr I don't know much about your troubadours and minnesinger! but, if there was amongst them as great a scoundrel as Hafen, yo ■ age of chivalry was an arrant cheat. Why, this old fellow livj by petty larceny ; he hasn't the dignity of a large thief : he is filcher of caps and napkins from a washerwoman's basket; robber of hen-roosts ; a pocketer of tea-spoons ! Now, if the! was any romance in him, he would, at least, steal cows and tai purses on the highway." ] "Pray, cousin," exclaimed Bel, laughing, " do not utter suj slanders against my old friend Hafen ! Here, I have taken i] greatest trouble in the world to get me a minstrel. I have ('! couraged Hafen to learn ditties, and he has even composed soii himself at my bidding. Once I gave him a dress which yj would have laughed to see. It was made after the most approTl ftishion of minstrelsy. First, there was a long gown of Kent; green, gathered at the neck with a narrow gorget ; it had sto' that hung as low as the knee, slit from the shoulder to the ha i and lined with white cotton; a doublet with sleeves of bla' worsted ; upon these a pair of points of tawny camlet, laced alo ■Rai ilk k THE LAST MINSTREL. 377 1 1 wrist with blue thread points, with a welt towards the hand, iide of fustian ; a pair of red stockings ; a red girdle, with a kife stuck in it ; and, around his neck, a red riband, suitable to t girdle. Now what do you think, cousin, of such a dress as t ,t ?" " Where did you get the idea of this trumpery ?" cried H«.r- v. "It is faithfully taken," said Bel, "from the exact description the minstrel's dress, as detailed by Lanehara, in his account the entertainment of Queen Elizabeth at ' Killingworth Cas- t,'" « And did Hafen put it on ?" i " To be sure he did !" replied Bel, " and paraded about with ijiere a whole evening." '• Bel," said Harvey, after a loud laugh, — " I like your non- slise : it is so sublimated and refined, and double-distilled, that, ipn my soul, I think it throws a shabby air over all other folly Iliver saw ! Minstrel Blok, Hawk Fairbourne, and Childe Ned, Ijagon-killing Ned, are altogether without a parallel or a copy ilthe whole world. A precious train for a lady ! And sq Ha- ft has been learning ballads, too ?" " Certainly," returned Bel, " I have taken the trouble to get lin some very authentic collections. Now, what do you think c ' the Golden Garland of Princely Delights V that is an old Ipk I gave him to learn some songs from, and the wretch lost it, \)thout learning one single sonnet." " Go*od reason why," said Balph ; — " he never could read." " I didn't know that, Kalph, when I gave it to him," said 1. " But Hafen has an excellent memory. Hark ! he is Iginning to sing now. Listen, cousin, and 3-ou will hear some- ting to surprise you." At this moment, Hafcn's voice was heard commencing a stave. 378 THE LAST MINSTREL. with a nasal tone, in a monotonous, but quick tune, whicli acco panied words that were uttered with a very distinct articu! tion. " Let us have this in the porch," said Harvey ; and he imu diately led the way to the hack-door ; where Hafen being callil took his seat and recommenced his song as follows: — " November the fourth, in the year ninety-one, We had a sore engagement near to Fort Jefferson. St. Clair was oui* commander, which may remembered be. For there we left nine hundred men, in the Western Territoiy Our militia was attackted, just as the day did break ; And soon were overpowered and forced to retreat. They killed Major Ouldham, Levin and Briggs likewise. With horrid yells of savages resoimded thorough the skies ; Major Butler was wounded, the very second fire — " " Well, that will do, Hafen," interrupted Harvey ; " we d( like such a bloody song as this; it is the very essence of h- gedy." j '• It's as true as preaching, Mister Riggs," said Hafen. I was there myself, in Colonel Gibson's regiment." i " No doubt !" replied Harvey. " But Miss Tracy walB something more sentimental, Hafen ; this butchering of mi) a men does not suit the ladies so well as a touching, sorrov 1 song." " Ay, ay !" said Hafen, " I understand you, Mister Hanf. I have just the sort of song to please Miss Isabel. It goe;0 the tune of ' "William Keilly.' " ' While I rehearse ray story, Americans give ear, Of Britain's fading glory, you presently sliall hear ; I'll give a true relation, attend to what I say, Concerning the taxation of North America. I ! THE LAST MINSTREL. 379 " There is a wealthy people who sojoiiru in that land, Their churches all with steeples most delicately stand, t Tlieir houses, like the hly, are painted red and gay ; They flourish like the gilly in North America.' " " Poh ! this is worse than the other !" exclaimed Harvey. ' Do you call this sentimental ? Why don't you give us some- :hing pitiful? Bel, your minstrel is as badly trained as your lawk." " Hafen," said Bel, " I fear you have not thought of me lately, Dr you would have brought me something more to my liking than these songs." " Bless your young heart, mistress !" replied Hafen, " I can jsing fifty things that you'd like to hear, in the love line : There's j' the Manhattan Tragedy,' and ' the Royal Factor's Garland,' and r the Golden Bull,' and ' the Prodigal Daughter,' and ' Jemmy land Nancy,' commonly called the Yarmouth Tragedy, showing how, by the avariciousness and cruelty of parents, two faithful jlovyers were destroyed : and there's ' the Gosport Tragedy,' that jshows how a young damsel was led astray by a ship's carpenter, land carried into a lonesome wood ; and how her ghost haunted jhim at sea ; — " ' When he immediantly fell on his knees, And the blood in his veins with horror did freeze.' " " Oh, very well," said Harvey, " stop there ; we don't wish to hear the music. Go get your supper, Hafen ; the servants are waiting for you. These are entirely too sentimental ; you run into extremes." Hafen obeyed the order ; and, as he limped towards the kitchen, Harvey remarked to Bel, " This is a fiue smack of war and love that Hafen has favored us with ; — " ' The last of all the bards was he Who sang of Border Chivalrv.' n i 380 THE LAST MINSTK.EL. Truly, Cousin Bel, these shreds and patches of romance are won^fldh derfully picturesque. Hafen does honor to your zeal in behalf Ju, of the days of knighthood and minstrelsy." '■ " You may laugh, Harvey, as much as jou please, but there is something pleasant in the idea of moated castles, and gayjMijs knights, and border feuds, and roundelays under one's window, ! and lighted halls where ladies dance corantos and ' trod measures' ; as they called it !" j " And when hawks," added Harvey, " were not flown like kites,. with a string, but came at a whistle, and did as they were told ; i and troubadours were not Butch tinkers ; and when bachelors^ 1 could win mistresses by hard blows, and were not sent off because they were merry and like other people." "Pshaw! cousin," interrupted Bel. "You havn't one spartj of genuine romance in your whole composition. It is profane tcj listen to such a recreant as you are." i " Well, Bel, I will tell you," said Harvey. " It is not to be, denied that Hafen shines as a fiddler, however questionable ma;^; be his merits as a ballad-monger. So if cousin Kate here anfl Ralph will dance, we will bring him into the parlor and have t four-handed reel. We will call it a coraniOj if you prefer th(. name ; and, to give you a lighted hall, I wilT have. two more can dies put on the mantle-piece." " Agreed," said Bel ; " so tell Hafen to bring in his instru ment." Hafen appeared at the summons, and an hour was merrilj spent in dancing. When the dance was over, Bel gave Hafen a glass of wine; and slipped into his hand a piece of money. i " Many thanks to my young lady !" said the old man. " Yor deserve a good husband, and soon." "You have travelled, TTafen, to very litth^ purpo.se," saicj ifli I TiiE LAST MINSTREL. 381 laney, " if you are not able, at your time of life, to tell this kdy's fortune." " Oh, bless you !" replied Hafen, " I can do that very truly. 'ou are not afraid, young mistress, to show me the palm of your Lnd?" " Not she !" said Harvey. " Bel, open your hand ; let the jnerable Hafen disclose to you the decrees of fate." " Take care, Hafen," said Bel, holding out her hand ; " if you »y one unlucky word I will for ever dismiss you from my scr- ee." Hafen took from his pocket an old pair of spectacles, and oceeded, very minutely', to examine the open hand. " Here is a line that has not more than six months to run : at is the line of marriage, young mistress. It is not so smooth line, neither, as ought to be in such a palm, for it breaks off in or three places, with some crossings." " Defend me !" cried Bel. " What does that mean ?" " It means," replied Hafen, " that the lady is hard to please, jid can scarcely find heart to make up her mind." " True !" exclaimed Harvey. " Worshipful soothsayer Hafen . on !" I '• The lady does not sleep well o' nights," continued Hafen ; 'md here are cloudy dreams ; the hand is mottled, and yet her ood ought to flow smoothly too, for it has a healthy color ; the x\m is moist and shows a warm heart : I fear the lady has fan- -s. Well, well, it is all nothing, as there is a good ending to Here is a person who has done her great service lately. He ■il do her more : and, — let me see. — he is a gentleman of good ood, and more in love than I think it right to tell. He travels 1 a line that runs to marriage. Fie, my young mistress, you )uld not be obstinate with such a gentleman ! But here is a op and a cross line. 'There is many a slip 'twixt the cup and c lip.' No, no, it is better than it looks." 382 THE LAST MINSTREL. " Excellent well !" cried Harvey again. '• It is not excellent well, cousin," said Bel, playfully witj drawing her hand. " Hafen, you have to learn the beginnings \ your ^rt. You know nothing about palmistry ! Couldn't y And a proper gentleman he is — a brave one, as I said befo] Why, gentle bred as he is, he can handle any man, in the way boxing, 'twixt this and Richmond. It is a real pleasure to s him strike a blow." " His name," said Harvey. " It would not be a strange name to these walls, if I was tell it," answered Hafen. " But I never thought such a pair arms belonged to a gentleman, as he showed this morning." " Ned Hazard !" said Harvey. " Pray, what did you see him this morning ?" ; " I will tell you and our pretty young lady here what I sa\ replied Hafen. " Up here at the cross-roads, you must know, about noon or a little later, — comes along Mister Edward Haza and that strange gentleman his friend, on horseback, with tl- same hawk that's out here in the cage. Well, there was a par, of neighbors drinking, and such like, about the store. Mis^ Edward never stands much upon ceremony; so, he got do\ pnd then the other got down, and 'good morning,' and 'gc: morning,' went round. Mister Edward's not one of your pro, men, for he got to showing them the bird, and told them, bl' your heart ! whoso it was — Miss Isabel's here. I suspected soif thing then," said Hafen, putting his finger against the side of ' nose and looking at Harvey. " Well, one word brought i another, and somehow or 'nother, Miles Rutherford gives Mis' I THE LAST MINSTREL. 383 Kdward the lie. So, out jumps Mister Edward, and calls to the jthers to stand by him, and swears out pretty strong, (you know, Miss Isabel, Mister Ned's like any other man at swearing when le's angry,) and tells Miles to step out if he dares, and says, he will lick him to his heart's content, — or something to that eflfect. 'Well, Miles had whipped almost every fighting man in the county, md he wa'nt going to be baulked by Ned Hazard ; and, accord- lingly, out he comes. Mercy on me ! says I, now Mister Edward will give Miles such a mouthful to stay his stomach, as he never tasted in his life before. I knew Mr. Hazard of old, and told Miles what he'd get. And sure enough, it would have done your heart good. Miss Isabel, if you had seen how Mister Edward did jdrub Miles ! And the best of it was, he did it so genteel, as if |he didn't want to bloody his clothes. And when he was done he Iwiped his face, as natural as if he had been at his dinner, and I ibrought him some water to wash his hands ; and then off he and ithe tother gentleman rode after bidding the company good day. — Upon which we gave them three cheers." I '• Are you telling us the truth, Hafen ?" asked Harvey, [earnestly. I " I would not tell you a lie. Mister Harvey," replied Hafen, " if it was to save my right hand from being chopped off this minute." 1 " This morning, do you say this happened ?" " As I am a Christian man," said the tinker. I " Ned fought with that bully. Miles Rutherford ?— and with I fists?" " As fair a fight. Mister Riggs," replied Hafen, '• and as I pretty a one as you ever saw." " What brought it about ? You have told us nothing about the cause of the quarrel." " I'm not particular about that," said the other ; " but it was 384 THE LAST MINSTREL. words. The truth is, I suspect Miles was impertinent, an( Mister Edward wanted to beat him ; for he said he did it on ac count of the good of the public. Both on 'em might have been : little in the wrong, but Mister Hazard's hand was in ; and, yoi know, a man don't stand much persuasion when that's the case Butj you may depend, Mister Edward gained a great deal o glory." " Edward didn't say a word about this to us," said Bel. " I can't unriddle it," replied Harvey, shaking his head. Hafen was now dismissed from the parlor ; and Bel and Hai vey fell into a long conversation, in relation to the disclosure tha was just made. Bel uttered a deep and sincere complaint h Harvey's ear, that the waywardness of Hazard's temper shoul( be so continually driving him off his guard. It was so unbecom ing his station in society to permit himself to appear in thes lights to the world ! When would he learn discretion ? Ho^ could he hope to win the affections even of his intimate friendf when he was perpetually offending against the plainest duties h owed them ? She admitted his goodness of heart, and the valu she set upon the many excellent points in his character ; but i seemed as if fate had unalterably decreed that every day he wa to be farther removed from all hopes of making himself agreeabl to her. To these suggestions Harvey could frame no defence, excep that Hafen had, perhaps, misrepresented the facts. : "I do not wish to inquire into the details," said Bel, "becausi no provocation, in my opinion, could excuse a gentleman in mat ing such a figure before a set of low-bred rustics. I canno express to you, cousin Harvey, how much this thing shocks me. " There are provocations, Bel," replied Harvey, '' that woul .render such an exploit meritorious — even in a gentleman.". "I cannot think it, — cousin: — I cannot think so," replic Bel, musing over tlie matter; " T wish I could." THE LAST MINSTREL. 385 " I'll tell you, Bel, what we will do," said Harvey, with a gay air ; " we will get our old minnesinger Hafen to hitch it into verse and sing it to the tune of ' The Lay of the Last Minstrel.'" " Incorrigible sinner !" exclaimed Bel, " how can you jest upon such an incident ! as for your friend Edward, I pity him ; you know why. • But do not make mc think as hardly of you. Good night !" " Pleasant dreams to you !" cried Harvey. *' Fancy that you have heard of a tilting match between a bull and a cavalier, and that the bull was beaten. Romance and chivalry are sovereign varnishes for cracked crowns and bloody noses. Good night 1" CHAPTER XXXIL SIGNS OF A HERO. list While Hazard was indulging the luxurious fancy that he hac sailed, at last, into the harbor of Bel's good graces ; and was casfej ing ahout to see how he should best make good his moorings j Hafen, like a lame Yulcan, was forging a thunderbolt that war! destined to descend upon Ned's slender pinnace, and either teai! up one of the principal planks, or at least, give him such a lurcl as should make him think he was going straight to the bottom, j Happy would it have been for Hazard if he had not forbidden me to say any thing to his mistress about his unfortunate quar; rel with Miles Kutherford ; for then I could have given the mati ter such a gloss as must have entirely satisfied any reasonabLi woman whatever. But to have this incident mangled by Hafei; Blok, disgraced by his slang, and discolored by his officious zea;; to contribute to Ned's glorification, was one of those unlucb strokes of fortune to which the principal actors in romance hav< been subject from time immemorial. This, therefore, gives hk: strong hopes that he is really destined to be a hero of some noti before I am done with him. It has thrown him, for the present into a deep shade. And yet, — shortsighted mortal ! — so littlt suspicious was he that aifairs had taken this turn, that all th< next day (being Sunday) he was more like a man bordering upoi insanity than a rational Christian. His first impulse was to gi k SIGNS OF A HERO. 387 ver to The Brakes immediately after breakfast : then, he checked limself by the consideration that it was pushing matters too iercely. After this, he thought of sending for Harvey Riggs to oin us at dinner : then, he reflected that it wasn't Harvey he iished to see. He then sat down with a book in his hand, but lOon discovered that he could not understand one sentence that I le was reading. He got up, and walked as far as the g-ate ; ooked critically at the plum-tree, that had not the smallest ap- pearance of fruit upon it and very few leaves, and then returned |o the house whistling, where Lucy and Vic told him, '• it was ;unday and he must not whistle." At length, as a last resort, lie went up to his chamber, and dressed himself out with extraor- Unary particularity in white drilling pantaloons, as stiff with ;tarch as if they were made of foolscap paper, a white waistcoat, lis dark-green frock, a black stock, boots and his hair-cloth forage- ap. In this attire he appeared in the hall, with a riding-whip in lis hand, walking up and down in profound abstraction. " Where are you going, Ned ?' asked Meriwether, " Going ?" he replied, " I am going to stay at home." " I beg your pardon ! I thought you were about to ride." Meriwether passed on. Ned continued his walk. " Where are you going, Edward ?" asked my cousin Lucretia. I " Nowhere," said Ned. " Edward, where are you going V inquired Prudence. '• I am not going out," said Ned. I " Uncle Ned, may I go with you? shall I get Spitfire ?" cried Rip, running into the hall. " Where V asked Ned, with some surprise. " Wherever you are going to ride," answered Rip. " Good people !" exclaimed Hazard. " What has got into the family ! where would you have me go ? what do you see ? what do you want ?" . d 388 SIGNS OF A HERO. " Arn^t you going to ride ?" asked Kip. " By no means, my dear." — Away went Rip. All this I saw from the porch. So, getting up from my seai'' ^^ I also accosted him with the same question. " Where are yo going?" '• The Lord knows, Mark ! I have just dressed myself, aiHj have been walking here, for want of something better to do. '.\ wish it were to-morrow ! for I don't like to go over yonder to-dajj I think a man ought not to visit more than three times a weeii — I feel very queerly this morning: I have been everywhere! gaping about like an- apprentice-boy in his Sunday clothes. ! \ have seen the horses in the stable, the fowls in the poultry -yard; the pigs, the negroes, and, in fact, I don^t know what in the dcvi; to do with myself Mark, we will go over to The Brakes to-mor| row morning ?" i Aim " Oh, certainly. I think our affairs require some attentioii ||i< in that quarter. Why not go this evening ?" i " I should like it very much," said Ned. " But it would alarnj the family. I feel qualmish at being seen there too often. Peoj pie are so fond of gossipping ! No, no, we will wait until to morrow." These particulars will show the state of Hazard's mind, th( day following the recovery of the hawk, — a day that passed hcavilj enough. Ned pretended to impute all this tediousness to Sun- day, which, he remarked, was always the most difficult day in the week to get through. On Monday morning we were at The Brakes by ten o'clock. Bel was busy with Fairbourne, and looked uncommonly fresh and gay. Her manner was affable, and too easy, I thought, con- sidering the peculiar relation of her affairs, at this moment, towards Hazard. She addressed her conversation principally to me ; and, once or twice, refused Ned's services in some little mat- SIGNS OV A HERO. 389 ers wherein it was natural he should offer tliem. I observed. I floreover, that she did not second his attempts at wit as freely t s she wa^used to do : they made me smile ; but upon her they bll harmless and flat, like schoolboys' arrows headed with tar. Lll this seemed strange and boded ill. Hazard observed it ; for j |) made him awkward ; his cheek grew pale, and his words stuck 1 his throat. In a short time some household matters called Bel away. " The wind has changed," said Ned, in a half-whisper to me, s we walked to the parlor ; " the thermometer is falling towards he freezing point. I wish this business was at the " " Whist, Ned !" I exclaimed, " don't swear ! There is some listake in this matter : we'll talk to Harvey." Harvey Kiggs took a seat with us at the front door : and jhere, in a long, confidential and grave conference, he explained b us all that he knew of this perplexing affair. He said that he ad been trying to bring Bel to reason, because he thought, to use is own phrase, " it was all flummery in her to be so hyperbolical i'ith Ned ;" but that she was struck, just between wind and water, Kth Hafen's rigmarole about Ned's boxing match ; and that it j'ould require some time to get this warp out of her fancy ; that bere was no question she was deeply wounded by all she had card ; but still he had hopes, that he would be able to set matters light again, " Ned," said he, " my dear fellow, let me warn you, |t least until you are married, (if you are ever to have that luck.) p care how you make a fool of yourself ; because it is sure imme- (iately to turn Bel into a greater one. Mark, they are a miracu- ')us pair of geese !" cried Harvey, breaking out into a loud laugh ; iOd then singing out with a great flourish, to the tune of a popu- lu: song, the following doggerel — I And grant, oh Queen of fools ! he said — Thus ran the mooncalf s prayer — 390 SIGNS OF A HERO. That I may prove the drollest knight And wed the queerest fair. 15 ink lit |(tiii JiltSfl IKSL Ned absolutely raved. He thought lie had the fairest occ. sion in the world to get into a passion ; and he, accordingly, fe to swearing against all womankind, in the most emphatic term As soon as he had " unpacked his heart" in this way, he dropp^ ^ into another mood, and began to deplore his fate, pretty much ; he had done on some of those former occasions that I have d scribed ; and last of all, — which he ought to have done at first,- he became very reasonable ; and, in a calm, manly defence • himself, narrated circumstantially the whole affair ; showing, i the most conclusive manner, that he had been induced to acoej Miles Rutherford's challenge, only because he did not choose tl hear that graceless brawler pour out his vile abuse upon one i venerable in his eyes as Mr. Tracy. " What could I do," said he, '• but chastise such a scound'n for the irreverent mention, in such a circle, of the excellent o gentleman? and, I humbly think, that, of all persons in tl world, Bel Tracy is the last that has a right to complain of it." " This sets the matter in a new light," said Harvey ; '• I to Bel, I was certain Hafen had lied. Her worshipful minstrel, h rascally minnesinger makes a great figure in this business !" Here Hazard's mood changed again. Nothing is so brave ij*™ a lover who has found good ground to rail against his mistref' He may be as gentle as a pet squirrel, or a lamb that is fed ] hand, as long as he has no confederate to encourage him in rebc lion ; but no sooner does he receive a compassionate word from by-stander, or enlist a party, than he becomes the most perem tory and fearful of animals. Harvey's words stirred up Nee soul into a sublime mutiny ; and, for some minutes, he was mo ; extravagant than ever. He would let Bel see that she had ma'' a sad mistake, when she imagined that he was going to surrcnd \ viic SIGNS OF A HERO. 391 is free agency, his judgment, his inclinations, his sense of duty ) her ! It became a man to take a stand in affairs of this na- ire ! He scorned to put on a character to win a woman, that did not mean to support afterwards, if he should be successful : would be rank hypocrisy ! What, in the devil's name, did she pect of him ! — to stand by, and acknowledge himself a man, lien she — yes, she herself — for an attack upon her father was an rack upon her — was reviled and made the subject of profane St and vituperation on the lips of an outlaw ! Let Bel consider in this point of view, and how could she possibly find fault with m?" " Yes. Let Bel consider it in this point of view !" said Har- jy, chiming in with a droll and affected gravity ; " I'll go and it the subject to her in this light, this very instant." " No," said Ned, " you need not be in a hurry. But, in ; jirnest, Harvey, at another time I would like you to do it : it is it justice." " I'll harrow up," replied Harvey, with a deep tragic voice, ,1 [her inmost soul." "In order that you may have free scope," said Hazard, '' it (ill be better for Mark and me to set off home immediately." "'Sir Lucius, we won't run,'" said I, laughing. "Do you link there is danger, Ned? shall we make a rapid retreat?" •"Brush,' exclaimed Harvey, 'the sooner you are off, the stter !' I will meet you anon, and report to you at Swallow am." Without taking leave of the family we commenced our re- '•eat ; and during the ride Ned displayed the same alternations ;' feeling that were manifested in our interview with Harvey, hese emotions resolved themselves, at last, into one abiding and ermanent determination, and that, considering the character lad temper of Hazard, was sufficiently comic, namely, — that in 592 SIGNS OF A HERO, his future intercourse with Bel, he would invariably observe thti most scrupulous regard to all the high-flown and overstraine elegancies and proprieties of conduct which she so pretended t i idolize. His humor was that of dogged submission to her mosj capricious whims. Never did spaniel seem so humbled. " I know I shall make a fool of myself," said he, '• but that i! her look-out, not mine. I'll give her enough of her super-subthi unimaginable, diabolical dignity ! — I will be the very essence c dulness, and the quintessence of decorum ! — I will turn myse]. into an ass of the first water, until I make her so sick of pedantr and sentiment, that a good fellow shall go free with her all tb rest of her life !" il *Ja!o % pi CHAPTER XL A COUNCIL OF WAR. 3 soon as we had left The Brakes Harvey sought an opportu- ty to communicate to Bel all that he had learned from us in re- ^rd to the cause and circumstances of the quarrel between Ned ^d E-utherford ; presenting to her, in the strongest point of view 1 was able, the signal injustice she had done to so faithful and <|voted a lover. " I should not have regarded the matter a rush," fid Harvey, " if it were not that Ned, as I have often told you, ione of the most sensitive creatures alive, and so much inclined i melancholy that there is no knowing what effect such an inci- <|nt may have upon his temper." Bel smiled incredulously, and emed as if she did not know whether to take Harvey in jest or rnest. " You may treat this lightly," continued Harvey, " but I am lire you will feel some unpleasant misgivings when you come to Meet on it." She smiled again. I " It is not a just return for that admirable constancy," Har- ■ty proceeded, " which Ned, notwithstanding his upper current ' levity, has always shown towards you ; and which, amidst all s waywardness, has always set steadily towards you. If he has :en volatile in his pursuits, you cannot deny that he has con- Iscted you with the pleasantest passages of his life ; if he has jsen strange in his conduct, now and then, it is very obvious that I 17* i 394 A COUNCIL OF WAR. he has never ceased to feel the desire to make himself agreeat to you ; if he has occasionally erred from the straight line ; Mi decorum, every transgression may be traced to some ardent e \ m.$ deavor to support your cause, even at the expense of your goi opinion. Now, this is what I call faith, honor and gallantry, shows single-heartedness, homage and modesty. It is in the ve» best strain of a cavalier devoted to his lady-love ; and has mcl true chivalry in it than all the formal courtesies in the world- j Bel began to look grave. ■ " It cuts Ned to the heart to think his mistress ungrateft- and, particularly, that she should listen to a vile strolling tink; and take his account of a fray as if it were gospel, instead of si pending her opinion until she should have a more authentic re; tion from himself This has sunk deeper into his feelings tM any act of unkindness that ever befell him. And from you, B| — Conceive what anguish Ned must have experienced when y(^ cold looks chided him for one of the most disinterested actions fj||^ his life." " Why didn't he tell us all about this quarrel when he brou| the hawk home ?" said Bel. " Why was he silent then, I sho like to know ?" " Was it for him," asked Harvey, " to vaunt his exploits ji your ear? A brave man naturally forbears to speak of h achievements ; and therein is Ned's true modesty of characijr conspicuous. He would have concealed this from you untilp had grown gray, lest you might have been tempted to think |B played the braggart with you. I cannot sujfficientl}^ admire s.li forbearance." ', " Ah me, cousin !" said Bel, •' I do not know what to thi,:. You perplex me. I would not willingly offend the meanest c:,i- ture that lives. I am sure I have no reason to be unkind to - Hazard. But still it is not my fault that I cannot set the S{;0 A COUNCIL OF WAR. 395 value upon his virtues that you and others do. — I almost wish I bad not been so marked in my demeanor to him this morning I am sure I am not ungrateful in my temper, cousin Harvey. Did he speak much of it ?" " Rather in sorrow than in anger," returned Harvey. - But the thought haunted him all the time he was here. He broke out once or twice and swore." ^' Swore at me .?" exclaimed Beh " No ; I was mistaken in saying he swore. He gave vent to some piteous feelings, — as well he might : — but they were ex- jpressed chiefly in sighs." I " I wish I knew whether you were in earnest, Harvey," said iBel, beseechingly. " Mercy on me ! I do not know what to think. [wish I were in heaven ! And still, I won't believe Ned Hazard ^ares the thousandth part as much for me as you make out." This was not true, for Bel was inwardly very much moved |with the whole relation, and began to feel, what she never before acknowledged, that Ned had a very fair claim .to her considera- tion. Harvey was making an experiment upon her heart; and, hav- ing set her to musing over the afiair, left her to settle the case with her own conscience. He had now satisfied himself that Ned, if he used even ordinary discretion, might turn the accident to good account ; and he therefore said nothing more to Bel, know- ing that the more she thought of what had passed, the graver would be the impression on her mind. The next morning he hastened over to Swallow Barn, where, like a trusty minister, he detailed the sum of his observations in a solemn council, convoked for that purpose. Never was any topic more minutely or more ably discussed. We all agreed that Ned's prospects were brightening; that a crisis had arrived which it required great judgment to manage 396 A COUNCIL OF WAR. with effect ; and that, above all things, he must be very guardec ] for the future. It was also resolved that he should hencefortl be more special and direct in his attentions, and not scruple t( assume the posture of an avowed lover ; that he should put on a: much propriety of manner as might be found requisite to gratif Bel's most visionary requisitions ; and that, in particular, he mus neither swear in her presence, nor talk lightly before her. " Oh, as to that," said Ned, who had grown as pliant as ; trained hound in our hands, " I have already resolved to sho^ her that I can play the part of the most solemn fool in th world. But, what perplexes me most is to find out some sent: mental subject for conversation. I shall commit myself by som egregious blunder of a joke, if I get to talking at randon Faith, I have a great mind to write down a whole discourse an' commit it to memory. " Talk to her," said Harvey, upon classical matters. Sho^ her your learning. She thinks you don't read; rub up somex your college pedantry : any thing, man ; — give her a little of th heathen mythology !" " Oh, I'll do it !" cried Ned with exultation. '• I'll astonis her with a whole Encyclopedia of nonsense." " Take care, though," interrupted Harvey, " to season it we with delicate and appropriate allusions to the affair in han« Let it be congenial and lover-like ; no matter how nonsensica! But don't be bombastic, Ned." " Trust me !" he replied, " I'll suit her to the twentieth pa i of a scruple." Here our conclave broke up with a flash of merriment ; ar.i we did nothing but jest all the rest of the day. Harvey dined with us ; and when, in the evening, he thougl of returning, Carey came into the parlor to make a propositic which had the effect to retain our guest with us all that nigti The incident that followed will require a chapter to itself ClIArTER XLI. WOODCRAFT. • H^iiEN Carey came into the parlor he pulled off bis hat and ;iiade a profound bow ; and then advanced to the back of Ned's riif phair, where, in a low and orderlj^ tone of voice, he made the fol- lowing grave and interesting disclosure : namely, that the boys — tJ meaning some of the other negroes who belonged to the planta- vii tionT— had found out what had been disturbing the poultry-yard :ii for some time past : that it was not a mink, as had been given i but, but nothing less than a large old ^2^ossum that had been 'raced to a gum tree over by the river, about a mile distant : that the boys had diskivered him (to use Carey's own term) by some i;; feathers near the tree ; and, when they looked into the hollow, \j they could see his eyes shining " like foxfire." He said they had rs been trying to screw him out, by thrusting up a long stick, cut with a fork at the end, (an approved method of bringing out squirrels, foxes and rabbits from their holes, and much in practice in the country.) and tangling it in his hair, but that this design was abandoned under the supposition that, perhaps, Master Ed- ward would like to hunt him in the regular way. Ned professed a suitable concern in the intelligence ; but in- quired of Carey, whether he, as an old sportsman, thought it lawful to hunt an opossum at midsummer. This interrogatory 398 WOODCRAFT. set the old negro to chuckling, and afterwards, with a wise look, tCj putting the several cases in which he considered a hunt at the present season altogether consonant with prescriptive usage. He admitted that ''possiwis in general were not to be followed til] I persimmon time, because they were always fattest when that fruit was ripe ; but, when they couldn't get persimmons they wer( " mighty apt" to attack the young fowls and cut their throats that it was good law to hunt any sort of creature when he wa; known to be doing mischief to the plantation. But even then Carey affirmed with a " howsomdever," and " nevertheless," tha if they carried young, and especially a " '^:)05SW77?," (which hai more young ones than most other beasts,) he thought they ough to be let alone until their appropriate time. This, however, wai a large male opossum, that was known to be engaged in nefariou practices ; and, moreover, was " shocking fat ;" and therefore upon the whole, Carey considered him as a lawful subject o chase. To this sagacious perpending of the question, and to the coe, elusion which the veteran had arrived at, Ned could oppose n valid objection. He, therefore, replied that he was entirely coe vinced that he, Carey, had taken a correct view of the subject - and that if Mr. Riggs and Mr. Littleton could be prevailed upo] to lend a hand, nothing would be more agreeable than the pre posed enterprise. We were unanimous on the proposition. Harvey agreed t; defer his return to The Brakes until the next morning ; and ij was arranged that we should bo apprised by Carey when tlie prcj! per hour came to set out on the expedition. Carey then detailej the mode of proceeding : A watch was to be set near the hei; roost, the dogs were to be kept out of the way, lest theyraigl:! steal upon the enemy unawares, and destroy him without a chase, notice was to be given of his approach ; and one or two of thofej WOODCRAFT. 399 1 the watch were to frighten him away ; and after allowing him me enough to get back to the woods, the dogs were to be put ion the trail and to pursue him until he was treed. Having announced this, the old servant bowed again and left ic room, saying, that it would be pretty late before we should be 'lied out, because it was natural to these thieving animals to \\i until people went to bed ; and that a ''possum was one of the Imningest things alive. Midnight arrived without a summons from our leader : the ,inily had long since retired to rest ; and we began to fear that " ir vigil was to end in disappointment. "We had taken posses ■ on of the settees in the hall, and had almost dropped asleep, hen, about half past twelve, Carey came tiptoeing through the *" ack door and told us, in a mysterious whisper, that the depre- itor upon the poultry-yard had just been detected in his visit : '■ lat big Bon (for so one of the negroes was denominated, to dis- nguish him from little Ben.) had been out and saw the animal " culking close under the fence in the neighborhood of the roost. " ipon this intelligence, we rose and followed the oid domestic to le designated spot. Here were assembled six or seven of the negroes, men and ''' jys, who were clustered into a group at a short distance from le poultry-yard. Within a hundred paces the tall figure of big en was discerned, in dim outline, proceeding cautiously across field until he had receded beyond our view. A nocturnal ad- 9nture is always attended with a certain show of mystery : the resence of darkness conjures up in every mind an indefinite ■nse of fear — faint, but still suflicient to throw an interest around 'ivial things, to which we are strangers in the daytime. The lit- e assembly of blacks we had just joined were waiting in noiseless 38erve for some report from Ben ; and, upon our arrival, were spressing in low and wary whispers, their conjectures as to the 40C WOODCRAFT. course the game bad taken, or recounting their separate experj ence as to the habits of the animal. It was a cloudless night; and the obscure and capacious vault above us showed its thousand' of stars, with a brilliancy unusual at this season. A chillinj breeze swept through the darkness and fluttered the neighborin , foliage with an alternately increasing and falling murmur. Som. of the younger negroes stood bareheaded, with no clothing bi! coarse shirts and trowsers, shivering amongst the crowd, an-l every now and then, breaking out into exclamations, in a pitch t! voice that called down the reproof of their elders. Ned commanded all to be silent and to seat themselves upon the ground ; an while we remained in this position, Ben reappeared and canoi directly up to the circle. He reported that he had detected tli object of our quest near at hand ; and had followed him throujl the weeds and stubble of the adjoining field, until he had sec! him take a course which rendered it certain that he had be( sufficiently alarmed by the rencounter to induce him to retire in the neighborhood of the gum. It was, therefore, Ben's advi that Ned, Harvey, and myself, should take Carey as a guide, ai et, as fast as we could, to the neighborhood of the tree spok( of, in order that we might be sure to see the capture ; and th he would remain behind, where, after a delay long enough to all( us to reach our destination, he would put the dogs, which we' now locked up in the stable, upon the trail ; and then come < as rapidly as they were able to follow the scent. Ben had the reputation of being an oracle in matters of woo craft ; and his counsel was, therefore, implicitly adopted. Cap assured us that " there was no mistake in him," and that we mig count upon arriving at the appointed place, with the utmost pi cision, under his piloting. We accordingly set forward. F nearly a mile we had to travel through weeds and bushes ; ai having safely accomplished this, we penetrated into a piece y r H' WOODCRAFT. ' '{{) 1 wanip3^ woodland that lay upon the bank of the river. Our way ;as sufficiently perplexed ; and, notwithstanding Carey's exorbi- tant boasting of his thorough knowledge of the ground, we did ot reach the term of our march without some awkward mistakes, -such as taking ditches for fallen trees, and blackberry bushes* ir smooth ground. Although the stars did their best to afford s light, the thickness of the wood into which we had advanced rapt us, at times, in impenetrable gloom. During this progress re were once stopped by Harvey calling out, from some twenty aces in the rear, that it was quite indispensable to the success f the expedition, so far as he was concerned, that Carey should orrect a topographical error, into which he, Mr. Riggs, found imself very unexpectedly plunged ; " I have this moment," said e, '- been seized by the throat by a most rascally grapevine : and . my sincere desire to get out of its way, I find that another of he same tribe has hooked me below the shoulders. Meantime, ay hat has been snatched from my head : and, in these circum- tances, gentlemen, perhaps it is not proper for me to budge a '^ot." Notwithstanding these embarrassments, we at last reached MO gum tree, and "halting in his shade, " if the tree could be piid to be proprietor of any part of this universal commodity, pa- liently awaited the events that were upon the wind. The heavy illing dew had shed a dampness through the air that almost stif- ncd our limbs with cold. It was necessary that we should re- iaiu silent; and, indeed, the momentary expectation of hearing iir followers advance upon our footsteps fixed us in a mute and arnest suspense. This feeling absorbed all other emotions for a ime : when finding that they were not yet afoot, we began to look ound upon the scene, and note the novel impressions it made up- u our senses. The wood miajht be said to be vocal with a thou- aud unearthly sounds ; for, the wakeful beings of midnight, that 402 WOODCRAFT. j inhabit every spray and branch of the forest, are endued witj voices of the harshest discord. The grove, which in daylight ij resonant with melody, is now converted into a sombre theatre c- gibbering reptiles, screeching insects, and nigh thirds of melanch(| ly and grating cries. The concert is not loud, but incessant, aii^ invades the ear with fiendish notes : it arouses thoughts that mal? it unpleasant to be alone. Through the trees the murky surfac of the river was discernible, by the flickering reflections of tl stars, with darkness brooding over the near perspective. In tl bosom of this heavy shadow, a lonely taper shot its feeble ra from the cabin window of some craft at anchor ; and this was r fleeted, in a long, sharp line, upon the water below it. The fre. ful beat of the waves was heard almost at our feet ; and the su len plash of a fish, springing after his prey, occasionally reached'; with strange precision. Around us, the frequent crash ofr( ten boughs, breaking under the stealthy footsteps of the maraud of the wood that now roamed for booty, arrested our attention an deceived us with the thought that the special object of our sear was momentarily approaching. Still, however, no actual sign was yet given us that our huni' men were on their way. Harvey grew impatient, and took ov old guide to task for having mistaken his course ; but Carey pc sisted that he was right, and that this delay arose only from Bei wary caution to make sure of his game. At length, a deep-ton' and distant howl reached us from the direction of the house. "Big Ben's awake now," said Carey ; '-that's Cajsar's voi<: and he never speaks without telling truth." We were all attention ; and the tonguing of this dog was f lowed by the quick yelping of four or five others. Ned direct Carey to seat himself at the foot of tlie gum tree, in order that might prevent the opossum from retreating into the hollow ; :i then suggested that we should conceal ourselves under the nei^i boring bank I W O O D C 11 A F T . 403 13y this time, the cries of the dogs were redoubled, and indi- atcd the certainty of their having fallen upon the track of their irey. Carey took his seat, with his back against the opening of ^ |he hollow, and we retired to the bank, under the shelter of some irge and crooked roots of a sycamore that spread its bulk above * )he water. Whilst in this retreat, the halloos of Ben and his as- istants, encouraging the dogs, became distinctly audible, and grad- |ially grew stronger upon our hearing. Every moment the ani- oation of the scene increased ; the clamor grew musical as it welled upon the wind ; and we listened with a pleasure that one '• yould scarce imagine could be felt under sucb circumstances, in- tantly expecting the approach of our companions. It was im- )0ssible longer to remain inactive ; and, with one impulse, wc - iprang from our hiding place, and hurried to the spot where we ! |iad left old Carey stationed, as a sentinel, at the door of the de- |:oted quadruped's home. At this moment, as if through the in- ■ |luence of a spell, every dog was suddenly hushed into profound i lilence. " They have lost their way, " said Ned, "or else the animal lias taken to the brook and confounded the dogs. Is it not pos- sible, Carey, that he has been driven into a tree nearer home ? " " Never mind !" replied Carey, " that ^possum^s down here in ome of these bushes watching us. Bless you ! if the dogs had reed him you would hear them almost crazy with howling. These possums never stay to take a chase, because they are the sorriest hings in life to get along on level ground ; — they sort of hobble ; lind that's the reason they always take off, — as soon as they see a body, — to their own homes. You trust big Ben ; he knows what le's about." The chase, in an instant, opened afresh ; and it was manifest ;hat the pursuers were making rapidly for the spot on which we >tood. Carey begged us to get back to our former concealment ; 404 WOODCRAFT. but the request was vain. The excitement kept us on foot, an it was with difficulty we could be restrained from rushing forwar to meet the advancing pack. Instead, however, of coming dow to the gum tree, the dogs suddenly took a turn and sped, wit urgent rapidity, in a contrary direction, rending the air with ; clamor that far exceeded any thing we had yet heard. " "We hav lost our chance !" cried Harvey. " Here have we been shiverin in the cold for an hour to no purpose. What devil tempted us t leave Ben? Shall we follow?" " Pshaw, master Harvey !" exclaimed the old negro, — "don you know better than that ? It's only some varmint the do^ have got up in the woods. When you hear such a desperat barking, and such hard running as that, you may depend the do^ have hit upon a gray -fox, or something of that sort, that can gi\ them a run. No Opossum there ! Big Ben isn't a going to 1( Csesar sarve him that fashion !" Ben's voice was heard, at this period, calling back the do| and reproving them for going astray ; and, having succeeded in few minutes in bringing them upon their former scent, the who] troop were heard breaking through the undergrowth, in a dire tion leading immediately to the tree. " Didn't I tell you so, young masters !" exclaimed Carey. " There he is ! there he is !" shouted Ned. '• Look out, C; rey ! Guard the hole ! He has passed. Well done, old fellow I think we have him now." This quick outcry was occasioned by the actual apparition (: the opossum, almost at the old man's feet. The little animal ha been lying close at hand ; and, alarmed at the din of the a] ' proaching war, had made an effort to secure his retreat. He can., creeping slyly towards the tree ; but, finding his passage intercep , ed, had glided noiselessly by, and in a moment the moving and mi.'! ty object, that we had obscurely discerned speeding with an awli 3 > -■-('. -r-y r% \ i .t . . W <) O D C R A F T . 405 ird motion through the grass, was lost to view A few seconds (ly elapsed, and the dogs swept past us with the fleetncss of the Jnd. They did not run many paces before they halted at the pt of a large chestnut that threw its aged and ponderous bran- ces over an extensive surface, and whose distant extremities al- |)8t drooped back to the earth. Here they assembled, an eager |id obstreperoua pack, bounding wildly from place to place, and 'oking up and howling, with that expressive gesture which may ■ seen in this race of animals when they are said to be baying e moon. j This troop of dogs presented a motley assortment. There jere two conspicuous for their size and apparently leaders of the 406 \\' O O D C R A F T . Hn ['m mill' H company, — a mixture of hound and mastiff — who poured out thtt long, deep and bugle-like tones, with a fulness that was echo(; back from the farthest shore of the river, and which rang throuii the forest with a strength that must have awakened the sleepei at the mansion we had left. Several other dogs of inferior pri portions, even down to the cross and peevish terrier of the kitchej t"".^ yelped, with every variety of note, — sharp, quick and piercing the ear. This collection was gathered from the negro families I the plantation ; and they were all familiar with the discipline the wild and disorderly game in which they were engaged, distinguished actor in this scene was our old friend Wilful, wh< true to all his master's pranks, appeared in the crowd with of cious self-importance, bounding violently above the rest, barkiuj with an unnecessary zeal, and demeaning himself, in all respect- like a gentlemanly, conceited, pragmatical and good-natuni spanial. This canine rabble surrounded the tree, and, with va ■ efforts, attempted to scale the trunk, or started towards the out: circumference, and jumped upwards, with an earnestness whi( showe the rear. I 414 ONE ACT OF A FARCE. . For the first fifteen minutes our conversation was all commoi place ; and Ned frequently looked round with a droll expressio of faint-heartedness. "We had chosen a road that wound throug the shade of a thick wood, and our horses' feet fell silently upo the sand. In a short time we arrived at a piece of scenery ( very peculiar features. It was an immense forest of pine, of whic the trees, towering to the height of perhaps a hundred feet c' more, grew in thick array, shooting up their long and sturd trunks to nearly their full elevation without a limb, — resemblic huge columns of a slaty hue, and uniting their clustered tops in thick and dark canopy. No other vegetation diversified the vie\^ even the soil below exhibited the naked sand, or was sparse] covered with a damp moss, which was seen through the russet va formed by the fallen and withered foliage of the wood. Th, forest extended in every direction as far as the eye could pier( its depths, — an image of desolate sterility ; and the deep ai , quiet shade which hung over the landscape cast upon it a mela , choly obscurity. "Where the road penetrated this mass the tre-j ■.,, had been cut away in regular lines, so as to leave, on either sidj a perpendicular wall of mathematical precision, made up of va pillars that furnished a resemblance to a lengthened aisle in soe enormous cathedral. When we entered into this pass, Bel, with her harebrain' cavalier, was still in advance ; and the rest of us were ridiug ii j mediately after them in one platoon. Ned was evidently dauntt i and by no means played off the bold game he had threatenenj but an opportunity now arrived, and as if taking courage frdt] the occasion, he launched out in a style that took us by surprijj Bel had remarked to him the uncommon character of t scene, and said that, from its novelty, it had always been a favc) ite spot. '• This place is familiar to you," she added. — " I know each lane," said he, quoting from Milton, with :; emphatic earnestness — oneactofafarce. 415 " And every alley green, Dingle and bushy dell, in this wild wood." "And every bosky bourne," said Harvey, from the rear, awling it out, like a school-boy reciting verses — " From side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighborhood." — " Hold your profane tongue, Harvey !" said Ned. " It is t fit for such as you to mar the thoughts of the divine bard by itering them in such an irreverent tone." Bel stared at Ned and then smiled. " Riggs," continued Hazard, " is the most inveterate jester I kr knew. He spreads the contagion of his levity into all socie- For my part, I think there are scenes in nature, as there 8^ passages in life, which ought to repress merriment in the most )ughtless minds ; and this is one of them. Such a spot as this hdles a sort of absorbing, superstitious emotion in me that kes me grave." " I observe that you are grave," remarked Bel. " Since I left college," said Ned, " and particularly since my It return to Swallow Barn, I have devoted a great deal of my le to the study of those sources of poetical thought and associa- t|n which lurk amongst the majestic landscapes of the country." ! " Hear that !" whispered Harvey to me. " I venerate," proceeded Ned, '• old usages ; popular errors Ik'e a charm for my imagination, and I do not like to see them dely reformed. ' The superstitious, idleheaded eld,' as the poet c.ls it, has a volume of delightful lore that I study with rapture. J id although, I dare say, you have never observed my secret (motion to such pursuits. — " " No indeed ! I never suspected you of it," interrupted Bel. 416 ONE ACT OF A FARCE. — " I have taken great pains to preserve the race of sprite and witches from the ruin that threatens them. The poetry this local mythology, Bel. is always rich, and renders the peop who possess it not only more picturesque, but more national, an in many respects, more moral." " I am delighted to hear you say so," said Bel, innocent! " for I have precisely the same opinion." " Indeed !" exclaimed Ned. " I did not know there w another human being in Virginia who would venture to i knowledge this." " Nor I neither," whispered Harvey again ; " we shall he* more anon." \ " This belief," continued Ned, "is, to the ignorant, a tangil' religion which takes hold of the vulgar imagination with a sa; tary terror ; while to cultivated minds it furnishes treasures classical beauty. The ancients " — " Heaven preserve us !" said Harvey, still in a low voic " now for something in the style of parson Chub." Ned turned round and smiled. " The ancients, Bel — 1 1 Harvey does not believe me — but the ancients stocked suol ^| place as this with tutelar deities : they had their nymphs of 1 wood and grove, of the plain, of the hill, the valley, the founta the river, and the ocean. I think they numbered as many as th:. thousand. I can hardly tell you their different denominatioi but. there were Oreads and Dryads and Hamadryads, Nap(. Nereids, Naiads, and — the devil knows what all !" " That was a slip," said Harvey, aside ; " one more and ho a lost man." Bel opened her eyes with amazement at this volley of lea • ing, and not less at the strange expletive with which he cone ded, as if utterly at a loss to understand the meaning of this ,- hibition. KK ONE ACT OF A FARCE. 417 " Our English ancestors," proceeded Ned, " in the most palmy •i Igeof their poetry, had their goblin and elf and ouphe, 'swart liiry of the mine,' ' blue meagre hag,' and ' stubborn unlaid ghost,' -to say nothing of witch and devil. Our times, more philo- ; pphic, have sadly dispeopled these pleasure-grounds of romance." " Indeed have they !" cried Bel, who was listening in won- ering attention. " You see it every where," added Ned ; " they are gradually ,riving away even the few harmless wanderers that, for a century ast, inhabited such spots as this ; and in a short time we shall ot have the groundwork for a single story worth reading." " Ned calls that sentiment," said Harvey. " It sounds ama- - ingly like a schoolmaster's lecture." This remark, although intended only for us in the rear, was ^erheard by both Ned and Bel ; upon which Ned reined up his orse, so as to face us, and burst out a-laughing. " I'll thank you. Harvey Biggs," said he, " when I am engag- i in a confidential discourse, to keep your proper distance. I not choose to have such an impenetrable, hardened outlaw to 111 the fascinations of romance and poetry, within hearing." " Indeed, upon my word, cousin Harvey !" said Bel, " Mr. [azard has been contributing very much to my edification " 1 We had now passed the confines of the pine forest, and were 'llowing a road that led by a circuit round to The Brakes, so as ' approach the house from the quarter opposite to that by which had left it. By this track it was not long before we concluded ir ride and found ourselves assembled in the parlor. " How did I acquit myself?" inquired Ned of Harvey and my- •If, when we were left alone. " You have utterly astonished us both," replied Harvey ; -and, hat is better, Bel is quite enchanted. Where did you get aU lat nonsense ?" IS* 418 ONEACTOFAFARCE. 1 " 'Gad, I once wrote an essay on popular superstitions !" an swered Ned, " and had it all at my finger-ends. So, I thought . would take the chance of the pine forest to give it to Bel." .' " It had a very prosy air," said Harvey. " However, you ar«! on the right track." '< During the day Ned made a great many efforts at sentiment | but they generally ended either in unmeaning words or dull dis courses, which came from him with a gravity and an earnestnes; that attracted universal remark; and by nightfall, it was admit. ted by the ladies, that Hazard had a good deal of information o)' topics to which he was hitherto deemed a total stranger, but thai he had certainly lost some of his vivacity. Catharine said, "sh. was sure something unpleasant had occurred to him : his manner were strange ; — she should not be surprised if he had some affai' of honor on hand, — for, he evidently talked like a man who warn' ed to conceal his emotions. It was just the way with gentleme ' who were going to fight a duel." i Bel was also perplexed. She could not account for it, excep by supposing that he was more deeply wounded by her conduc than he chose to confess. It made her unhappy. In short, Ned substitution of a new character began already to make him dul and to disturb the rest of the company. When we announced our intention to return to Swallow Barl after tea, old Mr. Tracy interposed to prevent it. He said h had set his heart upon a hand at whist, and that we must remfiij for his gratification. Our return was accordingly postponed ; anj when, at ten o'clock, the old gentleman retired to rest, we wei challenged by Harvey to a game at brag. The consequence wa^ that, all unconscious of the flight of the hours, we were found i our seats when the servants came in the morning and threw ope the shutters, letting in the daylight upon a group of sallow, bi ious and night-worn faces, that were discovered brooding over *!-' '$f •\ 0M-: ACT OF A FARCE. 419 isorderly table, in the light of two candles which were flaring in leir sockets and expending their substance, in overflowing cur- t snts, upon the board. Alarmed by this disclosure, we broke up the sitting, and were lown by Ralph to our unseasonable beds. CHAPTER XLIII. THE FATE OF A HEP..O. Whether it was that Hazard was anxious to conceal from V family his last night's frolic ; or that his thoughts were engross-j with the approaching crisis in his affairs ; or, perchance, that i| was nervous from overwatching during the two previous nigh,- and unable to sleep, he rose early, and met the family at the usual breakfast time. Neither Harvey, Ralph, nor myself, suff(i ed under the same difficulties, and, therefore, it was fully t(i o'clock before we were seen in the parlour. Ned's mean was truly sad. He had a haggard look, a stf ; nated, morbid complexion, and blood-shot eyes. His dress, whi> the day before had been adjusted with such an unwonted prei sion, afforded now an expressive testimony of the delinquent in! gularity of its wearer. Nothing more infallibly indicates thelo: nocturnal revel than the disordered plight of the dress the no morning: a certain rakish air is sure to linger about its deepen folds, and betray the departure from the sober usages of life. Hazard's manners corresponded with this unhappy cxteri<; A certain lassitude attended his movements, and a pitiful dej* tion sat upon his visage. If he had been master of his own ; tions, he would never have risked the perilous fortunes of the d in his present shattered condition ; but a spell was upon liim.a jiw |||jl9 list |il01f by li THE FATE OF A HEIIO. 421 it seemed as if fate bad decreed him to abide the cbance. He jwras moody ; and conversed with the ladies with a bearing that jimplied an abstracted mind and an alarmed conscience. Some- |fcimes, it is true, he raised his spirits to a forced gaiety, but it was manifest, in spite of this, that he was disquieted, pensive, and even inelancholy. What added to the singularity of these phenomena vas, that while Catharine and Bel were yet in the parlour, he got ip abruptly, and wandered out upon the lawn, and then took a olitary ramble towards the river, where he was observed, from he windows, walking to and fro, absorbed in contemplation. None of these symptoms of a perturbed imagination escaped 3el, She was exceedingly puzzled, and revolved in her mind all hat had lately passed, to ascertain the cause. At length, — as it Isually happens with women in such cases, — when she found her- jlf unable to penetrate the mystery, her heart began to attune self to pity. She grew to be quite distressed. Harvey read the I'orkings of her thoughts in her face, and took an opportunity to [raw her into a private conference. " My dear Bel, you see how it is," he said, shaking his head jiournfully. " Poor fellow ! I did'nt expect to see it come to ich an extremity as this." "Cousin! I pray you, what is it?" demanded Bel. — "You arm me." "Ah!" returned Harvey, turning up his eyes, and laying his jand upon his breast — '• It cannot be concealed. These are the pry doleful doings of the little Archer. The young gentleman i cruelly transfixed ; — he is spitted with the bolt, and is ready to e geared to a smoke-jack, and turned round and round before le fire that consumes him like a roasting woodcock." " Let us have a truce to jesting," said Bel. — " And tell me, jCarvey, — for indeed I cannot guess it, — what ails Edward fazard ?" 422 THE FATE OF A JIERO. " You would never believe me," replied Harvey, " althoug I have told you a hundred times, that Ned was a man of dee- and secret emotions. Now, you must perceive it ; for the fact : becoming too plain to be mistaken. I consider it a misfortur for any man who wishes to stand well with a woman, to ha^ been educated in habits of close intimacy with her. She is ce:, tain, in that case, to be the last person to do justice to h merits." " - :' " It would be vanity in me, cousin," said Bel, " to persuac myself that Edward Hazard was so much interested in m' regard as to grow ill on that account. What have his merits 1 do with any supposed attachment to me ?" " He desires to be thought a liege man to his lady, Bel answered Harvey. " To tell you the truth, Ned's as full ; romance as you are ; and I have been looking to see some extr vagance that would defy all calculation : some freak that wou' not fail to convince even you that the man was on the verge madness. And now, here it is ! he has gone through five degree of love." • " Five degrees ! Pray, what are they?" ." The first is the mannerly degree : it is taken at that inte esting epoch when a man first begins to discover that a lady h; an air, a i oice, and a person more agreeable than others ; 1 grows civil upon this discovery ; and if he has any wit in him is sure to appear. The next is the poetical degree ; it was in th stage that we surprised Ned upon the bank of the river, whi he was singing out your name so musically, for the cntertainme: of Mark Littleton. The third is the quixotic love, and carri a gentleman in pursuit of stray hawks, and sets him to breakii the heads of saucy bullies. The fourth is the seniimcnlal ; wh( out comes all his learning, and he fills his mistress's head wi' unimaginable conceits. Then comes the liorrihlc : you may knc, I THEFATEOFAIIERO. 423 [this, Bel, by a yellow cheek, a wild eye, a long beard, an unbruslicd ■coat, and a most woe-begone, lackadaisical style of conversation. iThis sometimes turns into the furious ; and then, I would not answer for the consequences ! It strikes me that Ned looks a little savage this morning." " Cousin, that is all very well said," interrupted Bel. " But, I see none of your degrees in Edward Hazard." " Why, he has not slept a wink for two nights past," said Harvey?" " And pray, what prevented him from sleeping ?" " Thinking of you, Bel ! You have been buzzing about in his brain, like a bee in his night-cap. And it stands to reason ! neither man nor beast can do without sleep. If he were a rhino- ceros he must eventually sink under such privations. There he jwas, the livelong night, stalking about like a spectre on the banks I of Acheron !" I " And you, Harvey," added Bel, laughing, " were one of the Iprincipal imps that stalked by his side. You are not aware that il have been made acquainted with your vagaries. I happen I to know that you were engaged in the refined and elegant jamusement of hunting an opossum all night, with a band of ne- groes." " Who was so indiscreet as to tell you that !" asked Harvey. " I am sure the story has been marred in the telling ; and there- fore, I will relate to you the plain truth. Ned was uneasy in mind, and could not close his eyes ; so, like the prince in the story-book, he summoned his followers to attend him to the chase in the vain hope that he should find some relief from the thoughts that rankled — " " Irreclaimable cousin Harvey !" " Fact, I assure you ! Nothing takes off the load from the ' mind like an opossum hunt." Ik) :il 424 THE FATE .OF A HERO. " And then, last night," resumed Bel, you were up playing ' cards until daylight. That was to chase away sorrow too, I suppose ?" " Ned could not sleep last night either," said Harvey. " But Bel, don't say until daylight. We broke up at a very rea- sonable hour." \ " I have heard all about it," answered Bel. * " I admit," returned Harvey, " that appearances are a little against us : but, they are only appearances. If you had seen how Ned played, you would have been satisfied that the game j had no charms for him ; for he sighed, — swore, and flung away j his money like a fool. I suppose he must have lost, at least, a . i hundred dollars." - ; " And with it, his good looks and peace of mind besides," { added Bell. " Gaming, fighting and drinking ! Ah. me !" " All for love, Bel ! all for love ! It is the most transmogri- ' phying passion !" exclaimed Harvey. " Things the most oppo-: J;|, site in nature come out of it. Now tell me honestly, — have you not seen a change in Ned that surprises you ?" " Indeed I have," answered Bel. ^ " What do you impute it to ?" '• I am sure I do not know." ^ Then, to be done with this levity," said Harvey, " it is what 1 have said. Ned is awkward in his zeal to serve you ; but hel is the truest of men. He gets into all manner of difficulties on your account, and suffers your displeasure like a martyr. He talks of you even in his sleep ; and grows tiresome to his friends with the eternal repetition of your praises. It is a theme which, if you do not put an end to it, will grow to be as hack- nied as a piece of stale politics. If you could make it consist- ent, Bel, with your other arrangements, I do really think it your duty to put the youth out of misery : for, he never will be fit company for any rational man until this infection is cured " THE FATE OF A HERO. 425 '• You would not have mc marry a man I do not love," said Belj gravely. '•No, indeed, my dear Bel," returned Harvey. "But I have been all along supposing you did love him." " You know my objections," said Bel. " I think they were all removed yesterday," answered Harvey. " If they were, they have come back again to-day." " That shows," said Harvey, " what a ticklish thing is this love. May the saints shield me from all such disasters as falling in love !" " Your prayer has been granted before it was asked," returned Bel, smiling. I Here ensued a pause, during which the lady stood for some Imoments wrapt in thought, with her foot rapidly beating against the floor. " I do not think," she said at last, " at least, I am not alto- gether certain, cousin, that I love him well enough to" — j " Faith, Bel, I think you come pretty near to it," whispered JHarvey ; the longer you ponder over such a doubt, the clearer it will appear. — Drum it out with your foot; that is the true Idevice : — Love is very much a matter of the nerves after all." " I will ta,k no more !" exclaimed Bel, with a lively i3motion. j "With these words, she retreated into the drawing-room, and |3at down to the piano, where she played and sung as if to drown ,ier thoughts. During all this while, the unconscious subject of this collo- oquy was pursuing his secret meditations. It is meet that 1 should tell my reader what was the real cause of the cloud that 5at upon his brow. In truth, he was endeavoring to screw his Jourage up to a deed of startling import. It was his fixed re- 426 THE FATE OF A HERO. solve, when he crept to his bed at the dawn, to bring mattemi that very day, to some conclusion with his mistress ; and thisj fancy took such complete possession of his faculties, that hf' found it in vain to attempt repose. His fortitude began tc waver as the hour of meeting Bel drew nigh, and every momeni, shook the steadiness of his nerves. He cast a glance at the reflection of his forlorn figure in the glass, and his heart grev' sick within him. As if ashamed of the tremor that invaded hi, frame, he swore a round oath to himself — that come what would he would fulfil his purpose. It was in this state of feeling tha he appeared at breakfast. Every instant the enterprise grev more terrible to his imagination ; until it was, at last, arrayei • before his thoughts as something awful. It is a strange thb. that so simple a matter should work such effects ; and strange still, that, notwithstanding the painful sensations it excites, ther should lurk at the bottom of the heart a certain remainder c pleasant emotion, that is suflScient to flavor the whole. Ne experienced this; and inwardly fortified his resolution by fn; quent appeals to his manhood. In such a state of suspense] was not to be expected that he should be n^uch at ease in cor versation. On the contrary, he spoke like a frightened mai and accompanied almost every thing he said with a muscula effort at deglutition, which is one of the ordinary physical symj toms of fear. His walk by the river side was designed to reassemble hi scattered forces ; an undertaking that he found impossible i the face of the enemy. They were a set of militia-spirits thf could not be brought to rally on the field of battle. Havin argued himself into a braver temper, he returned from h wanderings and stalked into the drawing-room, with an ill-coui terfeited composure. By a natural instinct, he marched i: behind Bel's chair, and for some moments seemed to be absorbc THE FATE OF A HERO. 427 with the music. After a brief delay, during which the color had flown from his cheek, he crossed the room to the window, and, with his hands in his pockets, gazed out upon the landscape. Restless, uncertain and perplexed, he returned again to the ohair, and cast a suspicious and rueful glance around him. flarvey, observing how matters stood, silently tripped out of the room. Bel executed a lively air, and concluded it with a brisk pound- ing upon the keys ; and then sprang up, as if about to retreat. " Play on," said Ned, with a husky voice ; don't think of stopping yet. I delight in these little melodies. You cannot imagine, Bel, how music exhilarates me." '•' I didn't know that you were in the room," returned Bel. " What shall I play for you?" " You can hardly go amiss. Give me one of those lively j strains that make the heart dance," said he, with a dolorous ac- j cent, " But you have some exquisite ballads too ; and I think I you throw so much soul into them that they are irresistible. I iwill have a ballad." Whilst he was wavering in his choice she struck up a waltz. I Ned, during this performance, sauntered to the farther end of the drawing-room ; and, having planted himself opposite a picture that hung against the wall, stood minutely surveying it, with his lips, at the same time, gathered up to an inarticulate and thought- f il whistle. The cessation of the music recalled him to the piano with a start ; and he hastened to say to Bel, — that there was> something unspeakably pathetic in these simple and natural ex- pressions of sentiment ; that it belonged to the ballad to strike more directly upon the heart than any other kind of song ; and that, for his part, he never listened to one of those expressive little compositions without an emotion almost amounting to me- lancholy. 428 THE FATE OF A HERO. What is he talking about ? — thought Bel. She paused h profound astonishment : and then asked him, if he knew what i was she had been playing ? " The tune is familiar tome." stammered Ned. " But, I hav' a wretched memory for names." " You have heard it a thousand times," said she. " It is thi waltz in the Freyschutz." " Oh, true !" exclaimed Ned. " It is a pensive thing ; it ha several touching turns in it. Most waltzes have something of tha ; in them. Don't you think so ?" " Most waltzes," replied Bel, laughing, " have a great man; turns in them : but, as to the pensiveness of the music, I neve I observed that." " Indeed !" exclaimed Ned, confounded past all hope of relief . "It depends very much upon the frame of mind you are in There are moods — and they come on me sometimes like shadows— which predispose the heart to extract plaintive thoughts from thi: liveliest strains. — If there be one desponding cord in the string, : of the soul, — that one will begin to vibrate — with a single syinj.; pathetic note — that may be hurried across it in the rush of thr gayest melody. — I mean, — that there is something in all musii that arouses mournful emotions, — when the mind is pre.disposec ; to — ^melancholy." As a man who takes his seat in a surgeon-dentist's chair, t( have his teeth filed, having made up his mind to endure th( operation, bears the first application of the tool with composure but, feeling a sense of uneasiness creeping upon him with ever} new passage of the file across the bone, is hurried on rapidly t(' higher degrees of pain with every succeeding jar — until at last v seems to him as if his powers of suff"erance could be wound up t( no higher pitch, and he therefore meditates an abrupt leap fron the hands of the operator — so did Ned find himself, as he phmgecj THE FATE OF A HERO. 429 jsuccessively from one stage to the other of the above-recited pxquisite piece of nonsense. i When he had finished, his face (to use the phrase of a novel (jyriter) ' was bathed in blushes ;' and Bel had turned her chair lalf round, so as to enable her to catch the expression of his i?ountenance ; for, she began to feel some misgiving as to the soundness of his intellect. i Of all the ordinary vexations of life it is certainly the most listressing, for a man of sense to catch himself unseasonably ,alking like a fool, upon any momentous occasion wherein le should especially desire to raise an opinion of his wisdom ; luch as in the case of a member of congress making his first [ipeech, or of an old lawyer before a strange tribunal, or, worse j.han all, of a trembling lover before a siiperfastidious mistress. |Che big drops of perspiration gathered on Ned's brow : he felt like a thief taken in the mainor : he was caught in the degree of lack herinde and bloody hand^ known to the Saxon Forest laws, jvith his folly on his back. He could have jumped out of the iyindow : but, as it was, he only ordered a servant to bring him - glass of water, and coughed with a short dry cough, and swal- owed the cool element at a draught. As motion conduces to restore the equilibrium of the nerves, ^ed now paced up and down the apartment, with stately and aeasured strides. " Courage !" said he, mentally. " I'll not be frightened !" lO, he made another convulsive motion of the oesophagus, — such s I have seen a mischievous, truant boy make, when on his trial efore the pedagogue — and marched up directly behind Bel. All this time she sat silent ; and taking the infection of fear rem her lover, began to cower like a terrified partridge. " Miss Tracy," said Ned, after a long pause, with a feeble, remulous utterance, accompanied by a heavy suspiration. 430 THE FATE OF A HERO. " Sir—" j "Miss Tracy" — here Ned put his hands upon the back,: Bel's chair, and leaned a little over her; — "You, — you — pi- very well, — would you favor me with another song, — if yl please ?" j " I havn't sung a song for you," replied Bel. i " Then, you can do it, if you would try." i " No. It would be impossible. I am out of voice." " So am I," returned Ned, with comic perturbation. "Itj strange that we should both have lost our voices at the very ti ,j when we wanted them most." " I am sure I don't see," said Bel, blushing, "any thing i- traordinary in my not being able to sing." j " Well, — I think it very extraordinary," said Ned, wit! i dry laugh and an affected, janty air, as he took a turn into ij) middle of the room, — " that the fountains of speech should ; sealed up, when I had something of the greatest importance ii the world to communicate to you." " What is that ?" inquired Bel. " That I am the most particularly wretched and misera 3 coxcomb in the whole state of Yirginia," said he, rising inti more courageous tone. ".Your speech serves to little purpose," muttered Bel, "ilt be to utter nothing better than that." " I am a boy, — a drivelling fool," continued Ned, very lit like a man who had lost his power of articulation — " I am vej I with myself, and do not deserve to be permitted to appro; i you." Bel was covered with confusion ; and an awkward silence n ' intervened, during which she employed herself in turning o ' the leaves of a music-book. "Do you relent, Bel?" said Ned, in a soft and bcsccchi; I THE FATE OF A HERO. 431 accent. " Have you thought better of the proposition I made you a year ago? Do you think you could overcome your toruples ?" ' Bel, somewhat startled by these tender tones, withdrew her jyes from the music-book, and slowly turned her head round to (ihe direction of the voice. There, to her utter amazement, was jier preposterous lover on one knee, gazing pitifully in her face. It is necessary that I should stop at this interesting moment, :o explain this singular phenomenon ; for, doubtless, my reader joncludes Ned to be the veriest mountebank of a lover that ever ;ampered with the beautiful passion. It is common to all men, and, indeed, to all animals, when 5ore perplexed with difficulties, to resort for protection to the Btrongest instincts nature has given them. Now, Ned's predomi- bating instinct was to retreat behind a jest, whenever he found |;hat circumstances galled him. For some moments past he had been brightening up, so that he had almost got into a laugh, — iiot at all dreaming that such a state of feeling would be unpro- bitious to his suit ; and when he arrived at the identical point of (lis wooing above described, he was sadly at a loss to know what step to take next. His instinct came to his aid, and produced -he comic result I have recorded. It seemed to strike him with hat deep sense of the ridiculous, that is apt to take possession !)f a man who seriously makes love ; and the incorrigible wight, therefore, reckless of consequences, dropped upon his knee, — one- fenth part in jest, and nine-tenths in earnest. It was well nigh plowing him sky high ! " Is this another prank, Mr. Hazard ?" said Bel. — " Am I to |)e for ever tortured with your untimely mirth ? How, — how can fOVL sport with my feelings in this way !" Here she burst into fears ; and, putting her hand across her eyes, the drops were seen rickling through her fingers. 432 . THE FATE OF A HERO. Ned suddenly turned as pale as ashes. " By all that is h j nest in man !" he exclaimed — and then ran on with a list of 1ot€j like abjurations, vowing and protesting, in the most passiona terms — according to the vulgar phrase, "by all that was black ar; blue," — that he was devoted to his mistress, body and soul. N ver did there rush from an opened flood-gate a more impetuo* torrent than now flowed from his heart through the channel i his lips. He was hyperbolically oratorical ; and told her, amongj other things, that she " was the bright luminary that gilded h happiest dreams." " I have not deserved this from you," said Bel, whose emotio were too violent to permit her to hear one word of this vel ment declaration. " At such a moment as this, you might ha: spared me an unnecessary and cruel jest." j She arose from her seat and was about to retire ; but Nc; springing upon his feet at the same time, took her by the ha and detained her in the room. " For heaven's sake, Bel !" he ejaculated, '- what have I don ■ Why do you speak of a jest ? Never in my life have my feelic been uttered with more painful earnestness !" " I cannot answer you now," returned Bell, in a tone of affl tion ; " leave me to myself." " Isabel Tracy !" said Ned, dropping her hand, as he assum a firm and calm voice, "you discard me now for ever. You fli me back upon the world the most wretched scapegrace that e^ hid himself in its crowds." " I neither promise nor reject," said Bel, beginning to trcml at Ned's almost frenzied earnestness. " If I have mistak your temper or your purpose, you have yourself to blame. It not easy to overcome the impressions which a long intercou) has left upon my mind. You have seemed to me, heretofo indifi"crent to the desire to please. You have taught me I THE FATE OF A HERO. 433 liink lightly of myself, by the little value you appeared to place ipon my regards. You have jested when you should have been srious, and have been neglectful when I liad a right to expect itention. You have offended my prejudices on those points liat I have been accustomed to consider indispensable to the jan I should love. You will not wonder, therefore, that I should jisconceive your conduct. I must have a better knowledge of |)u and of my own feelings, before I can commit myself by a omise. Pray, permit me to retire." This was uttered with a sedate and womanly composure that rbade a reply, and Bel left the room. Hazard was thrown, by this scene, into a new train of sensa- DDS. For the first time in his life, he was brought to compre- md the exact relation he held to his mistress. He had no fur- |.er purpose in remaining at The Brakes ; and he and I, accord- Igly, very soon afterwards set out for Swallow Barn. I We discussed fully the events of the morning as we rode long ; and, upon the whole, we considered this important love- " fair to have passed through its crisis, and to rest upon auspi- Dus grounds. This conclusion arose upon Ned's mind in a ousand shapes : — " I have got a mountain off my shoulders," said he ; "I a unpacked ; and feel like a man who has safely led a forlorn 'pe I would fight fifty Waterloos, rather than go through such Ithing again ! Egad ! I can sing and laugh once more. Bel's a pman of fine sense, Littleton. She is not to be trifled with, aith, I stand pretty fairly with her, too ! It is certainly no re- ^al : ' Faint heart never won fair lady.' A lover to thrive must '|me up boldly to the charge. But, after all, I was considerably ittered — not to say most unspeakably alarmed." These, and^many more such fragments of a boasting, doubtful ijd self-gratulating spirit, burst from him in succession; and 19 434 THE FATE OF A HERO.. were, now and then, accompanied with lively gesticulations ( horseback, which if a stranger could have seen, they would ha persuaded him that the performer was either an unhappy mort* on his way to the madhouse, or a hapny lover on the way from h mistress. % f t CHAPTER XLIV. ORATOR Y. As some adventurous schoolboy, who, having but lately jlearned to swim, has gone, upon a fair summer evening, to the jriver hard by, to disport himself in the cool and limpid wave, so ■did I first sit down to write this book. And as that same urchin, all diffident of his powers, has never risked himself beyond ithe reach of some old. stranded hulk, not far from shore ; jbut now, enchanted by the fragrance of the season, by the golden jind purple-painted clouds, and by the beauty of the wild-flowers [that cluster at the base of the shady headland on the farther side Df a narrow cove ; and incited by the jollity of his boyhood, and seduced by the easy, practick eloquence of a heedless, good-na- iured playfellow, he has thoughtlessly essayed to reach the pleas- ant promontory which he has gained in safety, albeit, faint-hearted and out of breath : — so have I waywardly ventured on the tide !)f Ned's courtship ; but, having reached such a sheltered head and, do, in imitation of my daunted schoolboy, here break up iiy voyage ; like him, thinking it safest to get back by trudging 'ound the pebbly margin of the cove. I In other words, I esteem myself lucky in having followed jSTed's love-affair into a convenient resting-place, where I am villing, at least for the present, to leave it ; and shall indeed be "i 436 ORATORY. thankful if no future event, during my sojourn at Swallow Barn^' shall impose upon me the duty of tracing out the sequel of this^ tortuous and difficult history. For wisely has it been said, " that' the current of true love never did run smooth ;" — to me it seemst that its path is like that of the serpent over the rock. And thatj chronicler shall have reason to count himself sadly tasked, whose lot it may be to follow the lead of a capricious maiden wheresoeveij it shall please her fickleness to decoy her charmed and fretful] lover. Little did I dream, when I came to the Old Dominior: and undertook to write down the simple scenes that are acted ir a gentleman's hall, I should, in scarce a month gone by, finCj myself tangled up in a web of intricate love-plots which shouloj so overmatch my slender powers ! But I have borne me like i\ patient and trusty historian, through the labyrinth of my story j and now, right gladly, escape to other matters more german to m^/ hand. To say nothing, then, of the manner in which Ned Hazar( bore his present doubtful fortune, nor what resolves he took ii this emergency ; nor even dwelling upon his frequently repeats visits to The Brakes, during which, I rejoice to think, nothin, especially worthy of note occurred, I pass over some days, in ordc that I may introduce a new scene. Meriwether, one night when we were about to retire to res suggested to Ned and myself, — and the suggestion was made ha' in the tone of a request, implying that he would be pleased if w adopted it, — that we might have an agreeable jaunt if we woul consent to accompany him, the next morning, in his ride to tii Quarter. Now, this Quarter is the name by which is familiarly known that part of the plantation where the principal negro popij lation is established, " You, doubtless, Mr. Littleton," said he, " take some intere; in agricultural concerns. The process of our liusbanbry, — slovei ORATORY. 437 y to be sure, — may, nevertheless, be worthy of your observation. 3ut I can add to your amusement by showiDg you my blooded ■olts, which, it is not vanity to affirm, are of the finest breed in Virginia ; and when I say that, — it is equivalent to telling you hat there is nothing better in the world." ' Here Meriwether paused for a moment, with that thoughtful xpression of countenance which indicates the gathering up of ne's ideas ; then changing the tone of his voice to a lower key, ie continued, — " The improvement of the stock of horses, — notwithstanding his matter is undervalued in some portions of our country, — I cgard as one of the gravest concerns to which a landed proprietor nn devote his attention. The development of the animal perfec- Lons of this noble quadruped, by a judicious system of breeding, equires both the science and the talent of an accomplished na- juralist. We gain by it symmetry, strength of muscle, soundness f wind, ease of action, speed, durability, power of sustaining litigue, and fitness for the multiform uses to which this admirable east is subservient. What, sir, can be more worthy of some ortion of the care af a patriotic citizen ? But look, my dear sir, t the relation which the horse holds to man. We have no record ji history of an age wherein he has not been intimately connected 'ith the political and social prosperity of the most powerful and ivilized nations. He has always assisted to fight our battles, to ear our burthens, to lighten our fatigues, and to furnish our absistence. He has given us bread by tillage and meat by the 'base. He has even lodged in the same homestead with his mas- 3r man, frequently under the same roof He has been accustomed ) receive his food from our hands, and to be caressed by our iindness. We nurse him in sickness, and guard him in health. Ie has been, from one age to another, the companion of the arrior at home, his trusty friend in travel, and his sure auxiliary i\ iii 438 ORATORY. and defence in battle. What more beautiful than the sympath;] between them ? when the cockles of his master's heart rise up a. ¥ the sound of distant war, he neighs at the voice of the trumpel and shakes his mane in his eagerness to share the glory of th combat." Frank had now got to striding backward and forward throug the room ; and, at this last flourish, came up to the table, wher he stood erect ; then, in that attitude, went on. " And yet, — however martial his temper, — he will amble gentli under the weight of the daintest dame, and yield obedience tohfj tender hand and silken rein. I have horses in my stable no^i that, in the field upon a chase, will champ their bits, and boun; with an ardor which requires my arm to check; whilst thesan animals, at home here, are as passive to Lucretia's command as j . i- lady's pony." " You say so," interrupted my cousin Lucretia, " but, indee Mr. Meriwether, 1 do not like to ride these blooded horses !" Meriwether continued, without heeding the interruption : — " The horse has a family instinct, and knows every memb of the household : he recognizes his master's children when th( come to his stall, and is pleased to be fondled by them. The see how faithfully he drudges in the field, and wears away hisEj ■ in quiet and indispensable services. I venerate the steady sobi' ety of the robust, broad-chested, massive-limbed wagon-horse, th toils without repining, through the summer heats and wint snows. I contemplate, with a peculiar interest, the unremittii labor of the stage-horse, as he performs his daily task wi , unrelaxed speed, from one year's end to another : and, — you mr! "i smile at it, — but I have a warm side of*my heart for the thougl ful and unobtrusive hack that our little negroes creep along wi to mill. But, above all, where do you find such a picture of j tienoe, considerateness, discretion, long-suficring, amiable ol I ORATORY. 439 Jience, (here Frank began to smile.) as in the faithful brute that bears his master, — say a country doctor, for example, or a deputy sheriff, or one of your weather-beaten, old, tippling, — (at each of these epithets the orator laughed) gossipping. night-wander- ing » " Noctua bundusP said Mr. Chub, who was sitting all the time ■it one of the windows. — I — " Right !" replied Meriwether; turning towards the parson ;■• and waving his hand, — '• night-wandering politicians % I say, vvhere is there a finer type of resignation, christian resignation, han in the trusty horse that bears such a master, through all sea- Hons, no matter how inclement, — fast, without refusing, and slow? Without impatience, — for hours together ; and then stands, per- laps, — as I have often seen him, — with his rein fastened to a post br to a fence corner, without food or drink ; and, as likely as not, for he is subject to all discomforts.) facing a drifting snow or a )elting hail-storm, for the livelong day ; or through the dreary ratches of the night, solitary, silent, unamused, without one note f discontent ; without one objurgatory winnow to his neglectful laster ? And then, at last, when the time arrives when he is to leasure his homeward way, with what a modest and grateful un- lertone he expresses his thanks ! The contemplation of these aoral virtues in the horse, is enough to win the esteem of any lan for the whole species. Besides, what is a nation without this xcellent beast % What machinery or labor-saving inventions of |ian could ever compensate him for the deprivation of this faith- iil ally ?"— I do not know how long Meriwether would have continued lis laudatory oration, for he was every moment growing more elo- laent, botb in manner and matter, and, no doubt, would very s| j)on have struck out into some episodes that would have carried ' 'im along, like a vessel caught up in the trade winds, had not my 440 ORATORY. cousin Lucretia warned him that it was growing too late for so" promising a discourse ; which having the efifect to bring him to a \ stop, I availed myself of the opportunity to say, that I should be highly gratified with the proposed ride. So did Ned. i '• Then." said he, " remember I ride at sunrise : Lucretia wilJi give us a cup of coffee before we set out. Be up, therefore, at the! crowing of the cock !" [ 'f.i CHAPTER XLV. STABLE ^^'■ISDOM. Almost with the first appearance of light, Merifrether came and knocked at our chamber doors, so earnestly that the whole household must have been roused by the noise. Our horses could be heard pawing the gravel at the front door, impatient of delay. jThe sun was scarcely above the horizon before we were all mount- jed and briskly pursuing our road, followed by Carey, who seem- jed, on the present occasion, to be peculiarly charged with profes- jsional importance. The season was now advanced into the first week of August : la time when, in this low country, the morning air begins to grow [sharp, and to require something more than the ordinary summer 'clothing. The dews had grown heavier ; and the evaporation produced that chilling cold which almost indicated frost. There ,was, however, no trace of this abroad ; but every blade of grass, ■and every spray was thickly begemmed with dewdrops. The tall and beautiful mullen, which suggested one of the forms of the stately candelebra — almost the first plant that puts forth in the spring, and amongst the first to wither — was now to be seen marshalled in groups over the fallows, with its erect and half-dried spire hung round with that matchless jewelry, which the magic hand of night scatters over the progeny of earth. . The fantastic 19* 1 442 STABLE WISDOM. spider-webs hung like fairy tissues over every bush, and decked with their drapery every bank ; whilst their filaments, strung with watery beads, and glittering in the level beams of the sun, render ed them no longer snares for the unwary insects for which they were spread. Our road through the woods was occasionally way laid by an obtrusive pine-branch that, upon the slightest toucL shook its load of vapor upon our shoulders, as we stooped beneatti it. The lowing of cows and the bleating of sheep struck upot our ear from distant folds ; and all the glad birds of summer were twittering over the woodland and open plain. The rabbit leapec timidly along the sandy road before us, and squatted upon his seat, as if loth to wet his coat amongst the low whortleberry anc wild-indigo that covered the contiguous soil. Emerging from the forest, a gate introduced us to a broaci stubble-field, across whose level surface, at the distance of a mile] we could discern the uprising of several thin lines of smoke, tha* formed a light cloud which almost rested on the earth ; and, uni der this, a cluster of huts was dimly visible. Near these, an e; tensive farm-yard surrounded a capacious barn together with some fodder-houses and stacks of grain, upon which were busily em ployed a number of laborers, who, we could see, were building uj the pile from a loaded wagon that stood close by. As we advanced, a range of meadows opened to our view, ant stretched into the dim perspective, until the eye could no longei distinguish their boundary. Over this district, detached herd.' of horses were observable, whisking their long tails as they grai': ed upon the pasture, or curvetting over the spaces that separatee them from each other. " There !" said Meriwether, kindling up at the sight of this plain, " there is the reward I promised you for your ride. I have nothing better to show you at Swallow Barn. You see, or yonder meadow, some of the most unquestioned nobility ol, h,!' Mill. . « . . C r c » e » • STABLE WISDOM. 443 Virginia. Not a hoof stays on that pasture, that is not warmed by as pure blood as belongs to any potentate in the world." Carey rode up to us, at this speech, to observe, as I suppose, the eflfect which his master's communication might have upon me ; for he put on a delighted grin, and said somewhat offi- |ciously — " I call them my children, master Littleton." j " Truly then, Carey, you have a large family," said I. " They are almost all on 'em, sir," replied Carey, " straight down from old Diomed, that old master Hoomes had fotcli out {from England, across the water more than twenty years ago. Sir Archy, master Littleton, was a son of Old Diomed, and I i can't tell you how many of his colts I've got. But, sir, you may I depend upon it, he was a great horse ! And ihar was Duroc, j master! You've hearn on him? — I've got a heap of colts of Duroc's. — Bless your heart ! he was another of old Diomed's." " Carey is a true herald," said Meriwether. " Nearly all that you see have sprung from the Diomed stock. It is upwards of 1 forty years since Diomed won the Derby in England. He was brought to this country in his old age ; and is as famous amongst us, almost, as Christopher Columbus ; for, he may be said to have founded a new empire here. Besides that stock, I have some of the Oscar breed ; one of the best of them is the gelding I ride. You may know them, wherever you see them, by their carriage and indomitable spirit." " I know nothing about it," said I, — " but I have heard a great deal said of the Grodolphin Arabian." " I can show you some of that breed, too," replied Meriwe- ther, — " Wildair, who I believe was a grandson of the Arabian." " Old Wildair — mark you, master !" interrupted Carey, very sagely,—" not Col. Symmes' Wildair." " Old "VVildair, I mean." rejoined Frank. — " He was imported Ml 444 STABLE WISDOM. into Maryland, and taken back to England before the Revolu- tion : — but I have some of his descendants." " And thar's Regulus's breed," said Carey, " They tell me he was genuine Arabian too. " " I am not sure, returned Meriwether, " that I have any of that breed. — Carey affects to say that there are some of j them here." " Bless your soul ! master Frank," interrupted the old groom, =, — " didn't I carry the Ace of Diamonds, over here to the Bowl- ing Grreen, that next summer coming after the war, to — " " Bide on and open the gate for us," said Frank. — " Set that -j old negro to talking of pedigrees, and his tongue goes like a mill!" We now entered upon the meadow, and soon came up with several of the beautiful animals whose ancestry had been the j subject of this discussion. They were generally in the wild and |j unshorn condition of beasts that had never been subjected to the dominion of man. It was apparent that the proprietor of the stock kept them more for their nobleness of blood than for any purpose of service. Some few of the older steeds showed the care of the groom ; but even these were far from^ being in that;, sleek state of nurture which we are apt to associate with the idea? of beauty in the horse. One, skilled in the points of symmetry,-, would, doubtless, have found much to challenge his admiration, in their forms ; but this excellence was, for the most part, losfcj upon me. Still, however, unpractised as I was, there was, in the movements of these quadrupeds, a charm that I could not fail to i recognize. No sooner were we descried upon the field, than the' different troops, in the distance, were set in motion, as if by some signal to which they were accustomed ; and they hurried tumultuously to the spot where we stood, exerting their utmost speed, and presenting a wonderfully animated spectacle. Th( I, iiw STABLE WISDOM. 445 wift career of the horse, upon an open plain, is always an inter- sting sight ; but as we saw it now, exhibited in squadrons, pur- ;uing an unrestrained and irregular flight, accompanied with wild ind expressive neighs, and enlivened with all the frolicksome mtics that belong to high-mettled coursers, — it was a scene of angularly gay and picturesque beauty. The ludicrous earnest iess, too, with which they crowded upon us ! — there was in it the latural grace of youth, united with the muscular vigor of matu- •ity. One reared playfully, as he thrust himself into the i3ompact assembly ; another advanced at a long, swinging trot, striking the ground at every step with a robust and echoing stroke, and then, halted suddenly, as if transfigured into a "tatue. Some kicked at their comrades, and seized them with their teeth in the wantonness of sport : others leaped in quick bounds, and made short circuits, at high speed, around the mass, with heads and tails erect, displaying the flexibility of their bodies in caracols of curious nimbleness. The younger colts impertinently claimed to be familiar with the horses we rode ; and were apt to receive, in return, a severe blow for the intrusion. Altogether, it was a scene of boisterous horse-play, well befitting the arrogant nature of such a licentious, high-blooded, far-de- scended and riotous young nobility. It may be imagined that this was a sight of engrossing inter- est to Meriwether. Both he and Carey had dismounted, and were busy in their survey of the group. — all the while descanting upon the numberless perfections of form that occurred to their view ; and occasionally interlarding their commendations with the technical lore of genealogy, which, so far as I was concerned, might as profitably have been delivered in Greek. The occasion of this rapid concentration of our cavalry was soon explained. Meriwether was in the habit of administering a weekly ration of salt to these wandering hordes at this spot • 446 STABLE WISDOM. and they, therefore, were wont to betake themselves to the ren- dezvous, with all the eagerness we had witnessed, whenever any sign was offered them that the customary distribution was to be made. Care was now taken that they should not be disappointed in their reasonable expectations ; and Carey was, accordingly, dispatched to the stable for the necessary supplies. f" Having gratified our curiosity in this region, we now visited* the farm-yard. Within this inclosure, a party of negroes werei employed in treading out grain. About a dozen horses werei kept at full trot around a circle of some ten or fifteen pace8< diameter, which was strewed with the wheat in sheaf. Thes^ were managed by some five or six little blacks, who rode li monkey caricaturists of the games of the circus, and who mi; gled with the labors of the place that comic air of deviltry whiob^ communicated to the whole employment something of the conH plexion of a pastime. Whilst we remained here, as spectators ol this stirring and busy occupation, a dialogue took place, which, aii it made some important veterinary disclosures, I will record forf the benefit of all those who take an interest in adding to th( treasures of pharmacy. .^ One of the horses had received an injury in a fore-leg, a day or two before ; and was now confined in the stable undejl the regimen of the overseer. The animal was brought out foil inspection, and the bandages, which had been bound round th limb, were removed in our presence. To a question as to th cause of this injury, Carey replied — " The mischeevous young devil wa'nt content with the pastei but she must be loping over the fence into the cornfield ! I was a marcy she wa'nt foundered outright, on the green corn but she sprained her pasten-joint, any how ; — which she deserve- for being so obstropolous." A consultation was now held upon the case, at which diver v'-'> STABLE WISDOM. 447 3f the elder negroes assisted. But, in general, every attempt by my of these to give an opinion was frowned down by the author- itative and self-sufl&cient Carey, who was somewhat tyrannical in the assertion of his prerogative. Frank Meriwether ventured to suggest that the injured part should be bathed frequently with ice-water ; to which prescrip- tion our ancient groom pointedly objected, — saying all the cretur {vanted, was to have her leg dressed, every night and morning, with a wash that he could make, of vinegar and dockweed, and half a dozen other ingredients, which, he affirmed, would pro- duce a cure, " in almost no time." I A conspicuous and, till now, somewhat restive member of the icouncil, was a broad-shouldered, dwarfish old negro, known by the iname of uncle Jefi", who had manifested several decided symp- Itoms of a design to make a speech ; and now, in despite of Carey's cross looks, gave his advice in the following terms — " One of the stonishingst things for a sprain that I knows on, is this — " said he, stepping into the ring and laying the fingers of his right hand upon the palm of his left — " Bless your soul, jMas Frank ! I have tried it, often and often, on people, but, in ipertickler, upon horses: oil of spike — " he continued, striking his palm, at the enumeration of each ingredient ; — •' oil of spike, campfire, a little castile soap, and the best of whiskey, all put into a bottle and boiled half away — It's mazing how .it will cure a !sprain ! My old 'oman was sick abed all last winter, with a sprain Ion her knee ; and she tried Doctor Stubbs, and the leech doctor, jand all the tother larned folks — but no use, tell she tuck some my lintment! She said herself — if you believe me — thar was none on 'em no touch to my intment. It's mazing, Mas Frank ! Oh, oh!— " j '• Sho !" ejaculated Carey, in a short, surely growl, after hear- Ung this wise morsel of experience to the end, and looking as an- 448 STABLE AV I S D O M . gry as a vexed bull-dog ; " Sbo ! Jeif, you tell me ! Think I nev ■. er seed a hos with a sprained foot, all the way up to my time ol life ? Stan off, man ! I knows what I am about !" Meriwether turned to me, with a look of jocular resignation and said, laughing — '- You see how it is ! This old magnifieo will allow no mar to have an opinion but himself Rather than disturb the peace I must submit to his authority. Well, Jeffry, my old fellow, at we can't convince Mr. Carey, I suppose we had better not njak( him angry. You know what an obstinate, cross-grained, old bul ly, he is ? I am afraid he will take us both in hand, if we con tradict him : so I'm for letting him alone." " Consarn his picture !" said Jeff, in a low tone of voice, ao companied by a laugh, in which all the other negroes joined, a we broke up the consultation and walked away. iVKG slo{ ^i I CHAPTER XLVI THE QUA R TEE Having despatched these important matters at the stable, we left our horses in charge of the servants, and walked towards the cabins, which were not more than a few hundred paces distant. These hovels, with their appurtenances, formed an exceedingly picturesque landscape. They were scattered, without order, over the slope of a gentle hill ; and many of them were embowered ' 'under old and majestic trees. The rudeness of their construc- tion rather enhanced the attractiveness of the scene. Some few were built after the fashion of the better sort of cottages ; but age had stamped its heavy traces upon their exterior : the green moss had gathered upon the roofs, and the course weatherboarding had broken, here and there, into chinks. But the more lowly of these structures, and the most numerous, were nothing more than plain log-cabins, compacted pretty much on the model by which boys - build partridge-traps ; being composed of the' trunks of trees, still M ! clothed with their bark, and knit together at the corners with so little regard to neatness that the timbers, being of unequal lengths, jutted beyond each other, sometimes to the length of a foot. Perhaps, none of these latter sort were more than twelve feet ? i square, and not above seven in height. A door swung upon wood- ' en hinges, and a small window of two narrow panes of glass were, 450 THE QUARTEE, i allt Dtlieir in general, the only openings in the front. The intervals between the logs were filled with clay ; and the roof, which was construct- J-'? edof smaller timbers, laid lengthwise along it and projecting twol^ i^'''' or three feet beyond the side or gable walls, heightened, in a very ^ ^■^ marked degree, the rustic effect. The chimneys communicated even a droll expression to these habitations. They were, oddly enough, built of billets of wood, having a broad foundation of stone, and growing narrower as they rose, each receding gradually! from the house to which it was attached, until it reached the height of the roof These combustible materials were saved from the access of the fire by a thick coating of mud ; and the whole' structure, from its tapering form, might be said to bear some re- semblance to the spout of a tea kettle ; indeed, this domestic im-t' plement would furnish no unapt type of the complete cabin. From this description, which may serve to illustrate a whole' species of habitations very common in Yirginia, it will be seeBi,' that on the score of accommodation, the inmates of these dwel^ lings were furnished according to a very primitive notion of com- fort. Still, however, there were little garden-patches attached t© each, where cymblings, cucumbers, sweet potatoes, water-melons and cabbages flourished in unrestrained luxuriance. Add to this^ijBj;-] that there were abundance of poultry domesticated about theifcear premises, and it may be perceived that, whatever might be theilbtoi inconveniences of shelter, there was no want of what, in all coun- tries, would be considered a reasonable supply of luxuries. Nothing more attracted my observation than the swarms oi little negroes that basked on the sunny sides of these cabins, and* congregated to gaze at us as we surveyed their haunts. They were nearly all in that costume of the golden age which I havo heretofore described ; and showed their slim shanks and long ^ikI, heels in all varieties of their grotesque natures. Their jiredora inant love of sunshine, and their lazy, listless posture?, (vnd ap THE QUARTER. 451 >arent content to be silently looking abroad, might well afford a •omparison to a set of terrapins luxuriating .n the genial warmth 3f summer, on the logs of a mill-pond. And there, too, were the prolific mothers of this redundant brood, — a number of stout negro-women who thronged the doors if the huts, full of idle curiosity to see us. And, when to these ;re added a few reverend, wrinkled, decrepit old, men, with faces phortened as if with drawing-strings, noses that seemed to have irun all to nostril, and with feet of the configuration of a mattock, |my reader will have a tolerably correct idea of this negro-quarter, its population, buildings, external appearance, situation and extent. Meriwether, I have said before, is a kind and considerate mas- ter. It is his custom frequently to visit his slaves, in order to inspect their condition, and, where it may be necessary, to add to their comforts or relieve their wants. His coming amongst them, therefore, is always hailed with pleasure. He has consti- tuted himself into a high court of appeal, and makes it a rule to give all their petitions a patient hearing, and to do justice in the premises. This, he tells me, he considers as indispensably neces- sary ; — he says, that no overseer is entirely to be trusted : that there are few men who have the temper to administer wholesome laws to any population, however small, without some omissions or irregularities ; and that this is more emphatically true of those who administer them entirely at their own will. On the present occasion, in almost every house where Frank entered, there was some boon to be asked ; and I observed, that in every case, the petitioner was either gratified or refused in such a tone as left no occasion or disposition to murmur. Most of the women had some bargains to offer, of fowls or eggs or other commodities of household use, and Meriwether generally referred them to his wife, who, I found, relied almost entirely on this resource, for the 452 THE QUARTER. supply of such commodities ; tlie negroes being regularly paid for whatever was offered in this way. One old fellow had a special favour to ask, — a little money to get a new padding for his saddle, which, he said, " galled his cre- tur's back." Frank, after a few jocular passages with the veteran, gave him what he desired, and sent him off rejoicing, " That, sir," said Meriwether, " is no less a personage than Jupiter. He is an old bachelor, and has his cabin here on the hill. He is now near seventy, and is a kind of King of the Quarter. He has a horse, which he extorted from me last Christmas ; and I seldom come here without finding myself involved in some new demand, as a consequence of my donation. Now he wants a pair of spurs which, I suppose, I must give him. He is a preposterous coxcomb, and Ned has administered to his vanity by a present of a chajoeau de bras — a relic of my military era, which he wears on Sundays with a conceit that has brought upon him as much envy as admiration — the usual condition of greatness." The air of contentment and good humor and kind family at- tachment, which was apparent throughout this little community, and the familiar relations existing between them and the proprie- tor struck me very pleasantly. I came here a stranger, in great degree, to the negro character, knowing but little of the domestic history of these people, their duties, habits or temper, and some- what disposed, indeed, from prepossessions, to look upon them as severely dealt with, and expecting to have my sympathies excited towards them as objects of commiseration. I have had, therefore, rather a special interest in observing them. The contrast between my preconceptions of their condition and the reality which I have witnessed, has brought me a most agreeable surprise. I will not say that, in a high state of cultivation and of such self dependence as they might possibly attain in a separate national existence, they might not become a more respectable people ; but I am quite Ijele : k I THE QUA 11 T E R 453 sure they never could become a happier people than I find them here. Perhaps they are destined, ultimately, to that national ex- istence, in the clime from which they derive their origin — that this is a transition state in which we sec them in Virginia. If it bt3 SG, no tribe of people have ever passed from barbarism to civili- zation whose middle stage of progress has been more secure from harm, more genial to their character, or better supplied with mild and beneficent guardianship, adapted to the actual state of their intellectual feebleness, than the negroes of Swallow Barn. And, from what I can gather, it is pretty much the same on the other estates in this regionj I hear of an unpleasant exception to this remark now and then ; but under such conditions as war- rant the opinion that the unfavorable case is not more common than that which may be found in a survey of any other depart- ment of society. The oppression of apprentices, of seamen, of soldiers, of subordinates, indeed, in every relation, may furnish elements for a bead-roll of social grievances quite as striking, if they were diligently noted and brought to view. What the negro is finally capable of, in the way of civilization, I am not philosopher enough to determine. In the present stage of his existence, he presents himself to my mind as essentially parasitical in his nature. I mean that he is, in his moral consti- tution, a dependant upon the whit« race ; dependant for guidance and direction even to the procurement of his most indispensable necessaries. Apart from this protection he has the helplessness of a child, — without foresight, without faculty of contrivance, without thrift of any kind. We have instances, in the neighbor- hood of this estate, of individuals of the tribe falling into the most deplorable destitution from the want of that constant supervision which the race seems to require. This helplessness may be the due and natural impression which two centuries of servitude have stamped upon the tribe. But it is not the less a present and in- h 454 THE QUARTER. j surmountable impediment to that most cruel of all projects — the i direct, broad emancipation of these people ; — an act of legislation ( in comparison with which the revocation of the edict of Nantes i would be entitled to be ranked among political benefactions. Ta- king instruction from history, all organized slaycry is inevitably but a temporary phase of human condition. Interest, necessity and instinct, all work to give progression to the relations of man- kind, and finally to elevate each tribe or race to its maximum of refinement and power. We have no reason to suppose that the negro will be an exception to this law. At present, I have said, he is parasitical. He grows upward, only as the vine to which nature has supplied the sturdy tree aB | . a support. He is extravagantly imitative. The older negroes | here have — with some spice of comic mixture in it — -that formal, { grave and ostentatious style of manners, which belonged to the j gentlemen of former days; they are profuse of bows and compli- ! ments, and very aristocratic in their way. The younger ones are , equally to be remarked for aping the style of the present time, j and especially for such tags of dandyism in dress as come within ' their reach. Their fondness for music and dancing is a predorai- : , nant passion. I never meet a negro man — unless he is quite old j j- — that he is not whistling ; and the women sing from morning till; '• night. And as to dancing, the hardest day's wor«i does not re- strain their desire to indulge in such pastime. During the har-ili[. vest, when their toil is pushed to its utmost — the time being one of recognized privileges — they dance almost the whole night. They are great sportsmen, too. They angle and haul the seine, and hunt and tend their traps, with a zest that never grows weary. Their gayety of heart is constitutional and perennial, and when they are together they arc as voluble and noisy as so many black- birds. In short, I think them the most good-natured, careless. light-hearted, and happily-constructed human beings I have cvei THE QUARTER. 455 seen. iTaving but few and simple wants, they seem to me to be provided with every comfort which falls within the ordinary com- pass of their wishes ; and, I might say, that they find even more enjoyment, — as that word may be applied to express positive pleasures scattered through the course of daily occupation — than [any other laboring people I am acquainted with. I took occasion to express these opinions to Meriwether, and to tell him how much I was struok by the mild and kindly aspect of this society at the Quarter. i This, as I expected, brought him into a discourse. ' "The world," said he. "has begun very seriously to discuss tho evils of slavery, and the debate has sometimes, unfortunately, been levelled to the comprehension of our negroes, and pains have even been taken that it should reach them. I believe there arc but few men who may not be persuaded that they suffer some wrong in the organization of society — for society has many wrongs, both accidental and contrived, in its structure. Extreme poverty is, perhaps, always a wrong done to the individual upon whom it is cast. Society can have no honest excuse for starving a human being. I dare say you can follow out that train of thought and find numerous evils to complain of. Ingenious men, some of them not very honest, have found in these topics themes for agitation and popular appeal in all ages. How likely are they to find, in this question of slavery, a theme for the highest excitement ; and, especially, how easy is it to inflame the passions of these untu- tored and unreckoning people, our black population, with this subject! I For slavery, as an original question, is wholly without justification or defence. It is theoretically and morally wrong — and fanatical and one-sided thinkers will call its continuance, even for a day, a wrong, under any modification of it. But. surely, if these people are consigned to our care by the accident, or, what is worse, the premeditated policy which has put them upon our com- 456 THE QUARTER. IfeiD' per of monwealtbj the great duty that is left to us is, to shape our conduct, in reference to them, by a wise and beneficent consi* deration of the case as it exists, and to administer wholesome laws for their government, making their servitude as tolerable to them as we can consistently with our own safety and their ulti- mate good. We should not be justified in taking the hazard of internal convulsions to get rid of them ; nor have we a right, in the desire to free ourselves, to whelm them in greater evils than their present bondage. A violent removal of them, or a general s emancipation, would assuredly produce one or the other of these calamities. 1 Has any sensible man, who takes a different view of this subject, ever reflected upon the consequences of committing two or three millions of persons, born and bred in a state so com- pletely dependent as that of slavery — so unfurnished, so unintel-l lectual, so utterly helpless, I may say — to all the responsibilities, cares and labors of a state of freedom ? Must he not acknow- ledge, that the utmost we could give them would be but a nominal freedom, in doing which we should be guilty of a cruel desertion of our trust — inevitably leading them to progressive debasement, penury, oppression, and finally to extermination? I would not argu6 with that man whose bigotry to a sentiment was so blind and so fa* tal as to insist on this expedient. When the time comes, as I appre-:M^jji hend it will come, — and all the sooner, if it be not delayed by Mjjfj^ these efforts to arouse something like a vindictive feeling between |l|j|jj| the disputants on both sides — in which the roots of slavery will begin to lose their hold in our soil ; and when we ohall have thai means for providing these people a proper asylum, I shall be glad to see the State devote her thoughts to that enterprise, and, if am alive, will cheerfully and gratefully assist in it. In the me time, we owe it to justice and humanity to treat these people with the most considerate kindness. As to what are ordinarily i gined to be the evils or sufferings of their condition, I do not be* ,cr Itl { THE QUARTER. 457 llieve in them. The evil is generally felt on the side of the master. Less work is exacted of them than voluntary laborers choose to iperform : they have as many privileges as are compatible with the 'nature of their occupations : they are subsisted, in general, as comfortably — nay, in their estimation of comforts, more comforta- jbly, than the rural population of other countries. And as to the severities that are alleged to be practised upon them, there is much more malice or invention than truth in the accusation. The slaveholders in this region are, in the main, men of kind and hu- mane tempers — as pliant to the touch of compassion, and as sen- sible of its duties, as the best men in any community, and as little disposed to inflict injury upon their dependents. Indeed, the owner of slaves is less apt to be harsh in his requisitions of labor jthan those who toil much themselves. I suspect it is invariably Icharacteristic of those who are in the habit of severely tasking themselves, that they are inclined to regulate their demands upon '-* others by their own standard. Our slaves are punished for mis- ^ [demeanors, pretty much as disorderly persons are punished in all ■'.' societies ; and I am quite of opinion that our statistics of crime :' and punishment will compare favorably with those of any other - Ipopulation. But the punishment, on our side, is remarked as the [personal act of the master ; whilst, elsewhere, it goes free of ill- Inatured comment, because it is set down to the course of justice. iWe, therefore, suffer a reproach which other polities escape, and the ' Iconclusion is made an item of complaint against slavery. " It has not escaped the attention of our legislation to provide |against the ill-treatment of our negro population. I heartily concur in all effective laws to punish cruelty in masters. Pub- • lie opinion on that subject, however, is even stronger than law, "' and no man can hold up his head in this community who is '^ jchargeable with mal-treatment of his slaves. " One thing I desire you specially to note : the question 20 458 THE QUAPcTER. of emancipation is exclusively our own, and every intermed' dling with it from abroad will but mar its chance of success We cannot but regard such interference as an unwarrantable anc j mischievous design to do us injury, and, therefore, we reseiil( it — sometimes, I am sorry to say, even to the point of involving the innocent negro in the rigor which it provokes. We thii and, indeed, we know, that we alone are able to deal properly wit the subject ; all others are misled by the feeling which the nati ral sentiment against slavery, in the abstract, excites. They under imperfect knowledge and impulsive prejudices which totally incompatible with wise action on any subject. We, on tl contrary, have every motive to calm and prudent counsel. Oi lives, fortunes, families — our commonwealth itself, are put at tl hazard of this resolve. You gentlemen of the North greatly apprehend us, if you suppose that we are in love with this sla^^ institution — or that, for the most part, we even deem it profitablj to us. There are amongst us, it is true, some persons who ai inclined to be fanatical on this side of the question, and who bricJ themselves to adopt some bold dogmas tending to these extreni views — and it is not out of the course of events that the violence the agitations against us may lead ultimately to a wide adopticij of these dogmas amongst the slaveholding States. It is in tl] nature of men to recalcitrate against continual assault, ani through the zeal of such opposition, to run into ultraisms whit] cannot be defended. But at present, I am sure the Southeij sentiment on this question is temperate and wise, and that i neither regard slavery as a good, nor account it, except in some i vorable conditions, as profitable. The most we can say of it is thrj as matters stand, it is the best auxiliary within our reach. " Without troubling you with further reflections upon a di subject, my conclusion is that the real friends of humani,i^' should conspire to allay the ferments on this question, and, cv' THE QUAIITER. 450 at some cost, to endeavor to encourage the natural contentment of the slave himself, by arguments to reconcile him to a present destiny, which is, in fact, more free from sorrow and want tlian that of almost any other class of men occupying the same field of labor." Meriwether was about to finish his discourse at this point, when a new vein of thought struck him : '• It has sometimes occurred to me," he continued, '• that we might elevate our slave population, very advantageously to them and to us, by some reforms in our code. I think we are justly liable to reproach, for the neglect or omission of our laws to re- cognize and regulate marriages, and the relation of family amongst the negroes. "VYe owe it to humanity and to the sacred obliga- tion of Christian ordinances, to respect and secure the bonds of husband and wife, and parent and child. I am ashamed to ac- knowledge that I have no answer to make, in the way of justifica- tion of this neglect. "We have no right to put man and wife asunder. The law should declare this, and forbid the separation under any contingency, except of crime. It should be equally peremptory in forbidding the coercive separation of children from the mother — at least during that period when the one requires the care of the other. A disregard of these attachments has brought more odium upon the conditions of servitude than all the rest of its imputed hardships ; and a suitable provision for them would , tend greatly to gratify the feelings of benevolent and conscien- , tious slaveholders, whilst it would disarm all considerate and fair- minded men, of what they deem the strongest objection to the existing relations of master and slave. " I have also another reform to propose," said Meriwether, smiling. •• It is, to establish by law, an upper or privileged class , of slaves — selecting them from the most deserving, above the age of forty-five years. These I would endue with something of a 460 THE QUARTER. feudal character. They should be entitled to hold small tracts of land under their masters, rendering for it a certain rent, paya- j ble either in personal service or money. They should be elevated , into this class through some order of court, founded on certificates j of good conduct, and showing the assent of the master. And 1 1 think I would create legal jurisdictions, giving the masters or stewards civil and criminal judicial authority. I have some dream , of a project of this kind in my head," he continued, " which I havei not fully matured as yet. You will think, Mr. Littleton, that 1 am a man of schemes, if I go on much longer — but there is some thing in this notion which may be improved to advantage, and III should like, myself, to begin the experiment. Jupiter, here, shalj be my first feudatory — my tenant in socage — my old villain !" "I suspect," said I. "Jupiter considers that his dignity is noj to be enhanced by any enlargement of privilege, as long as he i allowed to walk about in his military hat as King of the Quarter. ' " Perhaps not," replied Meriwether, laughing : " then I sha ; be forced to make my commencement upon Carey." ' " Carey," interrupted Hazard, " would think it small prom ■ tion to be allowed to hold Irnd under you!" "Faith ! I shall be without a feudatorv to begin with" sa' Meriwether. " But come with me ; I have a visit to make to tl cabin of old Lucy." CHAPTER XLVIL A NEGRO MOTHER. Lucy's cottage was removed from the rest of the cabins, aud seemed to sleep in the shade of a wood ui3on the skirts of which it was situated. In full view from it was a narrow creek, or navigable inlet from the river, which was seen glittering in the sunshine through the screen of cedars and shrubbery that grew upon its banks. A garden occupied the little space in front of the habitation ; and here, with some evidence of a taste for embel- lishment which I had not seen elsewhere in this negro hamlet, flow- ers were planted in order along the line of the inclosure, and shot up with a gay luxuriance. A draw-well was placed in the middle of this garden, and some few fruit-trees were clustered about it These improvements had their origin in past .years, and owed their present preservation to the thrifty care of the daughter of the aged inhabitant, a spruce, decent and orderly woman, who had been nurtured among the family servants at Swallow Barn, and now resided in the cabin, the sole attendant upon her mother. When we arrived at this little dwelling, Lucy was alone, her daughter having, a little while before, left her to make a visit to the family mansion. The old woman's form showed the double havoc of age and disease. She was bent forward, and sat near her hearth, with her elbows restinc;; on her knees : and her hands 462 A NEGRO MOTHER. (in which she grasped a faded and tattered handkerchief) sup- ported her chin. She was smoking a short and dingy pipe : and, in the weak and childish musing of age, was heating one foot upon the floor with a regular and rapid stroke, such as is common to nurses when lulling a child to sleep. Her gray hairs were covered with a cap ; and her attire generally exhibited an atten- tion to cleanliness, which showed the concern of her daughter for her personal comfort. The lowly furniture of the room corresponded with the ap- pearance of its inmate. It was tidy and convenient, and there were even some manifestations of the ambitious vanity of a female in the fragments of looking-glass, and the small framed prints that hung against the walls, A pensive partner in the quiet comfort of this little apartment, was a large cat, that sat perched ; upon the sill of the open window, and looked demurely out upon . the garden, — as if soberly rebuking the tawdry and gairish bevy - of sunflowers that erected their tall, spinster-like figures so near i that they almost thrust their heads into the room. ; For the first few moments after our arrival, the old woman seemed to be unconscious of our presence. Meriwether spoke to her without receiving an answer ; and, at last, after repeating his salutation two or three times, she raised her feeble eyes towards _ him, and made only a slight recognition by a bow. Whether it , was that his voice became more familiar to her ear, or that her !■ memory was suddenly resuscitated, after her master had ad-' dressed some questions to her, she all at once brightened up into j a lively conviction of the person of her visitor ; and, as a smilelj played across her features, she exclaimed, — " God bless the young master ! I didn't know him. He has come to see poor old mammy Lucy !" " And how is the old woman ?" asked Meriwether, stooping to 8peak, almost in her ear. fill l>i A NEGRO MOTHER. 463 '• She hasu't got far to go," replied Lucy. '• They are a-com- ]g for her : — they tell me every night that they arc a-coming to ikc her away." •• Who are coming ?'"' inquired Frank. " They that told the old woman/' she returned, looking up ' ildly and speaking in a louder voice, " that they buried his ody in the sands of the sea. — " I Saying these words, she began to open out the ragged hand- icrchief which, until now, she had held in her clenched hand. — They brought me this in the night," she continued, — -and then, knew it was true." In the pause that followed, the old negro remained in pro- )und silence, during which the tears ran down her cheeks. Lfter some minutes she seemed suddenly to check her feelings nd said, with energy, — " I told them it was a lie : and so it was ! — The old woman new better than them all. Master Frank didn't know it, and liss Lucretia didn't know it, but mammy Lucy, if she is old, new it well ! — Five years last February ! — How many years, oney, do you think a ship may keep going steady on without topping? — It is a right long time, — isn't it, honey?" This exhibition of drivelling dotage was attended with many ther incoherent expressions that I have not thought it worth ^hile to notice ; and I would not have troubled my reader with hese seemingly unmeaning effusions of a mind in the last stages f senility, if they had not some reference to the circumstances I m about to relate. The scene grew painful to us as we pro- Dnged our visit ; and therefore, after some kind words to the old roman, we took our departure. As we returned to Swallow 5arn, Frank Meriwether gave me the particulars of old Lucy's •athetic history, which I have woven, with as much fidelity as ay memory allows, into the following simple and somewhat mel- *^'^holy narrative. 464 ABE ........ tl During the latter years of the war of the revolution my uncle Walter Hazard, as I have before informed my reader, commanded a troop of volunteer cavalry, consisting principally of the yeo- manry in the neighborhood of Swallow Barn ; and, at the time of the southern invasion by Lord Cornwallis, this little band was brought into active service, and shared, as freely as any other corps 'of the army, the perils of that desultory warfare which was waged upon the borders of North Carolina and Virginia. The gentlemen of the country, at that time, marshalled their neigh- bors into companies ; and, seldom acting in line, were encouraged to harass the eiiemy wherever opportunity offered. The credit as well as the responsibility of these partisan operations fell to the individual leaders who had respectively signalized themselves by their zeal in the cause. This kind of irregular army gave great occasion for the dis- play of personal prowess ; and there were many gentlemen whose bold adventures, during the period alluded to, furnished the sub- ject of popular anecdotes of highly attractive interest. Such ex- ploits, of course, were attended with their usual marvels ; and there was scarcely any leader of note who could not recount some : passages in his adventures, where he was indebted for his safety ^ to the attachment and bravery of his followers, — often to that of his personal servants. Captain Hazard was a good deal distinguished in this war, and took great pleasure in acknowledging his indebtedness, on one occasion, for his escape from imminent peril, to the addrt "^ and gallantry of an humble retainer, — a faithful negro, by the name of Luke, — whom he had selected from the number of his slaves to attend him as a body-servant through the adventures of the war. It furnishes the best answer that can be made to all the ex- aggerated opinions of the misery of the domestic slavery of tiiis i,ai eDgrossec iwer ptilosopli iflrartlie iiitlierai most fori koicgJ After kislr :tfiili topersoi ever ro(i( iiim upoi serionsoe; Ee offen greater 11 ieaofai of M U jiiart. lad term eared ii to 'fldfroii 's iofirn ABE. 405 eglon, that, in the stormiest period of the history of the United states, and when the whole disposable force of the country was mgrossed in the conduct of a fearful conflict, the slaves of Vir- dnia were not only passive to the pressure of a yoke which the ihilosophy of this age aftects to consider as the most intolerable 'if burthens, but they also, in a multitude of instances, were found a the ranks, by the side of their masters, sharing with them the iiost formidable dangers, and manifesting their attachment by jieroic gallantry. After the close of the war Captain Hazard was not unmindful f his trusty servant. Luke had grown into a familiar but re- ipectful intimacy with his master, and occupied a station about is person of the most confidential nature. My uncle scarcely ver rode out without him, and was in the habit of consulting im upon many lesser matters relating to the estate, with a isriousness that showed the value he set upon Luke's judgment. le offered Luke his freedom ; but the domestic desired no reater liberty than he then enjoyed, and would not entertain the lea of any possible separation from the family. Instead, there- )re, of an unavailing, formal grant of manumission, my uncle ive Luke a few acres of ground, in the neighborhood of the luarter, and provided him a comfortable cabin. Before the war id terminated, Luke had married Lucy, a slave who had been ;ared in the family, as a lady's maid, and, occasionally, as a Lu-se to the children at Swallow Barn. Things went on very noothly with them, for many years. But, at length, Luke axed old, and began to grow rheumatic ; and, by degrees, re- red from his customary duties, which were rendered lighter as s infirmities increased. Lucy, from the spry and saucy-eyed aiting-woman, was fast changing into a short, fat and plethoric d dame. Her locks accumulated the frost of each successive inter ; and she, too, fell back upon the reserve of comfort laid 466 A B E - up for their old age by their master, — who timself. by a like pro- , cess, had faded away, from the buxom, swashing madcap of the , revolutionary day, into a thin, leather-cheeked old campaigner, who sometimes told hugely long stories, and sent for Luke to put his name on the back of them. In short, five and thirty j years, had wrought their ordinary miracles ; and first, the vete- ran Luke disappeared from this mortal stage ; and then his mas- ; ter : and old Lucy was left a hale and querulous widow, with I eight or nine children, and her full dower interest in the cabin and its curtilage. The youngest, but one, of her children was named Abraham — universally called Abe. All before Abe had arrived at man- hood, and had been successively dismissed from Lucy s cabin, as they reached the age fit to render them serviceable, with that « satisfied unconcern that belongs to a negro mother who trusts to the kindness of her master. This family was remarkable for its intelligence ; and those who had already left the maternal nest | had, with perhaps one or two exceptions, been selected for the * mechanical employments upon the estate : — they were shoe- makers, weavers, or carpenters ; and were held in esteem for their industry and good character. Abe, however, was an ex- c ception to the general respectability of Luke's descendants. He was, at the period to which my story refers, an athletic and sin- gularly active lad, rapidly approaching to manhood ; with a frame not remarkable for size, but well knit, and of uncommonly sym- metrical proportions for the race to which he belonged. He had nothing of the flat nose and broad lip of his tribe, — but his face was rather moulded with the prevailing characteristics of the ne- groes of the West Indies. There was an expression of courage in his eye that answered to the complexion of his mind : he was noted for his spirit, and his occasional bursts of passion, which, even in his boyhood, rendered him an object of fear to liis older ..'f'ilit'' i''i' '•» i il', I jess *#/f ••:■• ; ABE. 467 ^ociates. This disposition was coupled with singular shrewd- ness of intellect, and an aptitude for almost cver}^ species of handicraft. He had been trained to the work of a blacksmith, and was, when he chose to be so, a useful auxiliary at the anvil. ]jut a habit of associating with the most profligate menials be- longing to the extensive community of Swallow Barn, and the neighborihg estates, had corrupted his character, and, at the time of life which he had now reached, had rendered him offensive to the whole plantation. Walter Hazard could never bear the idea of disposing of any of his negroes ; and when Meriwether came to the estate, he was even more strongly imbued with the same repugnance. Abe was, therefore, for a long time, permitted to take his own way,—'' the attachment of the family for his mother procuring for him an amnesty for many transgressions. Lucy, as is usual in almost all such cases, entertained an affection for this outcast, surpassing that which she felt for all the rest of her offspring. There was [never a more exemplary domestic than the mother : nor was she (Without a painful sense of the failings of her son ; but this only Imortified her pride without abating her fondness — a common leffect of strong animal impulses, not merely in ignorant minds. [Abe had always lived in her cabin, and the instinct of long asso- jCiation predominated over her weak reason ; so that although she Iwas continually tormented with his misdeeds, and did not fail to reprove him even with habitual harshness, still her heart yearned secretly towards him. Time fled by, confirming this motherly lattachment, and, in the same degree, hardening Abe into the most jirreclaimable of culprits. He molested the peace of the neigh- jborhood by continual broils ; was frequently detected in acts of depredation upon the adjoining farms ; and had once brought jhimself into extreme jeopardy by joining a band of out-lying ne- groes, who had secured themselves, for some weeks, in the fast- 468 ABE. nesses of the low-country swamps, from whence they annoyed the vicinity by nocturnal incursions of the m')st lawless character. Nothing but the interference of Meriwether, at the earnest im- plorings of Lucy, saved Abe, on this occasion, from public justice. Abe was obliged in consequence to be removed altogether from the estate, and consigned to another sphere of action. Meriwether revolved this matter with great deliberation ; and, at length, determined to put his refractory bondsman in the charge of one of the pilots of the Chesapeake, to whom, it was supposed, he might become a valuable acquisition ; — his active, intelligent and intrepid character being well suited to the peril- ous nature of that service. The arrangements for this purpose were speedily made, and the day of his removal drew nigh. It was a curious speculation, on the part of the family, and an unpleasant one, to see how Lucy would bear this separation. The negroes, like all other dependants, are marked by an abun- dant spirit of assentation. They generally agree to whatever is proposed to their minds, by their superiors, with an acquiescence that has the show of conviction. But, it is very hard to convince the mind of a mother, of the justice of the sentence that deprives ' her of her child, — especially a poor, unlearned, negro mother. . Lucy heard all the arguments to justify the necessity of sending * Abe abroad ; assented to all ; bowed her head, as if entirely con- vinced ; — and thought it — very hard. She was told that it was the only expedient to save him from prison ; she admitted it ; but still said — that it was a very cruel thing to sever mother and son. It was a source of unutterable anguish to her, which no kindness on the part of the family could mitigate. Forgetting Abe's growth to manhood, his delinquencies, the torments he had incessantly inflicted upon her peace, and unmindful of the numer- ous children that, with their descendants, v/ere still around her, she seemed to be engrossed by her afi"ectian for this worthless I > I ABE. 4G0 scion of her stock ; — showing how entirely the unreasoning in- stincts of the animal sway the human mind, in its uneducated condition. All the considerations that proved Abe's banishment a necessary, and, even for himself, a judicious measure, seemed only to afford additional reinforcements to the unquenchable dotings of the mother. From the time of the discovery of the transgression which brought down upon Abe the sentence that was to remove him from Swallow Barn, until the completion of the preliminary arrangements for his departure, he was left in a state of anxious uncertainty as to his fate. He was afraid to be seen at large, as some risk was hinted to him of seisure by the public authorities ; and he. therefore, confined himself, with a sullen and dejected silence, in Lucy's cabin, — seldom venturing beyond the threshold ; and, when he did so, it was with the stealthy and suspicious mo- tion which is observable in that class of animals that pursue their prey by night, when induced to stir abroad in daytime. It is a trait in the dispositions of the negroes on the old plantations, to cling with more than a freeman's interest to the spot of their nativity. They have a strong attachment to the places connected with their earlier associations, — what in phreno- logy is called inhabitiveness ; — and the pride of remaining in one family of masters, and of being transmitted to its posterity with all their own generations, is one of the most remarkable features in these negro clans. Being a people of simple combinations and limited faculty for speculative pleasures, they are a contented race, — not much disturbed by the desire of novelty. Abe was not yet informed whether he was to be sold" to a distant owner, given over to public punishment, or condemned to some domestic dis- grace. Apparently, he did not much care which : — his natui-al resoluteness had made him dogged. It was painful, during this period, to see his mother. In all t 470 ABE. respects unlike Hraself, slie suffered intensely; and, tliougli Iioary with sixty winters, hovered about him, with that busy assiduity which is one of the simplest forms in which anxiety and grief are apt to show themselves. She abandoned her usual employments^ and passed almost all her time within her cabin, in a fretful sub- serviency to his wants ; and, what might seem to be incompatible with this strong emotion of attachment, — though, in fact, it was one of the evidences of its existence, — her tone of addressing him was that of reprimand, seldom substituted by the language of pity or tenderness. I mention this, because it illustrates one point of the negro character. She provided for him, as for a sickly child, what little delicacies her affluence afforded : and, with a furtive industry, plied her needle through the livelong night, in making up, from the scanty materials at her command, such articles of dress as might be found or fancied to be useful to him, in the uncertain changes that awaited him. In these preparations there was even seen a curious attention to matters that might serve only to gratify his vanity ; some fantastical and tawdry personal ornaments were to be found amongst the stock of necessaries which her foresight was thus providing. I hope I shall not be thought tedious in thus minutely remark- ing the trifles that were observable in the conduct of the old domestic on this occasion. My purpose is to bring to the view of my reader an exhibition of the natural forms in which the passions are displayed in those lowest and humblest of the departments of human society, and to represent truly a class of people to whom justice has seldom been done, and who possess many points of character well calculated to win them a kind and amiable judg- ment from the world. They are a neglected race, who seem to have been excluded from the pale of human sympathy, from mistaken opinions of their quality, no less than from the unpre- tending lowliness of their position. To me, they have always I ABE. 471 appeared as a people of agreeable peculiarities, and not without much of the picturesque in the development of their habits and feelings. When it was. at last, announced that Abe was to be disposed of in the manner I have mentioned, the tidings were received by the mother and son variously, according to their respective tem- pers. Lucy knew no difference between a separation by a hundred or a thousand miles : she counted none of the probabilities of future intercourse ; and the traditionary belief in the danger of the seas, with their unknown monsters, and all the frightful stories of maritime diseister, rose upon her imagination with a terrifying presage of ill to her boy. Abe, on the other hand, received the intelligence with the most callous unconcern. He was not of a frame to blench at peril, or fear misfortune ] and his behavior rather indicated resentment at the authority that was exercised over him. than anxiety for the issue. For a time, he mused over this feeling in sullen silence : but, as the expected change of his condition became the subject of constant allusion among hii: associates, and as the little community in which he had alwaj's lived gathered around him, with some signs of unusual interest, to talk over the nature of his emploj^ments, a great deal reached his ears from the older negroes, that opened upon -his mind a train of perceptions highly congenial to the latent properties of his character. His imagination was awakened by the attractions of this field of adventure ; by the free roving of the sailor ; and by the tumultuous and spirit-stirring roar of the ocean, as they were pictured to him in story. His person grew erect, his limbs ex- panded to their natural motion, and he once more walked with the light step and buoyant feelings of his young and wayward nature. The time of departure arrived. A sloop that had been lying at anchor in the creek, opposite to Lucy's cabin, was just prepar- 472 ABE. i ing to sail. The mam-sail was slowly opening its folds, as it rose along the mast : a boat with two negroes had put off for the beach, and the boatmen landed with a summons to Abe, informing him that he was all they now staid for. Abe was seated on his chest in front of the dwelling ; and Lucy sat on a stool beside him, with both of his hands clasped in hers. Not a word passed between them ; and the heavings of the old woman's bosom might have been heard by the standers-by. A bevy of negroes stood around them : the young ones, in ignorant and wondering silence ; and the elders conversing with each other in smothered tones, with an occasional cheering word addressed to mammy Lucy — as they called her. Old uncle Jeff was conspicuous in this scene. He stood in the group, with his corncob pipe, puffing the smoke from his bolster-lips, with lugubriously lengthened visage. The two boatmen pressed into the crowd to speak to Lucy, but were arrested by the solemn Jefl', who, thrusting out his broad, horny hand, and planting it upon the breast of the fore- most, whispered, in a half audible voice, — " The old woman's taking on ! — wait a bit — she'll speak presently !" With these words, the whole company fell into silence and continued to gaze at the mother. Abe looked up, from the place wnere ne sat, through his eyelashes, at the little circle, with an awkwardly counterfeited smile playing through the tears that filled his eyes. " It a'most goes to kill her," whispered one of the woiren to ner neighbor. " I've seen women," said Jeff, '^ this here way, afore in my time : they can bear a monstrous sight. But, when they can once speak, then it's done, — you see." Lucy was now approached by two or three of the old women, who began to urge some feeble topics of consolation in her ear. in that simple phrase which nature .suj)plics, and which had more of ABE. 473 encouragement in its tones than in tbe words : but the only re- sponse extracted was a mute shake of the head, and a sorrowful uplifting of the eye, accompanied by a closer grasp of the liands of Abe. " It's no use," said Jeff, as he poured a volume of smoke from his mouth, and spoke in a deep voice, in the dialect of his people, — " it's no use till nature takes its own way. When the tide over yonder (pointing to the river) comes up, speeches arn't going to send it back: when an old woman's heart is full it's just like the tide." " The wind is taking hold of the sail," said one of the boat- men, who until now had not interfered in the scene, '• and the captain has no time to stay." Lucy looked up and directed her eye to the sloop, whose can- vas was alternately filling and shaking in the wind, as the boat vacillated in her position. The last moment had come. The mother arose from her seat, at the same instant witli her son, and flung herself upon his neck, where she wept aloud. " Didn't I tell j^ou so !" whispered Jeff to some old crones ; '• when it can get out of the bosom by the eyes, it carries a mon- strous load with it." " To be sure !" exclaimed the beldams, which is a form of interjection amongst the negroes, to express both assent and wonder. This burst of feeling had its expected effect upon Lucy. She seemed to be suddenly relieved, and was able to address a few short words of parting to Abe : then taking from the plaits of her bosom, a small leather purse containing a scant stock of sil- ver, — the hoard of past years — she put it into the unresisting hand of Abe. The boy looked at the faded bag for a moment, and gathering up something like a smile upon his face, he forced the money back upon liis mother, himself replacing it in the bosom I 474 ABE. of her dress. " You don't think I am going to take your money with me !" said he, " I never eared about the best silver my mas- ter ever had : no, nor for freedom neither. I thought I was always going to stay here on the plantation. I would rather have the handkerchief you wear around your neck, than all the silver you ever owned." Lucy took the handkerchief from her shoulders, and put it in his hand. Abe drew it into a loose knot about his throat, then turned briskly round, shook hands with the by-standers, and, shouldering his chest, moved with the boatmen, at a rapid pace, towards the beach. In a few moments afterwards, he was seen standing up in the boat, as it shot out from beneath the bank, and waving his hand to the dusky group he had just left. He then took his seat, and was watched by his melancholy tribe until the sloop, falling away before the wind, disappeared behind the remotest promontory. Lucy, with a heavy heart, retired within her cabin, and threw herself upon a bed ; and the comforting gossips who had collect- ed before the door, after lingering about her for a little while, gradually withdrew, leaving her to the assiduities of her children. Some years elapsed ; during which interval frequent reports had reached Swallow Barn, relating to the conduct and condition of Abe ; and he himself had, once or twice, revisited the family. Great changes had been wrought upon him ; he had grown into a sturdy manhood, invigorated b}'^ the hardy discipline of his calling. The fearless qualities of his mind, no less than the activity and strength of his body, had been greatly developed to the advantage of his character ; and, what does not unfrequently happen, the peculiar adaptation of his new pursuits to the tem- per and cast of his constitution, had operated favorably upon his morals. His errant propensities had been gratified ; and the ABE. 475 alternations between the idleness of the calm and tlic strenuous and exciting bustle of the storm, were pleasing to his unsteady and fitful nature. He had found, in other habits, a vent for inclina- tions which, when constrained by his former monotonous avoca- tions, had so often broken out into mischievous adventures. In short, Abe was looked upon by his employers as a valuable sea- man ; and the report of this estimation of him had worked won- ders in his favor at Swallow Barn. From the period of his departure up to this time, poor old Lucy nursed the same extravagant feelings towards him ; and these were even kindled into a warmer flame by his increasing good repute. Her passion, it may be called, was a subject of constant notice in the family. It would have been deemed remark- able in an individual of the most delicate nurture ; but in the aged and faithful domestic, it was a subject of commiseration on account of its influence upon her happiness, and had almost induced Meriwether to recall Abe to his former occupation ; although he was sensible that, by doing so, he might expose him to the risk of relapsing into his earlier errors. But, besides this. Abe had become so well content with his present station that it was extremely likely he would, of his own accord, have sought to return to it. The vagrant, sunshiny, and billowy life of a sailor has a spell in it that works marvellously upon the heedless and irresponsible temperament of a negro. Abe was, therefore, still permitted, like a buoy, to dance upon the waves, and to woo his various destiny between the lowest trough of the sea, and the highest white-cap of the billow. At the time to which my story has now advanced, an event took place that excited great interest within the little circle of Swallow Barn. It was about the breaking up of the winter — towards the latter end of February — some four years ago, that in the afternoon of a cheerless day. news arrived at Norfolk that 476 ABE. an inward-bound brig had struck upon the shoal of the middle ground, (a shallow bar that stretches seaward beyond the mouth of the Chesapeake, between the two capes.) and, from the threat- ening aspect of the weather, the crew were supposed to be in great danger. It was a cold, blustering day, such as winter sometimes puts on when he is about to retreat : — as a squadron, vexed with watching a politic enemy, j&nding itself obliged, at last, to raise the blockade, is apt to break ground with an unusual show of bravado. The wind blew in gusts from the northwest ; a heavy rack of dun and chilly clouds was driven churlishly before the blast, and spitted out some rare flakes of snow. These moving masses were forming a huge, black volume upon the eastern horizon, towards the ocean, as if there encountering the resist- ance of an adverse gale. From the west the sun occasionally shot forth a lurid ray, that, for the instant, flung upon this dark pile a sombre, purple hue, and lighted up the foam that gathered at the top of the waves, far seaward ; thus opening short glimpses of that dreary ocean over which darkness was brooding. The sea-birds soared against the murky vault above them ; and, now and then, caught upon their white wings the passing beam, that gave them almost a golden radiance ; whilst, at the same time, they screamed their harsh and frequent cries of fear or joy. The surface of the Chesapeake was lashed up into a fretful sea, and the waves were repressed by the weight of the wind ; billow pursu- ing billow with an angry and rapid flight, and barking, with the snappish sullenness of the wolf. Across the wide expanse of Hamp- ton Road might have been seen some few bay-craft, apparently not much larger than the wild-fowl that sailed above them, beat- ing, with a fearful anxiety, against the gale, for such harbors as were nearest at hand ; or scudding before it under close-reefed sails, with ungovernable speed, towards the anchorages to leeward. Every moment the wind increased in violence ; the clouds AUK. 477 swept nearer to the waters ; tlie gloom thickened ; tlie birds sought safety on the land ; the little barks were quickly vanish- ing from view : and, before the hour of sunset, earth, air, and sea were blended into one mass, in which the eye might vainly endea- vor to define the boundaries of each : whilst the fierce howling of the wind, and the deafening uproar of the ocean gave a deso- lation to the scene, that made those, who looked upon it from the shore, devoutly thankful that no ill luck had tempted them upon the flood. It was at this time that a pilot-boat was seen moored to a post at the end of a wooden wharf that formed the principal landing-place at the little seaport of Hampton. The waves were dnshing. with hollow reverberations, between the timbers of the wharf, and the boat was rocking with a violence that showed the extreme agitation of the element upon which it floated. Three or four sailors — all negroes — clad in rough pea-jackets, with blue and red woollen caps, were standing upon the wharf or upon the deck of the boat, apparently making some arrangements for ven- turing out of the harbor. The principal personage among them, whose commands were given with a bold and earnest voice, and promptly obeyed, was our stout friend Abe. now grown into the full perfection of manhood, with a frame of unsurpassed strength and agility. At the nearer extremity of this wharf, landward, were a few other mariners, white men, of a weather-beaten exterior, who had seemingly just walked from the village to the landing- place, and were engaged in a grave consultation upon some question of interest. This group approached the former while they were yet busy with the tackling of the boat. Abe had stepped aboard with his companions, and they were about letting all loose for their departure. '• What do you think of it now, Abe ?" asked one of the older seamen, as he turned his 03- es towards the hfeavens, with a look of 478 ABE concern. " Are you still so crazy as to think of venturing out in this gale ?" " The storm is like a young woit," replied Abe. '• It gets one hour older and two worse. But this isn't the hardest blow I ever saw, Master Crocket." •' It will be so dark to-night," said the other, " that you will liot be able to see your jib ; and, by the time the wind gets round to the northeast, vou will have a drift of snow that will shut -VI masi mas 3.'?^^' your eyes. It will be a dreadful night outside of the capes ; 1 see no good that is to come of your foolhardiness " " Snow-storm or hail-storm, it's all one to me," answered Abe. "The little Flying Fish has ridden, summer and winter, over as heavy seas as ever rolled in the Chesapeake. I knows what she can do, you see !" " Why, you couldn't find the brig if you were within a cable's length of her. such a niglit as this," said another speaker ; " and % isbs 'Ad [real p ABE. 470 if you were to see her I don't know how you are to get along- side." •• You wouldn't say so, master Wilson," returned Abe, " if you were one of the crew of the brig yourself. We can try, you know ; and if no good comes on it, let them that sauni me judge iif that. I always obeys orders !" " Well," replied the other. '• a negro that is born to be hanged — you know the rest, Abe : — the devil may help you, as he some- times does." •• There is as good help for a negro as there is for a white man, master Wilson — whether on land or water. And no man is going to die till his time comes. I don't set up for more spirit than other people ; but I never was afeard of the sea." During this short dialogue, Abe and his comrades were busily reefing the sail, and they had now completed all their prepara- tions. The day had come very near to the hour of sunset. Abe mustered his crew, spoke to them with a brave, encouraging tone, and ordered them to cast off from the wharf. In a moment, all hands were at the halyards ; and the buoyant little Flying Fish sprang from her mooring, under a single sail double-reefed, and bounded along before the wind, like an exulting doe, loosened from thraldom, on her native wastes. " That's a daring fellow !" said one of the party that stood upon the wharf, as they watched the gallant boat heaving play- fully through the foam — •• and wouldn't mind going to sea astride a shark, if any one would challenge him to it." •• If any man along the Chesapeake," said the other, " can handle a pilot-boat such weather — Abe can. But it's no use for a man to be tempting Providence in this way. It looks wicked !" •• He is on a good errand." interrupted the first speaker. '• And God send him a successful venture ! That negro has a great deal of good and bad both in him — but the good has the upper hand." 4S0 A K E . The Flying Fish was soon far from the speakers, and now showed her little sail, as she bent it down almost to kiss the wa- ter, a spotless vision upon the dark and lowering horizon in the east. At length she was observed close hauled upon the wind, and rapidly skimming behind the headlands of Old Point Com- fort; whence, after some interval, she again emerged, lessened to the size of a water-fowl by distance, and holding her course, with a steady and resolute speed, into the palpable obscure of the per- spective. When the last trace of this winged messenger of comfort was lost in the terrific desert of ocean, with its incumbent night, the watchful and anxious spectators on the wharf turned about and directed their steps, with thoughtful forebodings, to the public house at some distance in the village. From what I have related, the reader will be at no loss to un- derstand the purpose of this perilours adventure. The fact was, that as soon as the intelligence reached Norfolk that the brig had got into the dangerous situation which I have described, some of the good people of that borough took measures to communicate with the crew, and to furnish them such means of relief as the suddenness of the emergency enabled them to command. The most obvious suggestion was adopted of dispatching, forthwith, a small vessel to bring away those on board, if it should be ascer- tained that there was no hope of saving the brig itself This scheme, however, was not so easy of accomplishment as it, at first, seemed. Application was made to the most experienced mariners in port to undertake this voyage ; but, they either evaded the du- ^'Ji ^y suggesting doubts of its utility, or cast their eyes towards the heavens and significantly shook their heads, as they affirmed there would be more certainty of loss to the deliverers than to the people of the stranded vessel. The rising tempest and the unruly season boded disaster to whomsoever should be so rash as ABE. 481 to encounter the hazard. Rewards were offered ; but these, too^ failed of eflfect, and the good intentions of the citizens of Norfolk were well nigh disappointed, when chance brought the subject to the knowledge of our old acquaintance Abe. This stout-hearted black happened to be in the borough at the time ; and was one of a knot of seamen who were discussing the proposition of the chan- es of affording relief He heard, attentively, all that was said in disparagement of the projected enterprise ; and it was with some emotion of secret pleasure that he learned that several seamen of established reputation had declined to undertake the venture. The predominant pride of his nature was aroused ; and he hasten- ed to say, that whatever terrors this voyage had for others, it had none for him. In order, therefore, that he might vouch the sin- cerity of his assertion by acts, he went immediately to those who had interested themselves in concerting the measure of relief, and tendered his services for the proposed exploit. As may be sup- posed, they were eagerly accepted. Abe's conditions were, that he should have the choice of his boat, and the selection of his crew. These terms were readily granted ; and he set off, with a busy alacrity, to make his preparations. The Flying Fish was the pilot-boat in which Abe had often sailed, and was considered one of the best of her class in the Chesapeake. This little bark was, accordingly, demanded for the service, and as promptly put at Abe's command. She was, at that time, lying at the pier at Hampton, as I have already described her. The crew, from some such motive of pride as first induced Abe to volunteer in this cause, was selected entirely from the number of negro seamen then in Norfolk. They amounted to four or five of the most daring and robust of Abe's associates, who. lured by the hope of reward, as well as impelled by that spirit of rivalry that belongs to even the lowest classes of human beings, and which is particularly excita- ble in the breasts of men who are trained to dangerous achievo- •21 482 ABE. ments, readily enlisted in the expedition, and placed themselves under the orders of their gallant and venturous captain. This tender of service and its acceptance, produced an almost universal reprobation of its rashness, from the sea-faring men of the port. And while all acknowledged that the enterprise could not have been committed to a more able or skilful mariner than Abe, yet it was declared to be the endeavor of a fool-hardy mad- man who was rushing on his fate. The expression of such dis- trust only operated as an additional stimulant to Abe's resolu- tion, and served to hurry him, the more urgently forward, to the execution of his purpose. He, therefore, with such dispatch as the nature of his preparations allowed, mustered his intrepid crew in the harbor of Norfolk, and repaired with them to the oppo- site shore of the James River, to the little sea-port, where my reader has already seen him embarking upon his btaTe voyage, amidst the disheartening auguries of wise and disciplined veter- ans of the sea. I might stop to compare this act of an humble and unknown negro, upon the Chesapeake, with the many similar passages in the lives of heroes whose names have been preserved fresh in the verdure of history, and who have won their immortality upon less noble feats than this ; but History is a step-mother, and gives the bauble fame to her own children, with such favoritism as she lists, overlooking many a goodly portion of the family of her hus- band Time. Still, it was a gallant thing, and worthy of a better chronicler than I, to see this leader and his little band — the chil- dren of a despised stock — swayed by a noble emulation to relieve the distressed ; and (what the fashion of the world will deem a higher glory) impelled by that love of daring which the romancers call chivalry — throwing themselves upon the unruly waves of winter, and flying, on the wing of the storm, into the profound, dark abyss of ocean, when all his terrors were gathering in tlicir ABE, 483 most hideous forms ; when the spirit of ill shrieked in the blast, and thick night, dreary with unusual horrors, was falling close around them ; when old mariners grew pale with the thought of the danger, and the wisest counselled the adventurers against the certain doom that hung upon their path : — I say, it was a gallant sight to see such heroism shining out in an humble slave of the Old Dominion ! They say the *night that followed was a night of the wildest horrors. Not a star twinkled in the black heavens : the winds rushed forth, like some pent-up flood suddenly overbearing its barriers, and swept through the air with palpable density : men, who chanced to wander at that time, found it difficult to keep their footing on the land : the steeples of Norfolk groaned with the unwonted pressure ; chimneys were blown from their seats ; houses were unroofed, and the howling elements terrified those who were gathered around their own hearths, and made them silent with fear : the pious fell upon their knees: nurses could not hush their children to sleep : bold-hearted revellers were dismayed, and broke up their meetings : the crash of trees, fences, out- buildings mingled with the ravings of the tempest : the icicles were swept from the eaves, and from every penthouse, till they fell in the streets like hail : ships were stranded at the wharves, or were lifted, by an unnatural tide, into the streets : the ocean roared with more terrific bass than the mighty wind, and threw its spray into the near heaven, with which it seemed in contact : and, as anxious seamen looked out at intervals during the night, towards the Atlantic, the light-house, that usually shot its ray over the deep, was invisible to their gaze, or seemed only by glimp- ses, like a little star immeasurably remote, wading through foam and darkness. What became of our argonauts ? — The next morning told the tale. One seaman alone of the brig survived to relate the fate of 484 ABE. his companions. In the darkest hour of the night their vessel went to pieces, and every soul on board perished, except this man. He had bound himself to a spar, and, by that miraculous fortune which the frequent history of shipwreck recounts, ho was thrown upon the beach near Cape Henry. Bruised, chafed, and almost dead, he was discovered in the morning and carried to a neigh- boring house, where care and nursing restored him to his strength. All that this mariner could tell was, that early in the night, — perhaps about eight o'clock, — and before the storm had risen to its height, (although, at that hour, it raged with fearful vehemence,) a light was seen gliding, with the swiftness of a meteor, past the wreck ; a hailing cry was heard as from a trumpet, but the wind smothered its tones and rendered them inarticulate ; and, in the next moment, the spectre of a sail (for no one of the sufferers be- lieved it real) flitted by them, as with a rush of wings, so close that some affirmed they could have touched it with their hands : that, about an hour afterwards, the same hideous phantom, with the same awful salutation, was seen and heard by many on board, a second time : that the crew, terrified by this warning, made all preparations to meet their fate ; and when at last, in the highest exasperation of the storm, the same apparition made its third visit, the timbers of the brig parted at every joint, and all, ex- cept the relator himself, were supposed to have been ingulfed in the wave, and given to instant death. Such, was the sum of this man's story. What was subsequent- ly known, proved its most horrible conjecture to be fatally true. Various speculation was indulged, during the first week after this disaster, as to the destiny of Abe and his companions. No tidings having arrived, some affirmed that nothing more would ever be heard of them. Others said that they might have luffed up close in the wind and ridden out the night, as the Flying Fish was stanch and true : others, again, held that there was even a ABE. 485 chance, that they had scudded before the gale, and, having good sea-room, had escaped into the middle of the Atlantic. No ves- sels appeared upon the coast for several days, and the hope of receiving news of Abe, was not abandoned. The next week came and went. There were arrivals, but no word of the Flying Fish. Anxiety began to give way to the con- viction that all were lost. But, when the third week passed over, and commerce grew frequent, as the spring advanced, all doubts were abandoned, and the loss of the Flying Fish and her crew, ceased any longer to furnish topics of discussion. My reader must now get back to Swallow Barn. The story of Abe's adventure had reached the plantation, greatly exaggerated in all the details ; none of which were concealed from Lucy. On the contrary, the wonder-loving women of the Quarter daily re- ported to her additional particulars, filled with extravagant marvels, in which, so far from manifesting a desire to soothe the feelings of the mother and reconcile her to the doom of Abe, all manner of appalling circumstances were added, as if for the pleas- ure of giving a higher gust to the tale. It may appear unaccountable, but it was the fact, that Lucy, instead of giving herself up to such grief as might have been ex- pected from her attachment to her son, received the intelligence even with composure. She shed no tears, and scarcely deserted her customary occupations. She was remarked only to have become more solitary in her habits, and to evince an urgent and eager solicitude to hear whatever came from Norfolk, or from the Chesapeake. Scarcely a stranger visited Swallow Barn, for some months after the event I have recounted, that the old woman did not take an occasion to hold some conversation with him ; in which all her inquiries tended to the tidings which might have existed of the missing seamen. As time rolled on, Lucy's anxiety seemed rather to increase ; 486 ABE. and it wrought severely upon her health. She was observed to he falling fast into the weakness and decrepitude of age : her temper grew fretful, and her pursuits still more lonesome. Fre- quently, she shut herself up in her cabin for a week or a fortnight, during which periods she refused to be seen by any one. x\nd now, tears began to visit her withered cheeks. Meriwether made frequent efforts to reason her out of this painful melancholy ; her reply to all his arguments was uniformly the same ; — it was simple and affecting — " I cannot give him up, master Frank !" In this way a year elapsed ; but, with its passage, came no confirmation to Lucy's mind of the fate of her son ; and so far was time from bringing an assuagement of her grief, that it only cast a more permanent dejection over her mind. She spoke con- tinually upon the subject of Abe's return, whenever she conversed with any one ; and her fancy was filled with notions of preter- natural warnings, which she had received in dreams, and in her solitary communings with herself. The females of the family at Swallow Barn exercised the most tender assiduities towards the old servant, and directed all their persuasions to impress upon her the positive certainty of the loss of Abe ; they endeavored to lift up her perception to the consolations of religion, — but the insuperable difficulty which they found in the way of all attempts to comfort her, was the impossibility of convincing her that the case was, even yet, hopeless. That dreadful suspense of the mind, when it trembles in the balance between a mother's instinctive love for her offspring, on the one side, and the thought of its perdition on the other, was more than the philosophy or resigna- tion of an ignorant old negro woman could overcome. It was to her the sickness of the heart that belongs to hope deferred, — and the more poignant, because the subject of it was incapable of even that moderate and common share of reason that would have intelligently weighed the facts of the case. ItffS yield ofti( fori incc kr Wlj mor: ABE. 497 Months were now added to the year of unavailing regrets that had been spent. No one ever heard Lucy say wherefore, but all knew that she still reckoned Abe's return amongst expected events. It was now, in the vain thought that the old woman's mind would yield to the certainty implied by the lapse of time and the absence of tidings, that my cousin Lucretia prepared a suit of mourning for her, and sent it, with an exhortation that she would wear it in commemoration of the death of her son. Meriwether laid some stress upon this device ; for, he said^ grief was a selfish emotion, and had some strange alliance with vanity. — It was a metaphysi- cal conceit of his, which was founded in deep observation ; and he looked to see it illustrated in the effect of the mourning present upon Lucy. She took the dress — it was of some fine bombazet, — gazed at it, with a curious and melancholy eye, and then shook her head and said, — it was a mistake : — '• I will never put on that dress," she observed. " because it would be bad luck to Abe. What would Abe say if he was to catch mammy Lucy wearing black clothes for him ?" They left the dress with her, and she was seen to put it care- fully away. Some say that she was observed in her cabin, one morning soon after this, through the window, dressed out in this suit ; but she was never known to wear it at any other time. About this period, she began to give manifest indications of a decay of reason. This was first exhibited in unusual wanderings, by night, into the neighboring wood ; and then, by a growing habit of speaking and singing to herself. "With the loss of her mind her frame still wasted away, and she gradually began to lose her erect position. Amongst the eccentric and painful developments of her in- creasing aberration of mind, was one which presented the pre- dominating illusion that beset her in an unusually vivid point of view. 488 ABE. One dark and blustering night of winter, the third anniversary of that on which Abe had sailed upon his desperate voyage, — for Lucy had noted the date, although others had not, — near midnight, the inhabitants of the Quarter were roused from their respective cabins by loud knockings in succession at their doors ; and when each was opened, there stood the decrepit figure of old Lucy, who was thus making a circuit to invite her neighbors, as she said, to her house. " He has come back !" said Lucy to each one, as they loosed their bolts ; " he has come back ! I always told you he would come back upon this very night ! Come and see him ! Come and see him ! Abe is waiting to see his friends to-night." Either awed by the superstitious feeling that a maniac inspires in the breasts of the ignorant, or incited by curiosity, most of the old negroes followed Lucy to her cabin. As they approached it. the windows gleamed with a broad light, and it was with some strange sensations of terror that they assembled at her threshold, where she stood upon the step, with her hand upon the latch. Before she opened the door to admit her wondering guests, she applied her mouth to the keyhole, and said in an audible whis- per, " Abe, the people are all ready to see you, honey ! Don'i be frightened, — there's nobody will do you harm !" Then, turning towards her companions, she said, bowing her head, — " Come in, good folks ! There's plenty for you all. Come ir and see how he is grown !" She now threw open the door, and, followed by the rest entered the room. There was a small table set out, covered witl a sheet ; and upon it three or four candles were placed in bottle; for candlesticks. All the chairs she had were ran£:cd around thi table, and a bright fire blazed in the hearth. " Speak to them, Abe !" said the old woman, with a broat ABE 489 laugh. '• This is uncle Jeff, and here is Dinah, and here is Ben," — and in this manner she ran over the names of all present ; tlien continued, — " Sit down, you negroes ! Have you no manners ? Sit down and eat as much as you choose ; there is plenty in the house. Mammy Lucy knew Abe was coming : and see what a fine feast she has made for him !" She now seated herself, and addressing an empty chair beside her, as if some one occupied it, lavished upon the imaginary x\be a thousand expressions of solicitude and kindness. At length she said; — '• The poor boy is tired, for he has not slept these many long nights. You must leave him now : — he will go to bed. Get you gone ! get you gone ! you have all eaten enough !" Dismayed and wrought upon by the unnatural aspect of the scene, the party of visitors quitted the cabin almost immediately upon the command : and the crazed old menial was left alone to indulge her sad communion with the vision of her fancy. From that time until the period at which I saw her, she con- tinued occasionally to exhibit the same evidences of insanity. There were intervals, however, in which she appeared almost restored to her reason. During one of these, some of the negroes hoping to remove the illusion that Abe was still alive, brought her a handkerchief resembling that which she had given to him on his first departure ; and, in delivering it to her. reported a fabricated tale, that it had been taken from around the neck of Abe, by a sailor who had seen the body washed up by the tide upon the beach of the sea, and had sent this relic to Lucy as a token of her son's death. She seemed, at last, to believe the tale ; and took the handkerchief and. put it away in her bosom. This event only gave a more sober tone to her madness. She now keeps more closely over her hearth, where she generally 21* 490 ""^^^ Sometimes she is heard muttering to herseit, "■ ^ ^ , , tr; in the sand, of the sea," wMch she will repeat a hup red t-1 At others, she falls into a sad but whimsical speculat on r drift of which is implied in the question that^^^^P^J Meriwether whilst we remained in her cottage;- How many years may a ship sail at sea without stopping 1 iit CHAPTER XLVIIL CLOUDS. The time liad now arrived wlien it was necessary for me to re- turn to New- York. It was almost two months since I had left home, and I was cautioned hy my northern friends not to remain in the low-country of Virginia longer than until the middle of August. Hazard endeavored to persuade me that the season had all the indications of being unusually healthy, and that I might therefore remain without risk. He had manifestly views of his own to be improved by my delay, which rendered him rather an interested adviser ; and, in truth, we had grown so intimate by our late associations, that I felt it somewhat difficult to bring my- self to the necessary resolution of taking leave. But go I must — or inflict upon my good mother and sisters that feminine tor- ture which visits the bosoms of this solicitous sex when once their apprehensions are excited on any question of health. I therefore announced my fixed determination on the subject to the family, and pertinaciously met all the arguments which were directed to unsettle my resolve, with that hardy denial of assent which is the only refuge of a man in such a case. My prepara- tions were made, and the day of my departure was named. Unluckily for my plan, the elements made war against it. The very day before my allotted time, there came on a soft 492 CLOUDS. drizzling rain, which began soon after breakfast; and when we met at dinner. Hazard came to me, rubbing his hands and smil- ing with a look of triumph, to tell me that however obstinate I might be in my purpose, here was a flat interdict upon it. " AVe generally have," said he, " what we call a long spell in August. The rain has begun ; and you may consider yourself fortunate if you get away in a week." I took it as a jest ; but the next morning, when I went to my chamber-window, I found that Ned's exultation was not without some reason. It had rained all night, not in hard showers, but in that gentle, noise less outpouring of the heavens, which showed that they meant to take their own time to disburthen themselves of their vapor. Far as my eye could reach, the firmament was clad in one broad, heavy, gray robe. The light was equally diffused over this mass, so as entirely to conceal the position of the sun ; and, somewhat nearer to earth, small detachments of dun clouds floated across the sky in swift transit, as if hastening to find their place in the ranks of the sombre army near the horizon. I came down to breakfast, where the family were assembled at a much later hour than usual. A small fire was burning in the hearth : the ladies were in undress, and something of the complexion of the sky seemed to have settled upon the countenances of all around me ; — a quiet, unelastic, sober considerateness, that was not so fre- quently disturbed as before with outbreaks of merriment. My cousin Lucretia poured out our coffee with a more sedate and careful attention: Prudence looked as if she had overslept her- self: — Meriwether hung longer over the newspaper than common, and permitted us to take our seats at table some time before he gave up reading the news. The little girls had a world of care upon their shoulders ; — and Parson Chub dispatched his meal with unwonted expedition, and then, thrustipg his hands into his pockets, went into the hall, and walked to and fro thoughtfully. CLOUDS 493 Hazard was the ouly one of the party who appeared untouehed by the change of the weather ; aud he kept his spirits up by fre- quent sallies of felicitation directed to me, on the auspicious pros- pect I had before me. After breakfast, we went to the door. The rain pattered in- dustriously from the eaves down upon the rose-bushes. The gra- vel walk was intersected by little rivers that also ran along its borders : and the grass-plots were filled with lakes. The old wil- low, saturated with rain, wept profuse tears, down every trickling fibie. upon the ground. The ducks were gathered at the foot of this venerable monument, aud rested in profound quiet, with their heads under their wings. Beyond the gate, an old plough- horse spent his holiday from labor in undisturbed idleness — his head downcast, his tail close to his rump and his position motion- less, as some inanimate thing, only giving signs of life by an oc- casional slow lifting up of his bead — as if to observe the weather — and a short, horse-like sneeze. The rain poured on ; and now and then some one affirmed that it grew brighter, and that, perhaps, at mid-day it would clear up. But mid-day came, and the same continual dripping fell from leaf, and roof, and fence. There was neither light nor shade : all the picturesque had vanished from the landscape : the foreground was full of falling drops, and the perspective was mist. The dogs crept beneath the porch, or intruded with their shaggy and rain- besprinkled coats, into the hall, leaving their footsteps marked up- on the floor wherever they walked. The negro women ran across the yard with their aprons thrown over their heads. The work- ing men moved leisurely along, like sable water-gods, dripping from every point, their hats softened into cloth-like consistence, and their faces beneath them long, sober, and trist. During the day Rip made frequent excursions out of doors, and returned into the house with shoes covered with mud, much to the annoyance of 1 494 CLOUDS. Mrs. Winkle, who kept up a quick and galling fire of reproof upon the young scapegrace. As for Hazard and myself, we betook ourselves to the library, whither Meriwether had gone before us, and there rambled through the thousand flowery by-paths of miscellaneous literature ; changing our topics of study every mo- ment, and continually interrupting each other by reading aloud whatever passages occurred to provoke a laugh. This grew te- dious in turn ; and then we repaired to the drawing-room, where we found the ladies in a similar unquiet mood, making the like experiments upon the piano. We were all nervous. Thus came and went the day. The next was no better. When I again looked out in the morning, there stood the weeping willow the same vegetable Niobe as before, and there the meditative ducks ; there the same horse, — or another like him — looking into the inscrutable recesses of a fence corner; and there the dogs, and the muddy-footed Rip. To vary the scene, we took umbrellas and walked out, holding our way trippingly over the wet path towards the bridge. The pigeons, like our- selves, tired of keeping the house, had ranged themselves upon the top of the stable, or on the perches before the doors of their own domicil, dripping images of disconsolateness. A stray flock of blackbirds sometimes ventured across the welkin ; and the cows, in defiance of the damp earth, had composedly lain down in the mud. The only living thing who seemed to feel no incon- venience from the season was the hog, who pursued his epicurean ramble in despite of the elements. The rain poured on ; and the soaked field and drenched forest bad no pleasure in our eyes ; so, we returned to the house, and again took refuge in the library. Despairing of the sun, I at length sat down to serious study, and soon found myself occupied in a pursuit that engrossed all my attention. I have said before that Meriwether had a good collection of CLOUDS. 405 . books. These had been brought together without order in the selection, and they presented a mass of curious literature in al- most every department of knowledge. My love of the obsolete led me amongst the heavy folios and quartos that lumbered the lower shelves of the library, where I pitched upon a thin, tall folio, which contained the following pithy title-page: " Some ac- count of the Renowned Captayne John Smith, with his travel and adventures in the Foure Quarters of the Earthe ; showing his gallante Portaunce in divers perillous Chaunces, both by Sea and Land : his Feats against the Turke, and his dolefull Cap- tivitie in Tartaria. Also, what befell in his Endeavours towards the Planting of the Colonic of Virginia ; and, in especiall, his Marvellous Prouess and Incredible Escapes amongst the Barba- rous Salvages. Together with Sundrie other Moving Accidents in his Historic. London. Imprinted for Edward Blackmore, 162—." This title was set out in many varieties of type, and occupied but a small portion of the page, being encompassed by a broad margin which was richly illuminated with a series of heraldic ornaments, amongst which was conspicuous the shield with three turbaned heads and the motto "vincere est vivere." There were, also, graphic representations of soldiers, savages, and trees, all colored according to nature, and, as the legend at the foot im- ported, " graven by John Barra." The date of the work had been partially obliterated. — three numerals of the year being only distinguishable ; but from these it was apparent that this memoir was published somewhere about the end of the first quarter of the seventeenth century— perhaps about 1625, or not later than 1629. The exploits of Captain Smith had a wonderful charm for that period of my life when the American Nepos supplied the whole amount of my reading ; but I have never, since that boy- 496 CLOUDS. ish day, taken the trouble to inquire whether I was indebted for the captivation of the story to the events it recorded, or to my own pleasant credulity, — that natural stomach for the marvel- lous, which, in early youth, will digest agate and steel. This lit- tle chronicle, therefore, came most opportunely in my way ; and I gave myself up to the perusal of it with an eager appetite. I was now on the spot where Smith had achieved some of his most gallant wonders. The narrative was no longer the mere fable that delighted my childhood ; but here I had it in its most authentic form, with the identical print, paper and binding in which the story was first given to the world by its narrator — for aught that I knew, the Captain himself-— perhaps the Captain's good friend, old Sam Purchas, who had such a laudable thirst for the wonderful. This was published, too, when thousands were living to confute the author if he falsified in any point. And here, on a conspicuous page, was " An Exact Portraic- tuer of Captayne lohn Smith, Admiral of all New England," taken to the life ; with his lofty brow that imported absolute ver- ity on the face of it, and his piercing eye, and fine plirenological head, with a beard of the ancient spade cut ; arrayed in his pro- per doublet, with gorget and ruflf; one arm a-kimbo, the other resting on his sword. Below the picture were some fair lines in- ferring that he " was brass without, and gold within." Through- out the volume, moreover, were sundry cuts showing the Captain in his most imminent hazards, of a flattering fancy, but in total disregard of all perspective. And here, in view of the window, was the broad James River, upon which he and his faithful Mosco (otherwise called by the more euphonious name of Utta- santasough), two hundred years gone by, had sailed, in defiance of twenty kings whose very names I am afraid to write. His- tory is never so charming as under the spell of such associations ; the narrative avouched by present monuments, and facts suffi- OLotrns. 407 cicntly dim by distance, for the imagination to make what it pleases out of it, without impugning the veracity of the story. I have sometimes marvelled why our countrymen, and espe- cially those of Virginia, have not taken more pains to exalt the memory of Smith. With the exception of the little summary of the schools, that I have before noticed. — and which is unfortu- nately falling into disuse, — some general references to his ex- ploits as they are connected with the history of our States, and an almost forgotten memoir by Stith, we have nothing to record the early adventures and chivalric virtues of the good soldier, unless it be some such obsolete and quaint chronicle as this of Swallow Barn, which no one sees. He deserves to be popularly known for his high public spirit, and to have his life illustrated in some well told tale that should travel with Robinson Crusoe and the Alma- nack — at least through the Old Dominion : — and in the Council Chamber at Richmond, or in the Hall of Delegates, the doughty champion should be exhibited on canvas in some of his most pic- turesque conjunctures. And then, he should be lifted to that highest of all glorifications, — the truest touchstone of renown, — the signposts. Smith's character was moulded in the richest fashion of an- cient chivalry ; and, without losing any thing of romance, was dedicated, in his maturer years, to the useful purposes of life. It was marked by great devotion to his purpose, a generous estimate of the public good, and an utter contempt of danger. In the age in which he lived, nobleness of birth was an essential condition to fiime. This, unfortunately for the renown of Smith, he did not possess ; otherwise, he would have been as distinguished in his- tory as Bayard, Gaston de Foix, Sir Walter Manny, or any other of the mirrors of knighthood whose exploits have found a histo- rian. Smith, however, was poor, and was obliged to carve his way to fame without the aid of chroniclers ; and there is, consequently, fll 498 CLOUDS. a great obscurity resting upon the meagre details whicli now exist of his wonderful adventures. These rude records show a per- plexing ignorance of geography, which defies all attempts at elu- cidation. Muniments, however, of unquestionable authenticity, still exist to confirm the most remarkable prodigies of his story. The patent of knighthood conferred upon him by Sigismund Bathor, in 1603, is of this character. It recites some of the lead- ing events of his life, and was admitted to record by the Garter King-at-arms of Great Britain, twenty-two years afterwards, when -y Smith's services in the establishment of the American colonies attracted a share of the public attention. He possessed many of the points of a true knight. He was ambitious of honor, yet humble in his own praise, — tempering his r valor with modesty, and the reckless gallantry of the cavalier with irreproachable manners. A simple testimony to this effect, but a sincere one, is given by an old soldier who had followed him through many dangers, and who shared with him the disasters of the defeat at Rothenturn. It is appended, by the author of it, to Smith's account of New England. His name was Carlton, and he had served as Smith's ensign in the wars of Transylvania. These lines, addressed to the " honest Captaine," are somewhat crabbed, but they tell pleasantly — " Thy •words by deeds, so long thou hast approved, Of thousands know thee not, thou art beloved. And this gi'eat Plot will make thee ten times more Knowne and beloved than e'er thou wert before. I never knew a warrior yet but thee, From wine, tobacco, debts, dice, oaths so free, ********* Ho signs himself, " Your true friend, sometime your souldier, TIIO. CARLTON." ik tOTii leai er ive ^. «Sei tratii hi. CLOUDS. 499 The uncoutliness of the verse accords with the station of the writer, and gives a greater relish to the compliment. It may be pleasing to the fair portion of my readers, to learn something of his devotion to dames and lady-love, of which we have good proof. He was so courteous and gentle, that he might be taken for a knight sworn to the sex's service. He was a bachelor too, by 'r lady ! — and an honor to his calling ; mingling the refinement of Sir "Walter Raleigh, his prototype, with the noble daring of Essex and Howard. Hear with what suavity and knightly zeal he commends his gratitude to the sex, in recounting his various fortunes '• to the illustrious and most noble Princesse, The Lady Francis, Duchesse of Richmond and Lenox ;" and with what winning phrase, like a modest cavalier, he consigns his History of Virginia to her protection ! — " I confess my hand, though able to wield a weapon among the Barbarous, yet well may tremble in handhug a pen among .so many judicious : especially, when I am so bold as to call so piercing and so glorious an Eye, as your Grace, to view these poore ragged lines. Yet my comfort is, that heretofore, honora- ble and vertuous Ladies, and comparable but amongst themselves, have offered me rescue and protection in my greatest dangers : even in forraiue parts, I have felt relief from that sex. The beauteous Lady Tragabizanda, when I was a slave to the Turkes, did all she could to secure me. When I overcame the Bashaw of ISTalbritz in Tartaria, the charitable Lady Callamata supplyed my necessities. In the utmost of many extremities, that blessed Pokahoutas, the great King's daughter of Tirginia, oft saved my life. "When I escaped tho cruelties of Phats and most furious stormes, a long time alone, in a small boai at Sea, and driven ashore in France, the good Lady, Madam Chanoyes, bounti- fully assisted me. ■■* And so verily, these adventures have tasted the same influence from your Gratious hand, which hath given birth to the pubhcation of this narration." And, thereupon, he prays that his " poore booke," which had " no hclpe but the Shrine of her glorious name to be sheltered from censorious condemnation," might be taken under her protection ; and " that she would vouchsafe some glimpse of her honorable aspect to accept his labours," that they might be pre- 500 CLOUDS. * sented "to the King's Royall Majestie, the most admired Prince Charles, and the Queene of Bohemia." He tells her that '• her sweet Recommendations would make it worthier their good countenances," and concludes by assuring her, " that this page should record to Posteritie that his service should be to pray to God that she might still continue the Re- nowned of her Sexe, the most honored of Men, and The Highly Blessed of God." What a fine knightly tone is there in this commendation of the graces of his mistress, and what a world of adventure does it suggest ! After a whole mornyig of pleasant study I closed the Chroni- cle and restored it to its shelf, with a renewed admiration of the sturdy and courteous cavalier who is so pre-eminently entitled to ^ be styled the True Knight of the Old Dominion. The character of Smith, like the extraordinary incidents of his life, strikes me as approaching nearer to the invention of a fiction than that of any other real personage of history. There is in it so much plain sense, mingled with such glory of manhood ; so much homely wisdom and dauntless bravery combined — soi much chivalrous adventure, set off with so much honesty ; so much humility, and yet so much to boast of — if his nature were : vainglorious : — these qualities are all so well balanced in his composition that they have an epic consistency, and scorn more like an imagination, than a reality. It puts one in mind of Chaucer's Knight, whose description, though often quoted, will bear a repetition here, for its singular application to the history of the founder of Virginia. " A knight there was, and that a -worthy man, That fro the time Ihat he firste began To ridcn out, lie loved chevalrio, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. CLOUDS. 501 At mortal batailes hadde he ben fiftene, And foughten for our faith at Tramissene In listes thries, and ay slain his fo. This like worthy knight hadde ben also Somtime with the lord of Palatie, Agen another hethen in Turkie : And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris. And though that he was worthy he was wise, And of his port as meke as is a mayde, He never yet no vilaine ne sayde In alle his lif, irnto no manere wight. He was a veray parfit, gentil knight.** f CHAPTER XLIL PLEASANT PROSPECTS. Another morning came. The rain liad ceased, and nature, after her three days of drab sobriety, appeared once more in her gay and gallant apparel of sunshine and flowers. The air had grown cooler. The verdure of the fields was revived. The birds sang with unwonted vivacity, as if in compensation for long pent-up melodies. The change of weather was like the bursting forth of a new spring. My spirits were attuned to this renovation of earth and air, by the prospect of returning home — for having once set my thoughts in that direction, the pleasure of the re- turn rose above the regrets of parting with friends here, or so mingled with them as to divide the mastery of the contest. I had determined that my homeward journey should be in- land, and my design, therefore, was to take the public stage from Petersburg, thence to Richmond, Fredericksburg, and Washing- ton. Soon after breakfast, Meriwether's carriage was at the door to transport me as far as the first of the towns mentioned above. I found that my cousin Lucretia had provided me a store of re- freshment sufficient to have sustained me all the way to New- York. This was neatly put up in a basket, and placed in the carriage, on the plea that I might be hungry upon my journey ; PLEASANT TROSrECTS. 503 or, at all events, that I might not fiod as good fare at the inns as I desired. It was in vain to refuse ; " the stages were long, and no one knew the comfort of being well stocked with such neces- saries until he Was on the road." I submitted with a good grace, resolved to leave what was given me in the carriage, when I arrived at Petersburg. And now came the moment of leave-taking, the most painful of all the accompaniments of travel. If I had been nurtured in the family from infancy, I could not have called forth more affec- tionate solicitude ; and I was obliged to promise, what already was indeed my secret purpose, to repeat my visit. Meriwether expressed the kindest concern at my leaving him, and engaged, what was quite unusual for him, to write to me frequently after I should arrive at home. The little girls kissed me a dozen times, and the whole household, servants and all, collected at the door to exchange farewells. Ned Hazard now sprang into the carriage with me, and we drove off. That night I arrived at Petersburg. Hazard and I parted here the next morning, with many vows of friendship. In due course of time, I was safely seated at Longsides, upon the North Kiver, where I have become famous, at least with my mother and sisters, for my long stories and rapturous commen- dations of Swallow Barn, and my peremptory way of telling how things are done in the Old Dominion. POSTSCRIPT. In the course of the winter that followed my return to Long- sides, I received several letters from Hazard, from Meriwether, and, indeed, from most of the family. Harvey Riggs, also, has been a punctual correspondent. A letter from him, dated the tenth of January, 1830, gives me a droll history of the festivities at The Brakes on the first day of the year, when, in pursuance of an arrangement which Ned himself had before communicated to me. Hazard and Bel were joined in the bands of holy wedlock, Bel having, at last, surrendered at discretion. Harvey's com- ments upon this incident are expressed in the following extract : — " After you left us, Ned relapsed into all his extravagancies. In truth, I believe Bel grew heartily tired of that incompatible formality of manner which he assumed at our instigation. It sat upon him like an ill-fitted garment, and rendered him the dullest of mortals. Bel took the matter into consideration, and at last begged him to be himself again. Never did a schoolboy en- joy a holiday more than he this freedom ; the consequence was, that the wight ran immediately into the opposite extreme, and has carried the prize, notwithstanding he had trespassed against all decorum, and had been voted incorrigible. The stars have had an influence upon this match ! I devoutly believe that it all comes from old Diana's prophecy. POSTCRIPT. 505 •' Meriwether discourses philosophically upon the subject, and says that ' marriage is a matter to be soberly looked at ; for if it be unwisely contrived, it is one of the most irrevocable errors in the world, though not the most unlikely to have its full share of repentance.' " The revelry had scarcely ceased at the date of this letter ; and it was a part of the family plans that Ned should live, for the present, at The Brakes. Accounts as late as April inform me, that Philly Wart has just been re-elected to the Legislature, much against his wish, and, indeed, in the face of his protestations that he declined a poll. He is said to have remarked, rather petulantly, at the close of the election, " that it was all nonsense to argue the question of constitutional doctrine, — here was a case in point, — the will of the constituent will bind the representative in spite of all theories !. The worthy barrister had, a short time before, covered himself with glory by one of his most flowery speeches at the bar, in de- fending his brother, Toll Hedges, upon an indictment for an as- sault on one of the justices of the quorum. It is at a still later date that Ned writes me touching the af- fairs at The Brakes. Mr. Tracy had not yet become reconciled to the extinction of the lawsuit. Ned accompanied him lately upon his morning ride, and the old gentleman took his course to the Apple-pie. Here, as Ned describes him, he took a stand up- on the mound that formed one of the abutments of the dam, and remained silently pondering over the landscape for a full half hour, and, most of the time, tugging at his under lip with his hand. " It was singular," he remarked to Hazard, after this in- terval, " that Meriwether should have fallen into the error of thinking that he had a claim to this land. I have a mind to give him^ny ideas on paper. It will be instructive to you, Mr. Haz- . ard." 22 606 POSTCRIPT, " Frank stood upon his survey" replied Ned. " I doubt if there was a survey," rejoined the old gentleman ; " there is no memorandum of it in my notes." Ned was almost afraid to contradict him ; but at length ven- tured to say, — " It was produced, you remember, at the trial, signed by Jer- emiah Perkins himself." Mr. Tracy knitted his brows for a moment, and then said, " It is very strange ! I don't think there was a survey. There is some mistake. I wish the thing were to go over again !" The tenor of all my letters now shows that every thing goes on smoothly on the James Eiver, and that the Old Dominion contains some very happy persons within its bosom. THE END. /^5 \ lA T^ A \^ I I v; K 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DE This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewals only: Tel. No. 642-3405 Renewals may be made 4 days priod to date due. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. MEu JUNl G 1972 4 8 jAN EEC cm JUL 3 1979 mc ^ JVED 19W -1 iRCULATICN D£PT. LD21A-60m-8,'70 (N8837sl0)476 — A-32 b. (H24lslO)476B rT«*^^".^'"3'I'Jbrarv •University of CiF^fJ • BerkeJev '^^'■"'^ i KARItS ""ft! CDM3bb3Dfi3 ■-♦ 4, w/f^^ i ^^' ♦;»' --:^fi.: