THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 P.Lennox Tierney
 
 
 -
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN ESTEN COOKE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF"SURRY OF EAGLF/S NEST," "HILT TO HILT, 
 "MOHUN," "FAIRFAX," "OUT OF THE FOAM," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1812, BY G. W. DILLINGHAU. 
 
 G. W. Dill ing ham Co., Publishers. 
 
 MDCCCXCVII.
 
 - M 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 PROLOGUE. 7 
 
 L Flowers of the Forest . 17 
 
 H.Flowera of the Court 21 
 
 HL How Blossom faulted, and what followed 26 
 
 TV. A Glimpse of his Excellency Lord Dunmore 28 
 
 V. How his Excellency got the better of a Child 30 
 
 VL The Great-Grandson of Pocahontas 38 
 
 VIL Conspiracy 46 
 
 VIIL Yanely. . 53 
 
 IX. Bonnybel Vane. ... 57 
 
 X. " Old Gouty" 65 
 
 XL A May Morning in '74. 67 
 
 XIL The "Window Panes at Vanely 73 
 
 XIII. How they danced a Minuet de la Cour. 76 
 
 XTV. Which verifies the Proverb, that listeners never hear any 
 
 good of themselves 81 
 
 XV. Bonnybel looks in a Mirror and laughs 85 
 
 XVI. The News from Boston. 90 
 
 'XVII. The Model of a Perfect Lover 95 
 
 XVIII. How Mr. Lindon came to, and went away from Vanely. ... 101 
 XIX. Bonnybel Vane to her friend, Mistress Catherine Effinghatn, 
 
 at " The Cove," in Gloucester County 109 
 
 XX. How Miss, Bonnybel fainted in the Arms of her Cousin. ... 112 
 
 XYL Bonnybel Vane to her Friend, Kate Effingham 121 
 
 XXII. At the " Trysting Tree" 125 
 
 XXIII- St. John makes his Entry into Richmond Town 133 
 
 XXIV. In which the Author omits describing the Races 138 
 
 XXV. How Mr. St John encountered a Stranger, and of what 
 
 they conversed. , . . 141 
 
 XXVL How the Stranger became an Historian and a Prophet. . . . 151 
 
 XXVIL How St John met a Friend in Williamsburg 159 
 
 XXVIIL The Secret Agent 161 
 
 XXIX. How a Virginia Girl wrote Verses in '74 168 
 
 937457
 
 V TONTKNTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXX. How Mr. St. John returned his Commission to Lord Dun- 
 more.. ]72 
 
 XXXI. The Letter 180 
 
 XXXIL What happened at the " Indian Camp" 184 
 
 XXXTTT. A Sleeping Beauty 187 
 
 XXXIY. St. John, from his House of "Flower of Hundreds," to 
 
 his Friend, Tom Alston, at " Moorefield" 192 
 
 XXXV. The Reply 194 
 
 XXXTL Blossom 196 
 
 XXXVIL The Woof of Events 198 
 
 EXXVIII. The Fixed Stars of Virginia 206 
 
 XXXTX, How the Stranger's first Prophecy was fulfilled 214 
 
 XL. How his Excellency asked the Nome of the Stranger. .. 220 
 
 XLI. The Steps and the Base of Lord Botetourt's Statue 225 
 
 XLII. The " Apollo Room," in the Raleigh Tavern Deus nobis 
 
 hoec otia fecit 229 
 
 XLIII. In which a Chariot arrives 233 
 
 XLIV. The Assembly at the Capitol 235 
 
 XLV. The rival Lieutenants of the Guards. 237 
 
 XLVL The Secretary .241 
 
 XLVII. St John and Lindon 245 
 
 XLVIIL St. John goes to "Flodden" 252 
 
 XLIX. How Captain Waters fulfilled his Mission 356 
 
 L. The Fugitive. 262 
 
 LI. Her only Failing 266 
 
 UL The Combat: Red and White Roses 269 
 
 LIIL- The News reaches Vanely. 277 
 
 LTV. Two Hearts 281 
 
 LV. Which commences the Second Portion of the History. . . 284 
 
 LVI. How Captain Waters plucked his Geese- 292 
 
 LVII. Some old Friends : at least the Author hopes so 299 
 
 LVIII. The Second Warning 304 
 
 LIX. How St. John drew his Sword and struck at a Shadow.. 3C8 
 
 LX. Tom Alston to Henry St. John. 314 
 
 LXI. St. John tells how a Spirit entered his Room at Midnight 318 
 LXIL How Mr. Alston traveled all Night, and what followed.. 334 
 LXIII. A Broken Heart: Henry St. John to Thomas Alston. . . 34? 
 LXIV. Henry St. John, Esquire, to Miss Bonnybel Vane, at 
 
 Vanely, hi Prince George 344 
 
 LXV. " How strange 1 I knew a Bonnybel once !" 347 
 
 LXVI. The last Hallucination of St. John 351 
 
 LXVIL How St John kept his Appointment with the Stranger. 354
 
 CONTENTS. XV 
 
 CHAPTER PAG* 
 
 LXVm. A Virginia Giant 368 
 
 LXIX^-On the Banks of Belle Riviere 371 
 
 LXX. The Old Church of St. John's , 380 
 
 LXXL Bonnybel's Dream , 383 
 
 LXXIL Bonnybel Vane to her Friend, Kate Effingh an 387 
 
 LXXIII. The Friends 390 
 
 LXXIV. The Removal of the Powder 397 
 
 LXXV. "Williamsburg in Arms and Captain Waters in Ecstacies 408 
 
 LXXVL A Meeting of Patriots 417 
 
 LXXVIL A Young Spy 422 
 
 LXXVIIlT-General Effingham is carried off by a Chariot. 424 
 
 LXXIX. The March of the Hanoverians on "Williamsburg. 428 
 
 LXXX. The Meeting at Doncastle's Ordinary. 433 
 
 LXTTT. The Robbery of the Coach of the King's Receiver General 437 
 LXXXII. How Lindon left Williamsburg, and whom he conversed 
 
 with at " Agincourt" 444 
 
 LXXXIIL A Glance at Vanely . ... 451 
 
 LXXXIV. Bonnybel Vane to her Friend, Kate Effingbam 453 
 
 LXXXV. Lindon Smiles 458 
 
 LXXXVL The Two Letters. 461 
 
 LXXXVIL The Unraveling of the Mesh 466 
 
 LXXXVIII. Fire and Storm 471 
 
 T.TYTTT. The End of the Drama 477 
 
 XC. A Summer Day at " Flower of Hundreds" 485 
 
 EPILOGUE 488 
 
 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. ., 491
 
 MISS BONNYBEL 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 FLO WEE 8 OF THE FOBX6T. 
 
 IT is a beautiful May morning, in the year 1774. 
 
 The sun is shining brightly, the oriole swings to and fro 
 on his lofty spray, and carols to the spring ; the month of 
 flowers has dawned upon the world in all its loveliness, and 
 scattered daisies, violets and buttercups on the green ex 
 panse of smiling meadows, and along the grassy banks of 
 streams. 
 
 Two children holding each other by the hand, take theii 
 way through a forest stretching to the west of Williams- 
 burg, the old capital of Virginia. 
 
 They are a boy and a girl, apparently about ten years of 
 age. 
 
 The boy is a gallant looking urchin, clad in a richly em 
 broidered roundabout, drab shorts, and gayly colored stock 
 ings, which disappear in high-quartered shoes, ornamented 
 with rosettes of ribbon; his curling hair, framing ruddy 
 cheeks, is surmounted by a little cocked hat with a jaunty 
 feather. 
 
 The girl's costume is in some points similar. 
 
 She wears a sort of frock coat, so to speak, of pink " cali- 
 manco," opening in front, and displaying a species of waist 
 coat, laced across a ruffled stomacher. The frock falls only 
 to the knees, where it is met by, white silk stockings, held
 
 18 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 by velvet garters, ornamented with clocks at the instep, 
 and ending in small high-heeled shoes, with galoshes. Her 
 head, with its bright curls, is protected by a broad-rimmed 
 chip hat, secured with a blue ribbon tied beneath the 
 chin. 
 
 The boy is gay, mischievous, full of mirth and higfc apirita 
 The gitl gentle, sedate, with a pensive Icok in her mild eyot 
 which peer out from a number of stray ringlets. In ont 
 hand she carries a checker- work satchel, holding a few 
 books for they are going to the old field school ; in the 
 other, a nosegay of violets and sweet-briar roses, the gift 
 of her cavalier, who disputes the possession of her hand 
 with the flowers. 
 
 They soon come in sight of the old field school. It is a 
 log building, with a broad, well barred door, a log for a 
 step, a chimney of rough stone built outside, and heavy 
 oaken shutters on rusty hinges. 
 
 The rude old building sleeps beneath the lofty oaks very 
 tranquilly ; but from the interior comes a busy hum which 
 indicates the presence of children. 
 
 The girl looks anxiously toward one of the windows and 
 says: 
 
 " Oh me, Paul ! See the sun on the shutter ! We're very 
 late, and I'm afraid Uncle Jimmy '11 keep us in !" 
 
 " Let him !" replies Mr. Paul with great gallantry, " who 
 cares? We've had a glorious time getting flowers, Blos 
 som ; and I don't mind being kept in with you." 
 
 Paul inserts one thumb into the arm-hole of his waist 
 coat as he speaks, and bestows a devoted look upon his 
 companion. 
 
 " I don't mind myself," says Blossom, hurrying on, " but 
 you love Prisoner's Base so, Paul ! and then you came in 
 time : for yonder is your pony tied to the oak, and you'll be 
 kept in, because you came to meet me." 
 
 " Well, what if I did come ?" says Paul, carelessly, " al 
 though you wouldn't let me carry your satchel. Is Uncle 
 Jimmy to ride roughshod over me for that ? Can't a Vir-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 19 
 
 ginia gentleman get flowers for a lady without being 
 brought to trial ?" 
 
 And Paul looks proud and indignant. 
 
 "A lady, Paul !" says Blossom, with a low silvery laugh ; 
 " why I'm only a child !" 
 
 " You're my sweetheart." 
 
 " Pshaw, Paul ! what a goose you are 1 how foolish yop 
 do talk!" 
 
 And Blossom turns away her head, hastening on towarud 
 the school-house. Paul gets before her, however, and in a 
 moment they are standing in presence of Uncle Jimmy 
 Doubleday, an old gentleman with a lengthy coat, huge 
 goggles, splatterdashes, and a gray queue, who presides 
 over a crowd of boys and girls all rosy cheeks, curls, 
 freckles and health busy studying at the long desks against 
 the walls. 
 
 Uncle Jimmy has just inflicted condign punishment upon 
 an urchin who was drawing individuals in a boxing attitude 
 upon his slate the criminal having been posted in a corner 
 with the slate around his neck, and a huge dunce's cap upon 
 his head. Uncle Jimmy is therefore irate. He sternly de 
 mands of Paul and Blossom why they are so late. 
 
 Paul, who still holds his companion's hand, declares, with 
 an easy air, that he is the cause of it: he thought he'd carry 
 Blossom off to get some flowers. 
 
 " Oh no, Uncle Jimmy !" says Blossom, with a timid look 
 into the old schoolmaster's face, " I was late before, and 
 Paul is not to blame. Papa came home last night, and I 
 love to talk with him so much." 
 
 At the word papa, Uncle Jimmy seems suddenly molli 
 fied. 
 
 " Well, well," he says, looking through his great goggles 
 at the child's face, and trying not to smile, "well, Blossom, 
 you are excused ; you never do wrong purposely, my child ; 
 and for your sake I excuse this youngster. But take cnre 
 sir!" added Uncle Jimmy, turning with a tremendous frown 
 to the urchin, "take care, in future, Mr. Paul Effingham ! I
 
 ?0 MISS KONNYBEL. 
 
 make the prediction, that the birch destined for you, u 
 growing." 
 
 And Uncle Jimmy scowled ferociously at Paul, who saun 
 tered with a jaunty air toward his desk. For Paul was a 
 favorite too. 
 
 The old pedagogue fell into a reverie, caressed gently 
 Blossom's hair, heaved a sigh, and then awoke. Having 
 vigorously applied the birch to a youngster wh<~ had just 
 made his neighbor execute a terrible leap, by Sticking , pin 
 into him, Uncle Jimmy called the next class, and so the old 
 field school went on its way as usual. 
 
 At last came "play time," and the old schoolmaster closed 
 his books. To his profound astonishment the girls and ur 
 chins did not move. Uncle Jimmy saw with incredulous 
 stupefaction that they did not snatch their hats with ardor, 
 and rush into the open air. 
 
 The worthy pedagogue rubbed his eyes. Was he dream 
 ing? Had he made a mistake and forestalled the hour? 
 No : there was the rustic dial consisting of a nail driven 
 into the window seat, whose shadow, when it ran along a 
 certain line, marked noon ; and now the shadow plainly in 
 dicated twelve. Instead of rushing out, the boys and girls 
 had gathered around Blossom, and evidently desired to use 
 her favor with the pedagogue to obtain some boon. 
 
 Blossom seemed to resist ; but the eloquent advocates re 
 doubled their entreaties, and at last the girl approached the 
 schoolmaster. 
 
 "If you please, Uncle Jimmy," she said, timidly, " we 
 want you to give us a holiday to-day." 
 
 "Holiday!" cried Uncle Jimmy, with a horrified expres 
 sion, " holiday 1 On what earthly ground ?" 
 
 Blossom was a little abashed by the loud exclamation, and 
 faltered. 
 
 "There, my child there, Blossom," said Uncle Jimmy, 
 " don't mind my outcry. I'm not a little forest bird like 
 you, that does nothing but cheep and twitter. I growl : 
 don't mind me ; but say why you want a holiday. Can 
 any one explain such au unusual ^'a-c^t ?"
 
 MISS BONNTBEL. 21 
 
 And the pedagogue addressed himself with dignity to 
 the crowd. He had cause to regret the movement. A 
 deafening explanation greeted his appeal, above whose up 
 roar were heard only the words, " They're coming ! They're 
 coming 1 They're coming !" 
 
 The schoolmaster closed his ears with horror; and the a. 
 rising to his full height upon the rostrum, extended both his 
 hands in wrath above the youthful orators, and cried 
 
 " Cease, ye young bulls of Bashan ! cease ! HavT' you 
 no regard for my ears, unhappy reprobates that you 970 ! 
 Let Blossom speak, and hold your clatter, or I'll birch 
 every mother's son of you !" 
 
 It seemed that even the little maidens were terrified by 
 this address to the boys. A deep silence followed, and 
 Blossom having again urged the general request, Uncle 
 Jimmy did what he had never for a moment hesitated about 
 he gave the desired holiday. 
 
 " Go, go my children," he said, " yes, go and see the vain 
 pageant of a poor mimic royalty ! You are not an old fel 
 low like me ; you are children, and love music, and bells 
 ringing, and fine dresses. Go see how gallant we can be in 
 old Virginia when we pshaw 1 I'm not making an address 1 
 Go, children, and come early in the morning." 
 
 With these words Uncle Jimmy extended his hands pa 
 ternally, and in a minute and a half the old school-house 
 was deserted. 
 
 At the same moment the noise of chariots was heard upon 
 the forest road in front of the school-house the rolling- ol 
 wheels, and the sound of the hoofs of horses.
 
 22 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 FLOWERS OF THE COURT. 
 
 PAUL was hastening, with his arm around Blossom, toward 
 the tree where his pony Shag was tied the young gentle 
 man's design being to convey his sweetheart behind him 
 into WUIiamsburg when suddenly both stopped, arrested 
 by the appearance of a brilliant cavalcade. 
 
 It consisted of three richly decorated chariots, eacu drawn 
 by six glossy horses, and followed by plainer vehicles. The 
 drivers and footmen who hung behind were white English 
 servants, as were the numerous outriders. 
 
 The first equipage contained three ladies the rest seemed 
 occupied chiefly by gentlemen. 
 
 As the flock of children ran out to look upon the brilliant 
 spectacle, the head of a young lady was thrust from the 
 window of the foremost coach, and she seemed to be calling 
 the attention of her companions to the children. 
 
 It was a beautiful face, framed hi bright curls, and look 
 ing very sweet and good-humored. 
 
 "Isn't she pretty, Paul ?" said Blossom, in a whisper. 
 
 " Uncommonly," returned Paul, with the air of a connois 
 seur ; " but look, Blossom, she is beckoning to you 1" 
 
 In fact, the pretty picture of the boy and girl, with their 
 arms around each other, had attracted the attention of the 
 young lady, and taking advantage of a momentary pause, 
 occasioned by a portion of the harness becoming out of 
 place, she had really beckoned to the girl. 
 
 Blossom approached the chariot, followed by Paul, and 
 looked with timid grace into the face of the young lady, who 
 smiled sweetly, and gave her hand to each. 
 
 " That is a school-house, is it not, my dear ?" she said ; 
 " every thing is bright here, and you and all look very 
 happy." 
 
 " That's because Blossom is so good, ma'am," said Paul 
 politely ; " everybody's happy where she is."
 
 MISS JJONNYBEL. 23 
 
 u Blossom,* said tlic lady smiling, " is that your name ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," returned the child, " and his is Paul. 1 ' 
 
 " Paul ! do you hear, Susan ?" said the young lady, turn 
 ing one of her companions ; " what pretty names they have 
 in Virginia Blossom and Paul! and you know we stopped 
 last night at Roslyn Hall.' 1 '' 
 
 Then turning to the children, the young lady added : 
 
 " I wish you would come and see me, Blossom s-ad yon 
 too, Paul. My name is Augusta Murray, and we a. e going 
 to live in Williamsburg now." 
 
 As she spoke, the footman again mounted behiii.*, having 
 fixed the harness, and the young lady again gave her hand 
 to the children, with a pleased smile. 
 
 The cavalcade then resumed its way slowly. 
 
 The flock of children, Blossom and Paul leading, sur 
 rounded and followed it, as a triumphal escort, and it went 
 thus attended toward the old capital. 
 
 For many hours the good town of Williamsburg has been 
 in commotion. An immense crowd has assembled, and 
 the waves of the multitude now extend from the college 
 of "William and Mary," past the old magazine, and the 
 " Raleigh" tavern, quite onward to the steps of the capitol, 
 where, around the base of Lord Botetourt's statue, the rest 
 less and variegated billows seem to break into foam and 
 spray. 
 
 All classes, all costumes are seen. Plain homespun clothes 
 and rich doublets, gentry and commoners, merchants and 
 factors, and yeomen, and negroes, and a great crowd of 
 students from the college of " William and Mary," who 
 flock in gay groups along the thoroughfares, cracking jokes, 
 like their brethren in all ages. 
 
 " Duke-of-Gloucester-street" thus represents a jubilant 
 carnival : it is a conglomeration of forms, plain and pictur 
 esque, old and young, male and female jesting, laughing, 
 shouting, jostling awaiting the event of the day. 
 
 From time to time the crowd moves to and fro unwilling 
 ly, and as it were under protest ; then rapidly divides itself
 
 24 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 into parallel columns on each side of the street ; ana Jirough 
 this space rolls a chariot, with four glossy horses. It con 
 tains some old planter in his richest pourpoint. with his wife 
 and daughters blazing in silk and velvet and diamonds ; and 
 the driver is a portly and consequential negro, who, proud 
 of himself, his master, and his position, looks down with 
 aristocratic condescension on the " poor white folks." 
 
 As the chariot disappears in the direction of the palace 
 of the Governor, some richly clad gallant, mounted upon 
 his gayly-caparisoned thorough-bred, prances by in the same 
 direction ; and if he be handsome he occasions favorable re 
 marks from the damsels, whose heads are visible in the win 
 dows above. 
 
 He is succeeded by some country cart of rude pine board, 
 drawn by a solemn-looking donkey ; and as the old country 
 man and his wife bounce up and down, the heads at the 
 windows utter jests and laughter a taste for the grotesque 
 having characterized the maidens of that epoch, as it does 
 the damsels of to-day. 
 
 With the uproarious crowd mingle members of the House 
 of Burgesses, and many personages who seem to look with 
 a philosophic eye on the carnival. These do not laugh or 
 jest ; they wait ; they seek for the currents of popular opin 
 ion, and continue to gaze silently. 
 
 All at once^in the midst of the tumult, a bell is heard, 
 and this is followed by a shout. 
 
 Then a great undulation takes place in the mass; the 
 waves roll right and left, young girls are precipitated into 
 strangers' arms ; through the open space comes on a troop 
 of horsemen from the direction of the palace Lord Dun- 
 more's guards, who occupy barracks near at hand. 
 
 They ride vigorous horses, and are clad in the British 
 uniform, being, indeed, Englishmen. They disappear at the 
 western end of Gloucester street, followed by some mur 
 murs. 
 
 The crowd closes after them ; the bells continue to ring ; 
 the windows are more densely crowded ; urchins even
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 26 
 
 mount upon the old Magazine, and clasp the flag-staff bear 
 ing aloft the banner of St. George. A great shout tella 
 that the object of all thie excitement has entered the capital. 
 
 The confusion becomes now like Pandemonium. The 
 heads of young, girls are thrust to a dangerous distance from 
 the windows ; handkerchiefs are violently waved by these 
 splendor-loving youthful personages ; and the number of 
 .damsels, children, and all weaker characters who are pre 
 cipitated upon alien bosoms is more marked than ever. 
 
 But the end is accomplished ; the center of tne street is 
 left free. 
 
 A score of the guards, riding four abreast, precede the 
 cavalcade which we have seen stop a moment near the old 
 field school. As many follow it. 
 
 The first chariot contains the Countess of Dunmore, wifo 
 of his Excellency the Governor, with her daughters the La 
 dies Susan and Augusta. 
 
 The second is occupied by Lady Catherine and her broth 
 ers, the Honorable Alexander and John Murray. 
 
 The third contains Lord Fincastle, Captain Foy, the pri 
 vate secretary of his Excellency, and his wife. Captain 
 Foy looks forth calmly on the crowd his pale, quiet face 
 betrays nothing. 
 
 But the countess, her daughters and her sons, are plainly 
 gratified by their reception. The young ladies especially, 
 with their rosy and good-humored faces, seem far from in 
 different to the shouts of welcome which greet them. They 
 look out and smile, and raise their eyes to the fair faces at 
 the windows, or scan the crowd. 
 
 The crowd looks back amiably. It pays no attention to 
 Lord Fincastle, Captain Foy, or the sons of his Excellency. 
 They are accustomed to lords and honorables, and prefer 
 the smiling faces of the young ladies. 
 
 Thus the cortege passes along Gloucester street, accom 
 panied by the crowd which bears it on its way. The bells 
 continue to ring a band of music in the palace grounds 
 commences an inspiring march the chariots enter the great 
 
 a
 
 26 MISS BONNYBEt. 
 
 gateway, flanked as now by the two guard-houses and then 
 the Scottish lindens hide them from the eyes of the multi 
 tude. 
 Virginia has beheld her last viceregal " entrance."* 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOW BLOSSOM FAINTED,ANI> WHAT FO^LOWKIX 
 
 THE crowd does not at once disperse. It busies itself 
 looking at the chariots, at the fat gentleman on the palace 
 portico, at the musicians who blow away with puffed cheeks. 
 
 The Strident music has a less pleasing effect upon the 
 horses of the troop, who, ranged on each side of the great 
 gate, defend the passage against all but the chariots of the 
 " gentry." 
 
 The animals move uneasily, threatening every moment to 
 trample on the crowd, and their riders are evidently as ill 
 at ease. 
 
 This sentiment seems experienced, more than all, by their 
 commander. 
 
 He is a young man of twenty-four or five, wearing a rich 
 uniform, and a heavy saber. He curbs with a vigorous hand 
 his restive charger ; his dark eyebrows are knit into a heavy 
 frown. 
 
 More than once his animal has just escaped trampling on 
 some member of the crowd whose attention is attracted by 
 the efforts he plainly makes to subdue the horse ; but the 
 officer seems ill disposed to furnish an object for popular 
 comment. His patience all at once gives way anger over, 
 comes him and striking the animal violently on the head 
 with his gauutleted hand, he mutters something very much 
 like an imprecation. 
 
 The horse backs, then starts forward under the spur 
 
 * Historical Illustration^ No. L
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 27 
 
 driven violently into his side. At the same instant a cry 
 beneath the very feet of the charger is heard, and the 
 young man sees that a child has fallen under the trampling 
 hoofs. 
 
 A score of hands are stretched out as many exclama 
 tions heard but the young officer forestalls assistance. He 
 throws himself from the saddle, and raising the figure of the 
 child in his arms, asks anxiously if she is nurt. 
 
 " No sir I believe not," she falters. " I was * little 
 frightened I can stand I think, sir." 
 
 And Blossom for it is our little friend of the old field 
 school, separated from Paul by the crowd Blossom glided 
 from the encircling arm, and placed her feet upon the 
 ground. 
 
 Had not the young man supported her again, she would 
 have fallen. The frown deepened on his face, and some 
 thing like a growl issued from his lips. , 
 
 " Go !" he said, turning to the troop with an imperious 
 gesture, " Go ! you are disbanded !" 
 
 The troopers gladly obeyed. They quickly returned to 
 their barracks through the crowd, which made way for them, 
 one of them leading the young officer's horse. 
 
 As they disappeared he felt the slender form weigh heavily 
 upon his arm. A sudden pallor diffused itself over Blos 
 som's countenance ; the long lashes drooped upon the cheek, 
 and the weak head fell like a wounded bird's upon the young 
 man's breast. The child's knees bent beneath her, and she 
 fainted in his arms. 
 
 A glance told him all, and raising the light figure wholly 
 from the ground, he bore the child quickly beneath the lin 
 dens into the palace of the Governor. 
 
 A door was half open at the end of the hall, and perceiv 
 ing a vessel of water upon a sideboard, he hastened thither 
 and bathed the child's forehead in the cool liquid. 
 
 A slight tremor now ran through her frame, the color re 
 lumed to her cheeks, and with a deep sigh Blossom opened 
 her eyes.
 
 J* MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Ah I" exclaimed the officer, drawing a Jong breath of re 
 lief, " there 's your color back again, my little girl ! That 'a 
 welll You are not hurt, I hope. 'Tis but a poor pageant 
 that ends with injury to a child ; and I 'd much rather re 
 sign my commission than have it on my conscience !" 
 
 A species of haughty growl, accompanied by the rustle of 
 jilk on the opposite side of the apartment, attracted his at 
 tention as he spoke, and, turning round, the young officer 
 saw that he was in presence of Lord Dunmore and his 
 household, who had apparently been so much surprised by 
 his entrance as not to have been able either to speak or 
 move. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF HIS EXCELLENCY LORD DUNMORE. 
 
 LORD DmraoRE was clad on this occasion with great 
 plendor. His short and somewhat corpulent person had 
 apparently been decorated by his valet with extraordinary 
 care. 
 
 He wore a full dress silk stockings, gold embroidered 
 waistcoat, velvet surcoat, also embroidered, a bag wig, and 
 a profusion of ruffles. At his button hole fluttered an order 
 of nobility. 
 
 The red and somewhat coarse face did not prepossess 
 strangers in his lordship's favor. They seemed to feel that 
 this countenance must needs indicate a scheming and wholly 
 egotistical nature. And it is certain that reliable records 
 establish this view. Lord Dunmore was not proficient even 
 in intrigue. He bungled in the dark paths which he trod, 
 and stumbled. All his plans went ill. No one would rely 
 on him. More than once, when thrown in collision with the 
 growing spirit of liberty in the colonies, and its advocates 
 in the Burgesses, he had essayed to wheedle the members ;
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 29 
 
 and for this purpose had descended, as he conceived, to un 
 due familiarity. But this manner did net set well upon him. 
 Essentially unreliable and scheming by nature, he could not 
 conceal his character, and generally ended by disgusting 
 those whom he desired to conciliate. He was not wanting 
 in those social attentions which his predecessors from the 
 time of Berkeley had found so useful ; but the guest whom 
 he entertained generally went away distrusting his v.neacy 
 politeness, and doubting the reality and good faith of his 
 Excellency's protestations. 
 
 Lord Dunmore had little of that urbanity and cordial po 
 liteness which characterized his amiable predecessor, Francis 
 Fauquier ; he possessed none of the tranquil and well-bred 
 courtesy and ease of the justly popular Lord Botetourt, who 
 had coveted no other title than that of '* Virginia gentle 
 man." In Fauquier the planters of the colony could and 
 did easily pardon a mania for card playing and wine ; they 
 had not the same charity for Lord Dunmore's less amiable 
 weaknesses. While the counties of " Fauquier" and '* Bote 
 tourt" still remain, and will always, the county of "Dun- 
 more" had its name changed unanimously to "Shenan- 
 doah." 
 
 The people of Virginia at the period brought ugly charges 
 against his Excellency. They said that through his secret 
 agent, Conolly, he was embroiling the Virginians and Penn- 
 sylvanians about the boundary line, to divert attention from 
 the designs of the ministry, and dissipate the increasing 
 spirit of rebellion. They added that he had a league with 
 the savages, whom he tempted to make incursions on the 
 Virginia frontier,* and thus break the opposition to the 
 English Parliament by exhausting the colony's resources. 
 They finally declared that he was a traitor, inasmuch as he 
 attempted to betray Lewis into the hands of the enemy at 
 Point Pleasant. Colonel Bland charged his Excellency 
 with lying ; said he held " lewd and filthy orgies in bis pa.1 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. U.
 
 30 MISS EONNYBEL, 
 
 ace ;" and the events which attended the last mouths of hia 
 residence seem to support this view of his character. 
 
 His Excellency, indeed, was no favorite with the Virgin 
 ians, who pardon much if a man possesses refinement and 
 amiability. " Lord Dunmore," says Mr. Wirt, " was not a 
 man of popular manners ; he had nothing of the mildness, 
 the purity, the benevolence, and suavity of his predecessor. 
 On the contrary he is represented as having been rude and 
 offensive ; coarse in his figure, his countenance and his t'an- 
 ners." 
 
 That his Excellency was both cruel and cowardly, the 
 events which attended his flight from Williamsburg, and 
 his piratical ravages on the shores of the Chesapeake, will 
 prove abundantly ; defying all explanation or apology. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN WHICH HIS EXCELLENCY GETS THE BETTER OF A CHILD. 
 
 LORD DITNMOKE stood motionless in his rich dress, by the 
 window, and neither deigned to bow or speak, when the 
 young officer turned to him. 
 
 Fauquier would have been at his side with a smile 
 and a welcome. Dunmore stood still and raised his head 
 haughtily. 
 
 This lofty expression, however, seemed to produce very 
 little effect on the intruder. For some time now he had 
 been accustomed to excellencies and honorables. He placed 
 the child on a settee, and made the ladies a profound bow. 
 
 "Your Excellency will pardon my unceremonious en 
 trance," he said, coolly ; " there was no one to announce 
 me, and (his child had fainted." 
 
 " Your entrance was very natural, and quite pardonable, 
 air," said Lord Dunmore, with an expression of mingled 
 hauteur and condescension ; and then extending his hand
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 31 
 
 ceremoniously towards the young man, he added, " Lady 
 Dunraore, permit me to present to you, and my daughters, 
 Mr. St. John, lieutenant of my guards." 
 
 The officer bowed low again, but it was easy to see from 
 the slight movement of his proud lip that something in the 
 title thus bestowed upon him was displeasing. 
 
 Lady Dunmore was about to speak, and from the amiable 
 smile upon her countenance, to refer, doubtless, to the pleas 
 ant reception she had met with, and Mr. St. John's part 
 therein, when his Excellency forestalled such colloquy *>y 
 recalling attention to Blossom. 
 
 As he looked at the child there was as little evidence of 
 courtesy or amiability as in his address to Mr. St. John, 
 and he said, almost rudely 
 
 "Is this young person hurt, sir ? I confess I see no traces 
 of any accident, unless you call lassitude an accident." 
 
 Mr. St. John's brow clouded more and more; for under 
 the circumstances of the case, the tone of Lord Dunmore 
 was as much an insult to himself as to the child ; and the 
 young man did not seem to have been habituated to insult. 
 Before he could reply, however, the Governor turned away 
 from him to Blossom, and said, in the same careless and 
 rude tone : 
 
 " What happened to you ?" 
 
 " I fainted, sir," murmured the child, frightened at the 
 cold face and harsh voice, " in the crowd, sir." 
 
 " A mere trifle ! Where do you live in Williamsburg ?" 
 
 " No sir I came to see the procession, and " 
 
 " What ! you had the imprudence to come to town thus ! 
 Your parents show little sense in their government." 
 
 " Paul was with me," murmured Blossom " we go 
 to school at Uncle Jimmy's, not far from here, and our 
 house is not so far as that. I think I can walk home 
 now, sir!" 
 
 And anxious to get away from the forbidding presence of 
 her interlocutor, Blossom rose to her feet, and made a step 
 toward the door. Her strength, however, was unequal to
 
 i)2 MISS 
 
 the exertion, and she sank down again with an expression of 
 pain. 
 
 Mr. St. John, whose brow had assumed a darker and 
 darker cloud, as he stood listening to this conversation, 
 would have hastened to her, but he was forestalled by one 
 of the young ladies, who rose quickly, and in a moment was 
 at the child's side. It was the Lady Augusta wh/Mu Blos 
 som had met at the old school. 
 
 "Are you much hurt, Blossom?" she said, kindly ?ud 
 softly ; " don't try to walk yet." 
 
 The child murmured something which was inaudible. 
 
 " Are you not sick ?" asked the young lady, in the same 
 kind voice. 
 
 " No ma'am," faltered Blossom. 
 
 " I'm afraid you are," said the young lady, gazing at the 
 child with tender pity ; " you must let his lordship send you 
 home in his chariot." 
 
 " In his chariot, ma'am ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Blossom murmured that she could walk ; she was very 
 much obliged for her kindness ; then the child paused, her 
 voice dying away in her throat. 
 
 The young lady had looked at her so kindly, and held 
 the small hand so lovingly in her own, that Blossom, in her 
 weak condition, had been too much affected to speak. 
 
 "Come, Lady Augusta," said Lord Dunmore, coldly, "let 
 us prepare to receive the guests in the drawing-room. As 
 for this child " 
 
 " Yes, yes, your lordship," said the young lady submis 
 sively and hurriedly, and turning to the child she said: 
 
 " Where do you live ?** 
 
 " Just out of town, ma'am." 
 
 " What is your name ?" 
 
 " Beatrice, ma'am but they call me Blossom." 
 
 "Oh I know," said the young lady, "but your other 
 name ?** 
 
 u Beatrice Waters, ma'am.**
 
 MISS BONNYBKL. 33 
 
 Lord Dunmore, who had turned stiffly away, 
 round as he heard this name. 
 
 " Did you say Waters ?" he asked curtly. 
 
 "Yes, sir," murmured Blossom. 
 
 " What Waters ?" 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 " I asked you what was the Christian name of you f 
 ther." 
 
 " Charles, sir he is Mr. Charles Waters." 
 
 His Excellency's brow clouded over, and he frowned. 
 
 " Lady Augusta," he said, " do you know who you are 
 fondling ?'' 
 
 The young lady turned a frightened look upon her father, 
 and murmured some inaudible words. 
 
 " You are bestowing your caresses upon the daughter of 
 the most dangerous yes ! the blackest-hearted rebel in this 
 colony! A man," added Lord Dunmore, with growing 
 choler, " who is a firebrand of sedition, and who will swing 
 from the gallows if my authority lasts, and I lay hands on 
 him ! It is his offspring that my daughter, madame, is be 
 stowing her attentions upon !" 
 
 His Excellency was mastered by one of those sudden fits 
 of anger to which he was constitutionally subject. His 
 countenance reddened, and became puffed up ; the vein in 
 his forehead was swollen, and his small keen eyes flashed, 
 as he spoke in his tone of disdainful roughness and anger. 
 
 His family were accustomed to humor him when these fits 
 seized upon him ; and by submitting, to thus divert and 
 dissipate those domestic thunderbolts of his lordship. 
 
 One person present, however, did not seem to have been 
 trained to this species of deference. Mr. St. John had ap 
 parently been in an ill-humor all day ; moreover, he seemed 
 to be accustomed, himself, to courtesy at the very least, 
 and the utter want of ceremony on the part of his lordship, 
 added to the unfeeling insults directed toward his younfj 
 protegee, produced in Mr. St. John's countenance an ex 
 pression of impetuous anger and no little disdain.
 
 34 ,' MISS 
 
 "Perhaps your lordship is mistaken in the individual 
 who is this child's father," he now said, with cold courtesy. 
 
 'Impossible, sir! I'm not mistaken!" replied his Excel 
 lency, surveying the young man with a look which seemed 
 to ask if he had the presumption to address him in that 
 tone. 
 
 Mr. St. John's brow darkened more and more. 
 
 " At least this girl does not resemble a very dangerous 
 rebel," he said, with an imperceptible shade of sarcasm in 
 his voice, which made the Governor's cheek flush with 
 rage. 
 
 " Mr. St. John !" he said. 
 
 " Your Excellency," was the cold reply. 
 
 "This is a singular colloquy! Your meaning, if you 
 please, in reading me a lecture, sir !" 
 
 "I read no lecture to your lordship," replied the young 
 man, with a haughty look, and without lowering his eyes ; 
 " my meaning simply is, that whatever may be the charac 
 ter of this child's father his dangerous character your 
 lordship can't possibly be afraid of the child herself." 
 
 For a moment his Excellency's countenance resembled 
 a thunder-cloud from which a flash of lightning was about 
 to dart. The vein in his forehead turned black, and his 
 frame trembled with anger. But his prudence suddenly 
 came to control him ; he seemed to feel the bad policy of 
 a quarrel with Mr. St. John ; and passing from rage to hau 
 teur, he endeavored to speak in a tone of insulted dignity. 
 
 "I am not in the habit of entering into debates with 
 young men, sir," he said, "and I must beg that this dis 
 cussion may here end. I am sorry to say, Mr. St. John, 
 that I find you, like other gentlemen of this colony, inclined 
 I to oppose my opinions and wishes, as well as strangely ne 
 glectful of that ceremony and respect which are due to 
 myself, as a peer of the realm and the representative of his 
 . majesty ! I pass over this occasion, sir, and trust that you 
 -will: perceive the necessity of not holding arguments with 
 me iu future, especially in the presence of my family."
 
 MISS BONNYP3L. 35 
 
 " I did not wish to argue with youi lordship ; you ques 
 tioned me I replied," said the young man, with internal 
 rage, but outwardly as cold as ice. " If any thing which I 
 have said, has wounded the feelings of your lordship's 
 family, I most humbly pray them to pardon me." 
 
 " Enough, sir," returned the Governor, in no degree mol 
 lified, if any thing, more haughtily than before ; " the Coun- 
 fress of Dunmore and my daughters are not accustomed to 
 have their feelings wounded by everybody; you may ':e at 
 rest upon that score, sir. Now let this conversation end." 
 
 *' I ask nothing more !" replied Mr. St. John, flushing 
 with anger and disdain at the tone of the Governor. 
 
 " I will see that this young person is conveyed home if 
 the man Waters does not conceal his abode but I certainly 
 shall not send my chariot and servants to the house of a 
 traitor !" 
 
 " Your Excellency need put yourself to no trouble my 
 own carriage is at hand, and I take charge of the child." 
 
 " Do so, sir ; and permit me to congratulate you upon 
 making the friendly acquaintance of a treason-monger! It 
 is quite in character to allow his helpless daughter to wan- 
 der about unprotected. A traitor makes a heartless father, 
 and a bad man.*' 
 
 Before Mr. St. John could speak, another voice was heard 
 it was Blossom's. The child had listened wi^h pale 
 cheeks, and a frightened look, to the fiery colloquy, and 
 had not dared to open her lips. But now her father was 
 insulted more grossly than before ; his very affection for her 
 was called in question ; the little heart boiled over with pain 
 and anguish ; and clasping her hands Blossom cried : 
 
 "Oh no, sir ! indeed, indeed papa 'snot bad! He loves 
 me deaily, and he did n't know I came, sir." 
 
 " Enough of your childish twaddle !" said Dunmore con 
 temptuously. " I 'm not here to be wearied by it. I '11 
 make your rebel father whine, too, oefore I have done 
 with him !" 
 
 " Oh me "' sobbed Blossom, piease let me go, sir 1
 
 1 6 MISS fcONHYBEL* 
 
 I do not feel well. I ought not to stay anl hear papa 
 abused." 
 
 " Go, then !" 
 
 Blossom rose quickly, with a flood of tears, ana turned to 
 ward the door. But again her strength failed her ; she 
 turned deadly pale as her bruised foot touched the carpet, 
 and fell back sobbing. 
 
 The arma of Mr. St. John received her, and thus standing, 
 with pale face and fiery eyes bent on the Governor, his in 
 dignation and disdain were imperial. 
 
 He would have spoken, but his pale lips refused their 
 office. With a single look of defiance at his Excellency, the 
 young man raised the form of the child completely in hia 
 arms, and left the apartment and the palace. 
 
 He passed rapidly with the sobbing girl along the graveled 
 walk beneath the lindens, and issued from the great gate, 
 Without pausing, he strode along Gloucester street, fol 
 lowed by wondering eyes, and soon reached the Raleigh 
 Tavern. 
 
 In fifteen minutes a handsome chariot, with four splendid 
 bay horses, stood before the door, and Mr. St. John deposited 
 the child in the vehicle. Her delicate form sunk into the 
 luxurious velvet seat as into a bed of down, and Mr. St. 
 John took his place by her side. He then gave an order V 
 the negro driver, and the chariot proceeded slowly out oi 
 the town in a westerly direction. 
 
 The young man had made but one allusion to the scene 
 at the palace ; uttered but one word ; that word was 
 
 " Vulgarian !" 
 
 It was Mr. St. John's honest opinion of his Excellency 
 Lord Dunmore. 
 
 The evening was a lovely one, and the sun had sunk be- 
 yond the belt of forests, leaving the sky rosy and brilliant, 
 and swimming in a gentle mist. The birds sang merrily, 
 and the woodland road unwound itself like a ribbon before 
 them as they penetrated into the leafy depths of the for 
 est.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 37 
 
 The anger and disdain of Mr. St. John slowly disappeared, 
 and he seemed to enjoy the freshness ad innocence of his 
 little companion. At last they reached Blossom's abode. 
 It was a small cottage, fronting south, and had about it an 
 air of home comfort which was very attractive. The tender 
 foliage of May appeared to wreathe the small portico, the 
 drooping eaves, and even the old chimneys ; and a thousand 
 flowers, chiefly early roses, studded the diminutive lawn, 
 and filled the warm air of evening with their fragrance. 
 
 Blossom had indeed told her companion that the cottage 
 was called " Roseland," and the name was perfectly appro 
 priate. 
 
 On the threshold was no less a personage than Mr. Paul, 
 in an attitude of profound despair. He had just returned 
 to the cottage, hoping to find his companion, from whom he 
 had been separated in the crowd, and not finding her was 
 about to go back to the town, he declared, and find her or 
 perish in the attempt. That was happily unnecessary, St. 
 John said, with a smile ; and so, with mutual good will, the 
 young man and the children parted. 
 
 St. John returned in his chariot to Williamsburg. 
 
 The town was brilliantly illuminated. From every win 
 dow along the main thoroughfare lights blazed in honor of 
 his Excellency and his family.* The crowd of revelers was 
 greater than ever, and the palace of the Governor was one 
 mass of light more especially the great drawing-room, 
 where, under the globe lamps, and fronting the portraits of 
 the king and queen, the amiable countess, supported by 
 her daughters, received the congratulations of the gentry 
 of the colony upon her reunion with his Excellency. 
 
 Dismissing his chariot, Mr. St. John went and gazed for 
 some moments at the brilliant front of the palace. 
 
 " The silly masquerade may go on its way without my 
 assistance," he muttered, coldly. " I '11 not go there and 
 bow and simper when his lordship's put a slight on me 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. III.
 
 AS MISS BONNYBEL, 
 
 insulted me! Hang him! let the rest pay .him their ft-. 
 ? pects I won't, and there 's an end on 't." 
 
 With these words Mr. St. John retraced his steps to tha 
 Raleigh Tavern, and sitting down, demanded a bottle of 
 wine and some biscuits. 
 
 Having finished his repast, he went out, passed down 
 Gloucester street, and entered a house, whose second floor 
 he occupied. Throwing himself upon a lounge, he tossed his 
 hat and sword on the floor, and looked through the window 
 
 " I 'm the only one who do n't illuminate," he said. " W^ell 
 so let it be." 
 
 And leaning back, he closed his eyes meditated, and 
 from meditation glided into sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE GREAT GRANDSON OP POCAHONTAS. 
 
 HENRY ST. JOHN was the only son of Colonel John St. 
 John, of " Flower of Hundreds," in the county of Prince 
 George. This John was himself the only son of Henry 
 St. John, Esquire, called " King Harry," who having run 
 through a fine estate in Hertfordshire, England, came to 
 Virginia about the time of Bacon's rebellion, in which he 
 took part against the government, but, by good luck, es 
 caped with the payment of a heavy fine. He married, the 
 second time his first wife, who was a Miss Pendleton, hav 
 ing died without issue Miss Virginia Rolfe, daughter of 
 Thomas Rolfe, Esquire, the only son of Pocahontas, daughter 
 of Powhatan, King of Virginia, whose empire stretched from 
 Florida to the great lakes, and from the Atlantic to the 
 Mississippi. 
 
 The Mr. Henry St. John of our narrative was, therefore, 
 the lineal descendant of Pocahontas. 
 
 We have little genius or fondness for t"ne details of pedi
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 3fc 
 
 gree, but surely 't is a source of noble pride to be descended 
 from our dear Virginia maiden. Royalty and nobility are 
 but vulgar things, and the boast of Norman blood is but 
 the child's fondness for the rattle of a toy. The grace of 
 the fashion of it perisheth its glorious beauty is a fading 
 flower only the shadow of a shadow stays. It is different 
 in the case of the descendants of our little queen of the 
 West. Her patent of nobility was won beneath the war 
 club raised above the head of a poor captive ; her royihy 
 was the royalty of a noble heart, of a great and pure cievo- 
 tion to the cause of love and mercy. 
 
 So writes the good author of these manuscripts. Let us 
 pass, however, to the young gentleman who had in his veins 
 the blood of this new Indian royalty. 
 
 As he sleeps, in the flood of light from the tall silver can 
 dlesticks, it is not difficult to fancy, from the wild grace of 
 his attitude, and the character of his face, that something of 
 his origin reveals itself. 
 
 The face is a handsome one, with a clear brown tint, al 
 most that of a brunette, and the hair is dark and waving. 
 The rounded and prominent chin indicates resolution, and 
 the curve of the lips, which possess great mobility, as plainly 
 show that the young man is subject to strong passions. In 
 the scene with the Governor we have observed the quick 
 shades of anger and resentment only ; but now this has quite 
 disappeared, and, sleeping like a placid infant, all the fea 
 tures of the face have subsided into softness and repose. In 
 his dreams the young man smiles, and the smile is one of 
 great sweetness. 
 
 Leaving to the course of the narrative any further indi 
 cations of Mr. Henry St. John's peculiarities, we proceed 
 to relate that, at the end of an hour, he was waked by a 
 knock at the door, which was followed by the entrance of a 
 young man clad in the height of the fashion. Indeed, it 
 might almost be said that this young gentleman's costume 
 was one mass of lace and embroidery. The drop curls of 
 his flaxen peruke were glossy with perfumed powder^ a
 
 40 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 little 1 dress sword just lifted up the skirt of his richly deco 
 rated pourpoint of Mecklenburg silk, and his aristocratic 
 hands were covered with the finest point de Venise. Mr. 
 Tom Alston for that was the name of the worthy pre 
 sented a mixture of the fop and the philosopher in his dress 
 and manner, and seemed to have stepped carelessly from the 
 frame of one of Vandyke's pictures. 
 
 He extended two fingers to his friend and sat down. 
 
 " Not sleeping, Harry, my boy ?" he said. " Why not at 
 the Governor's ?" 
 
 " I preferred staying away. Did you go ?" 
 
 " Yes a crowd of nice girls, and refreshments of a pleas 
 ing description." 
 
 " Very well but I do n't regret my absence," said Mr. 
 St. John ; " the fact is, Tom, I 'm tired of his lordship, and 
 think I'll resign my commission. I 'm no man's servant, and 
 I won't be his Excellency's." 
 
 " Eh ? His servant ?" 
 
 " Yes. I am absolutely nothing more. There, let us leave 
 the subject, or I 'm sure to burst forth into useless expletives.'* 
 
 " Expletives ?" said Mr. Alston, tranquilly. " Come, tell 
 me all about it. I see that something has occurred, and 
 I 'm really dying to hear a bit of scandal absolutely none 
 for a whole week. Do proceed, Harry, my boy, and narrate 
 from the beginning, with all the orations, like that tiresome 
 old Thucydides." 
 
 Mr. St. John was silent for a moment, and then said : 
 
 " I do n't care if I do, Tom. I feel as if the historic muse 
 would come at my call, and I '11 try her. Well, here goes, 
 but you are not to yawn at my apologue." 
 
 "By no means," said Mr. Alston, with an air of reproach. 
 " Proceed, my friend." 
 
 " Well, you must know that there formerly resided in a 
 country called Virginia a young man called Harry St. John. 
 You understand so far ?" 
 
 ' Yes." 
 
 " Well, this young man, who had the niisfo tune to logo
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 41 
 
 Iiis parents in his childhood, was sole heir to an estate called 
 the ' Flower of Hundreds,' upon which estate there was a 
 big old house, full of deer antlers, fine furniture, tall mirrors, 
 portraits of old fellows in periwigs, and dames in odd-look 
 ing dresses ; and in the stables were as fine a collection of 
 thorough-breds, 'twas said, as any in the colony. Every 
 thing else was ample and comfortable, and it was reasonable 
 for the youngster to expect a life of ease and satisfaction 
 was it not ? He might marry his cousin, grow fat, irosido 
 at the county court, and be a respectable vestrymai of" the 
 parish. There were plenty of foxes on his lands, and a quar 
 relsome neighbor near at hand, with whom he might, at any 
 moment, plunge into a good comfortable lawsuit. In a single 
 word, all the elements of human happiness were at the young 
 fellow's disposal, and he had only to ' enter and enjoy,' as 
 the lawyers say." 
 
 " He was a lucky fellow, my boy. I should like to know 
 him," said Mr. Alston. 
 
 " As to the luck, there's the question,*' continued Mr. St. 
 John, "for nature had put a nail in the young man's shoe 
 restlessness. He longed for something more excititig than 
 plantation life. Having left college, he came into his prop 
 erty, carefully administered by his excellent uncle, Colonel 
 Vane ; but very soon he began to grow dissatisfied. You 
 see, the couches were too soft, the beds were too large, the 
 wines were too good, and the fields which stretched far away 
 to the horizon from the portico of the old hall, were de 
 ficient in rugged beauty and picturesqneness, such as the 
 mountains yield. In a word, the youthful heir was tired of 
 the insipidity of farm lite, and longed for something like 
 adventure, having a private impression of his own that the 
 clash of swords and the whistling of bullets would make 
 merrier music than the winds in the trees, or the waves lap 
 ping on the banks of the river." 
 
 "Odd," observed Mr. Alston, "but I think I under- 
 land." 
 
 "Well," proceeded Mr. ^t. John, "this young
 
 42 MISS BON-NYBEL. 
 
 struggled with his passion for two or three yeaic, but at th<5 
 end of that time his predilection got the better of him. A 
 nobleman came to be Governor of the country he lived in 
 a vulgar fellow named Dunmore." 
 
 " Oh ! a vulgar fellow do you say ? But proceed, my 
 friend." 
 
 " You '11 see before I end, if I am wrong in my character 
 ization, Tom," continued Mr. St. John. ""We!I, as I said, 
 ^his man, Danmore, came to the country in question, called 
 Virginia, and a great talk was made about his excellence 
 and greatness. He professed to be most solicitous about 
 Virginia, and turned his attention especially to repelling the 
 attacks of savages upon the western frontier. He said he 
 wished the inhabitants to hold themselves in readiness to 
 march under his command, and as a proof of his intention 
 to act vigorously, he brought with him some foreign sol 
 diers, who would serve as a nucleus for the proposed forces. 
 Exception was, however, taken by some persons to the 
 presence of this body of men, and in order to allay the dis 
 quiet, his Excellency sought for a Virginian who should be 
 placed, as it were, in their front rank, to disarm this senti 
 ment. Here commenced the connection of Mr. St. John 
 with his Excellency. Introduced to him as one of the large 
 landed proprietors of the colony, his Excellency treated him 
 with much politeness, and finally requested private inter 
 views. Would Mr. St. John accept the commission of 
 lieutenant, commanding, for the present, this nucleus? 
 they would ere long march to the frontier, and much glory 
 would ensue. Do you understand ?" 
 
 His friend nodded. 
 
 " The aforesaid Mr. St. John was then twenty-three or 
 so, and had greater thirst for adventure than ever. Would 
 he accept ? Yes, most willingly. No sooner said than done 
 He leaves his estate, comes to the capital, establishes himself 
 therein as becomes a soldier, and gloriously parades on horse- 
 hack, in fine uniform, at the head of his troops. He enter 
 into military affairs with ardor and enthusiasm he trains
 
 MlsS MXXSVBEL. 43 
 
 his men in quick evolutions, in bush fighting, in rapid dis 
 charge of pistols, and in approved cut and thrust with the 
 saber. He sees that their arms are as brilliant as silver ; 
 their uniform and entire equipments perfect. He calls on 
 his Excellency every day to inquire for news from the fron 
 tier, and receiving comforting answers, goes away twirling 
 his mustaches, his sword clanking against his boots, his head 
 full of martial glory, and conscious of the admiration oi 
 every urchin who beholds him." 
 
 " Of none of the girls eh, my boy ?" inquired Mr. Al 
 ston. 
 
 " Doubtless, for you know the gentler sex admire the sol 
 dier, at least some of them. But to proceed. The young 
 man, you see, is ready, impatient ; but somehow the order 
 to march is delayed, his Excellency's excuses are repeated, 
 the young fellow's assiduity finally seems distasteful. More 
 over, the troops he commands seem permanently stationed 
 in guard houses, Hanking his lordship's gate they attend 
 solely on his lordship's person they ride behind his coach, 
 and are called by him, " My Guards." His lordship is a 
 king, the young lieutenant a satrap of the provinces, and, 
 contrary to the habit of Virginians, he has become an upper 
 servant. Can you wonder that the result is distaste upon 
 his part ; that he begins to think his Excellency insincere ? 
 He finally concludes that he is tricked, and it is just at this 
 moment that he receives orders to marshal " My Guards," 
 and go and receive the royal family on their entrance, which 
 event occurred this morning. Well, he obeyed. They were 
 ladies, and he was far from objecting to take part in the 
 pageantry. But he found in this cortege other characters 
 lords, honorables, captains, drivers, footmen, outriders 
 it was his place to escort them all. He did do it. He 
 mounted guard at the palace gate even, to keep the ill-bied 
 Virginians at their proper distance. He succeeded. Well, 
 now for the conclusion. The young soldier rode a spirited 
 horse ; the music of a band annoyed him, the animal became 
 restive, and the result was the overthrow of a child, whp
 
 44 Vo 
 
 rolled beneath his feet, and, when the you-ig man raised 
 her, fainted away. He went to the nearest point for some 
 cold water, procured it in the palace, and for presuming to 
 so intrude was insulted by his Excellency. You see his 
 lordship was an English nobleman, and the young man was 
 only a Virginia gentleman. Not only the young man him 
 self was outraged, but the child who accompanied him waa 
 grossly insulted and wounded ! and Mr. Lieutenant St. John 
 was requested to retire and make way for his betters! Curse 
 mel if the man's one particle of a gentleman, and I'll throw 
 his commission back in his face !" cried St. John, flushing, 
 and thus breaking forth with long-gathering indignation. 
 
 Mr. Alston was silent for some moments, apparently mus 
 ing tranquilly upon the history to which he had just listened. 
 At last he said : 
 
 " Throw it back, Harry ! what's the use ? Do n't take the 
 trouble rather come with me to my house of ' Moorefield,' 
 where I will try and entertain you, though this peruke from 
 Mr. George Lafong's, who calls himself a wigmaker, is 
 making me silent and melancholy. Come, Harry, my boy, 
 come with me." 
 
 "No, Tom," said his friend, "I'll tell his lordship my 
 candid opinion of him, if he arrests me the next moment. 
 Hang him ! he sha'n't tread on me, if he is a tyrant !" 
 
 And Mr. St. John scowled in imagination at Lord Dun- 
 more, with a sincerity that was very striking. 
 
 " You won't go to Moorefield ?" said Mr. Alston, smiling ; 
 " but that's just the way you always treat me. May I make 
 a second suggestion, however, Harry ? Go to Vanely." 
 
 Mr. St. John turned his head quickly, and looked at his 
 friend. As he encountered Mr. Alston's eyes and smilo, 
 something almost like a blush diffused itself over his cheek. 
 
 " Ah ! ah !" said Mr. Alston, laughing, " there's a fine 
 historian ! You make a splendid historic narrative, and you 
 leave out the most striking event in the life of your hero ! 
 You carefully forget to mention that this Vj'ginia Achilles 
 had, g, Briseia this Hector of Prince George county, a pros*
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 45 
 
 pective Andromache and that me nodding plume of war 
 was put on to flash in the eyes of somebody !" 
 
 Mr. St. John blushed unmistakably this time, and then 
 Imrst out laughing. 
 
 " Well if I did, Tom," he said, ' what s tfce odds ? She a 
 tlie loveliest girl in the colony." 
 
 " Perhaps ! But why not go and try your luck, then ?" 
 
 Mr. St. John sighed. 
 
 " I 'm afraid it 's no use," he said ; " she loves me, but un 
 fortunately she's not in love with me." 
 
 " A profoundly philosophical distinction ; but did you 
 never hear the Spanish proverb, ' Patience, and shuffle the 
 cards ? Now the cards are at ' Vanely ;' leave this abode of 
 royalty with me, forget his Excellency, and go see Dulcinea." 
 
 Mr. St. John pondered, and from the varying color of his 
 tell-tale cheek, it was plain what he was thinking of. 
 
 " Well," he said at last, " I '11 do so, Tom. I '11 follow the 
 advice scratched on the wall yonder, with the odd name, Sir 
 Asinus to it 'The duty of a subject is submission? Yes, 
 I '11 leave this wretched mimic court, and go to Vanely, pro 
 vided you stay all night and go with me." 
 
 " Done," said Mr. Alston, " and now let us have a game 
 of tric-trac." 
 
 " Willingly," Mr. St. John replied, " and my first stake 
 shall be these tawdry epaulets of gold thread against six 
 pence the value I attach to them !" 
 
 Cards and wine were quickly brought by a servant in 
 waiting, and the young men commenced playing. 
 
 Two hours afterwards they were sound asleep, and an 
 attentive listener might have heard the lieutenant of his Ex 
 cellency's guards murmur the name of a woman of 
 he seemed to be dreaming.
 
 44 MiGS BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONSPIRACY. 
 
 WE have glanced at the scenes of the day on whiA, amid 
 the glare of sunlight, and the noisy plaudits of the crowd, 
 the Countess of Dunmore entered grandly the old capital. 
 
 We shall now pass to the night world ; to a few scenes 
 which concealed themselves beneath the silence and gloom. 
 
 The lights in the city of Williamsburg had one by one 
 disappeared, as lord and lady, noble and commoner sought 
 their pillows ; all the noises of evening and night had long 
 since died away, and a gloomy silence, only interrupted from 
 time to time by the low muttering of distant thunder, 
 reigned over the ancient town. 
 
 There was one exception, however, to this total darkness. 
 From the lofty window of a tall mansion which rose like an 
 attenuated ghost above the surrounding roofs, a faint glim 
 mer, like a star, just dispelled the gloom, and even this much 
 light seemed to escape by accident through the chinks of 
 the carefully closed oaken shutters. 
 
 Let us ascend the precipitous and winding stair-way of 
 the half-deserted mansion, and opening the door of the turret- 
 like chamber, endeavor to discover what business is thus 
 being transacted under the jealous vail of silence and dark 
 ness. 
 
 The apartment is destitute of all ornament, the furniture 
 consisting only of a long table, a few rough chairs, and some 
 shelves filled with old volumes and papers. It has two oc 
 cupants. The first is a rough-looking man, covered with 
 dust like a courier after a long journey, who is slumbering 
 heavily upon a bear skin thrown down in one corner. The 
 other inmate of the room sits at the table writing rapidly 
 two loaded pistols lying within reach of his hand. 
 
 He is a man of middle age, clad in a suit of dark cloth, 
 iifTordingr no indication of his character or station. In to
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 47 
 
 face and form of this person, however, there is more to at 
 tract attention. 
 
 The countenance of the stranger is one of those which, 
 once seen, haunts the memory. He has not passed middle 
 age, apparently, but the thin brown locks around his broad 
 forehead are sprinkled with gray ; labor or care has furrowed 
 deep lines from temple to temple, and a slight stoop in the 
 neck communicates to the general carriage that air of intense 
 meditation which characterizes profound thinkers, or those 
 upon whom is thrown responsibility of the most critical 
 character. Covered with the pallor of care or exhausting 
 toil, with clear-cut and resolute features, eyes burning with 
 a gloomy flame beneath bushy brows, and lips set sternly 
 with an expression of iron will, every thing in the face of 
 the stranger indicated an organization of the largest strength, 
 and an intellectual vigor which no obstacle could daunt. 
 
 His thin muscular fingers traversed the paper for an hour 
 without pausing scarcely, and then, as he reached the end, 
 the stranger laid down his pen, and leaned back in his 
 leather chair. 
 
 " Why, I grow old 1" he murmured. " This writing for 
 a day and a night only, begins to fatigue me. *T is no 
 matter." 
 
 And without further words he set about folding the writ 
 ten sheets. They were then enveloped in stout brown pa 
 per, corded, and securely waxed. Upon this envelope was 
 written simply 
 
 " To Mr. Samuel Adams, 
 
 " At Boston, in the Province of 
 
 " Massachusetts." 
 
 A word awoke the sleeper, who rose quickly and stood 
 at the stranger's side. Few words were exchanged ; the 
 two men seemed to understand each other, and the stranger 
 gave his directions in a brief low tone, to which the courier 
 replied by a slight movement of the head only. 
 
 " This to the town of Baltimore," said the stranger, tak-
 
 tg MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 ing n dispatch similar to the one lie had just rinished " yort 
 know the house. This, to Philadelphia guard it carefully. 
 This, to the port of New York as quickly as possible. 
 Have you enough money ?" 
 
 The courier laid his leather purse on the table, and the 
 stranger examined its contents. 
 
 " 'Tis enough, unless your horse fails, but that must not 
 happen. Here is more gold, for which you will sign a re 
 ceipt." 
 
 The receipt was written, signed by the courier, and de 
 posited in a drawer with a number of others. 
 
 " Go at once now, and proceed cautiously as you leave 
 the town. The patrol is abroad." 
 
 " Yes, your honor ; never fear me. My service to you, 
 and good times to the cause." 
 
 The stranger returned the salute, and the courier disap 
 peared. In a few moments his horse's hoofs were heard as 
 he cautiously proceeded along Gloucester street, and the 
 stranger who watched the retreating shadow from his win 
 dow, drew a long breath of satisfaction. 
 
 " Now for the rest," he said, and leaning against one of 
 the panels of the oaken wainscot, he touched the spring of 
 a secret closet, which flew open. From this aperture he 
 took a bundle of letters, which he placed in his bosom. He 
 then rapidly returned to the table, secured the two pistols 
 in his belt, and throwing a cloak over his shoulders, put out 
 the light, and descended to the street. 
 
 The moon was just rising through a bank of threatening 
 clouds, which at one moment obscured the red orb, then 
 swept onward and permitted the full light to shine. No 
 wayfarer was visible upon the silent and deserted street, 
 and an expression of satisfaction came again to the features 
 of the stranger. 
 
 He wrapped his cloak more closely around him, and pass 
 ing along in the shadow of the houses, stopped, at the end 
 of ten minutes, before a low building, into the basement or 
 ril.her cellar of which he descended by a flight of precipit-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. _ 40 
 
 ous steps. All was dark, but tho stranger proceeded with 
 out stopping alon the damp passage way, and struck quickly 
 thrice, then, after a pause, once again, upon an iron-bound 
 door. A boy opened the door, and he entered. 
 
 Two men were engaged at a printing table striking off, 
 by means of a " deer's foot" and mallet, copies of a species 
 of circular. Upon one end of the table lay a pile of these 
 printed sheets, still damp, which every moment received a 
 new addition from the cautious labors of the printers. 
 
 A masonic movement of the head was the sole recognition 
 which passed. To the stranger's brief question of the num 
 ber of copies printed, the reply was, " two hundred." 
 
 " That is enough for the present moment," he said ; " fold 
 them securely." 
 
 This was done rapidly, and with great skill, and in five 
 minutes the stranger stood again in the street. He pro 
 ceeded, as cautiously as before, on his return to the building 
 from which he had issued, stopping for a moment in the 
 shadow of one of the houses to let two of the Governor's 
 guardsmen in uniform go by. 
 
 They passed within three feet of the silent figure, jesting 
 roughly, their sabers rattling against their huge horseman's 
 boots. The figures finally disappeared at the corner of Palace 
 street, and the solitary man hastened onward, keeping, as 
 before, in the shadow. 
 
 He soon reached the tall house from which he had dis 
 patched the courier to the northern provinces, and, opening 
 a narrow gate, disappeared. Behind the building, in the 
 deep shadow, a horse awaited him, and, mounting, he issued 
 forth and proceeded cautiously in a westerly direction, keep 
 ing as much as possible in the darkness. 
 
 He reached in safety the last house of the town, the mut 
 tering over head nearly drowning the noise of his horse's 
 hoofs, and was about to issue into the country, when, as he 
 came opposite the door of this house, a party of the Gov 
 ernor's patrol, who had been drinking in the ordinary, chal 
 lenged him and commanded him to halt. The stranger's
 
 50 MTSS BONNYBEL. 
 
 reply was the spur in his horse's side, which made the animal 
 bound ten feet. 
 
 A second and louder challenge was instantly followed by 
 the quick report of a carbine, and a ball passed through the 
 horseman's cloak between his side and his bridle hand. 
 With an unconscious movement as rapid as lightning he 
 drew one of his pistols, cocked it, and leveled it, with 
 flashing eyes, at his assailants. 
 
 He did not discharge it, however ; quickly replacing it in 
 his belt, he muttered, "Useless !" and put spur to his horse. 
 Before a second carbine could be brought to the shoulder, 
 the figures of the stranger and his flying animal had disap 
 peared like shadows under the gloomy foliage of the great 
 woods. Without checking his horse, and with the air of a 
 man who knows the road as well by night as by clay, the 
 stranger went on rapidly, penetrating deeper and deeper 
 into the forest, whose heavy boughs moaned in the wind. 
 
 At the end of half an hour's rapid riding, he came to a 
 sort of glade in the woods, and as he emerged from the 
 dense shadow the moon burst forth from a black cloud, and 
 poured a flood of yellow light upon the open space. Be 
 neath a huge oak, a confused mass of men and horses re 
 vealed itself, and the stranger was challenged a second time. 
 
 " Good !" he said with satisfaction ; " you are watchful, 
 friend. Wake your comrades ; 't is time for them to be in 
 the saddle." 
 
 In five minutes as many men were mounted and awaiting 
 silently their directions. The stranger drew from his breast 
 the package which he had taken from the wainscotting. 
 
 " West Augusta," he said, briefly. 
 
 One of the horsemen silently rode up and took the dis 
 patch held out to him. 
 
 " Frederick," continued the stranger. 
 
 A second horseman came and took this letter as the othet 
 bad done. In the same manner dispatches addressed " Fair 
 fax," " Orange," " Culpepper," " Westmoreland," " Bote- 
 touit," " Essex," "Lancaster," "Accomac," and to other coun
 
 MISS BOtfNYBEL. 51 
 
 ties, were delivered in turn, one courier having charge of all 
 lying upon his route. The entire province of Virginia, north 
 of the James, was thus apportioned out to these five men, who 
 seemed to understand perfectly what was expected of them. 
 
 " Friends," said the stranger, wrapping his cloak around 
 him as he delivered the last dispatch, " I need not tell you 
 to be cautious in the carriage and delivery of these missives. 
 You know their importance, and every day the times grow 
 more dangerous, the encroachments of the government up 
 on private rights more daring. I do not conceal thai the 
 dispatches you have received contain treason. Carry them 
 to his Excellency Lord Dunmore, and I will hang on Tower 
 Hill, if I 'm taken. You will be rewarded richly, friends. 
 Enough ! let us now go to our work !" 
 
 And making a salute with his hand, the stranger was sa 
 luted in turn by the party of men, who, only replying by an 
 indistinct murmur, diverged upon their various routes.* 
 
 The solitary horseman retraced rapidly the road by which 
 he had come, for the space of a mile ; then taking a bridle 
 path to the left, he proceeded more slowly. In a quarter 
 of an hour he found himself in front of a small cottage, lost 
 like a leaf in the depths of the woods. On its roof the moon 
 poured a silver flood the storm had muttered itself away 
 into the distance. 
 
 He dismounted, opened the door by means of a master- 
 key, and taking a light which was burning upon the table, 
 ascended the stair-case to his chamber. 
 
 Upon a chair lay a valise, ready prepared for a journey, 
 and as the eye of the stranger fell upon it, his brow relaxed, 
 and an expression of softness which his features seemed in 
 capable of, communicated to the resolute countenance a sin 
 gular attraction. 
 
 Then his head turned unconsciously as it were toward a 
 door leading from the chamber into another, apparently. 
 This door he cautiously opened, and passed through into 
 an adjoining room. 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. IV
 
 B2 
 
 It wns the chambo. of a girl, fni! of little feminine 
 meuts, an<l filled, if we may so speak, with an atmosphere 
 of purity and innocence. The indefinable grace of child 
 hood seemed to pervade the balmy air, half illumined by 
 the soaring mcon which poured through the open casement 
 its mellow light, and in the midst of this flood of radiance, 
 a child was sleeping in a little white bed. 
 
 It was a girl of about ten, with delicate features, long 
 silken lashes, and cheeks tinted with faint roses. The lips 
 smiled in sleep, and possessed great sweetness in curve and 
 expression ; the hair of the child was light brown, and fell 
 in curls upon her white night-dress, and the bare arm which 
 supported her cheek. The fringed counterpane rose and 
 fell gently with the breathing of the little sleeper, and her 
 forehead was bathed in the faint and almost imperceptible 
 dews of slumber. 
 
 As he gazed at the young creature, the brilliant and fiery 
 eyes of the stranger softened more and more, his stern 
 features relaxed, he murmured softly, " my little Blossom !" 
 and bending over the child, he pressed upon her forehead a 
 kiss of indescribable tenderness. The small frame seemed 
 to thrill even in slumber, and the lips murmured something, 
 but the girl did not awake. The stranger knelt at the bed 
 side remained in this devout attitude for a long time then 
 rising, pressed a second kiss upon the child's lips, and left the 
 apartment. 
 
 He made a few preparations, and was soon in the saddle, 
 riding rapidly in a southern direction through the moonlit 
 forest. As he went on, his stern features resumed their 
 expression of austere resolution the fire of his eyes returned 
 he was iron again. Again his dominant idea possessed 
 him, and he muttered broken words. 
 
 "Yes!" he said aloud finally, "at last I think the strug 
 gle comes ! The light of a glorious dawn begins to touch 
 the gloomy east ! The iron heel is almost down upon the 
 forehead, and henceforth there '11 be no appeal to the mis6r- 
 able justice of the king. The true King of kings, the God
 
 MISS BONNYBEL 6) 
 
 of Battles will decide ! Lord of Lords, fight for us ! 
 make us free !" 
 
 The head raised devoutly, sank again, and the stranger 
 rode on silently, the stillness of the forest only broken by 
 the noise of his horse's hoofs, or the mournful sobbing of 
 the wind. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 V A N E L Y . 
 
 EARLY on the morning after their colloquy, Mr. St. John 
 and his friend, Tom Alston, had left Williamsburg far in the 
 distance, crossed the river, and were pursuing their way 
 gayly through the spring forest, in the direction of Vanely. 
 
 Mr. St. John had thrown aside his uniform, and wore a 
 simple but elegant cavalier's suit a coat of drab silk, pli 
 able knee breeches of dressed buckskin, and fair-topped 
 boots, fitting closely to the leg and ankle. He rode his fine 
 sorrel " Tallyho," and the animal champed the bit, and tossed 
 his handsome head, with evident satisfaction at the breath 
 of his native air. 
 
 Mr. Tom Alston prefers a "sulky" for traveling and 
 mounted in the circular leather chair, high above the wheels 
 of the airy-looking vehicle, he holds, with dainty fingers 
 clad in soft gauntlets, the slender " ribbands," cutting at 
 butterflies occasionally for amusement. 
 
 The simple landscape seems entertainment enough for Mr. 
 St. John. He looks with joyous eyes upon the smooth road 
 winding along beneath the budding foliage of the forest, 
 and his impulsive nature fills with delight as he inhales the 
 fresh air laden with the perfume of leaves and flowers. He 
 is no longer lieutenant of his Excellency's Body Guards 
 only Henry St. John. He laughs, leans idly on Tallyho's 
 neck and talks to him, follows the flight of a hawk across 
 the bine sky overhead, or bursts into snatches of song, io
 
 6*4 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 opposition to the oriole, whose joyous carol fills he wood 
 \vitli music. 
 
 The young men passed rapidly through the green forest, 
 and at last, as they mounted a slope, Mr. St. John extended 
 his hand and cried, 
 
 "There's Vanely! See how it shines in the sun, on the 
 hill top ! The oaks are huger to my eyes, and the sunshine 
 brighter there ! Adieu, Williamsburg !" cried the young 
 man, rising in his saddle, " and welcome Vanely 1 I think 
 't is a capital exchange 1" 
 
 And putting spur to his horse, Mr. Harry St. John set 
 forward at full gallop again. 
 
 "I think I know what makes the sun shine brighter, my 
 youngster," said Mr. Alston, as he followed rapidly ; " there 
 are two violet-colored eyes there. Well, there are two black 
 orbs as handsome !" 
 
 And Mr. Alston indulged in a private and confidential 
 nod to himself. Soon afterwards they had reached the 
 broad esplanade in front of the house. 
 
 Vanely was one of those old mansions whose walls still 
 stand in Virginia, the eloquent memorials of other times, and 
 the good old race who filled the past days with so many fes 
 tivals, and such high revelry. 
 
 The first brick of the edifice had been laid upon the lap 
 of a baby afterwards known as Colonel Vane, and passed 
 through his tiny fingers. The life of the mansion and the 
 owner thus commenced together. It was a broad, ramb 
 ling old house, perched on a sort of upland which command 
 ed a noble landscape of field and river ; and in front of the 
 portal, two great oaks stretched out their gigantic arms, 
 gnarled and ancient, like guardians of the edifice. In these, 
 as in the hundred others, scattered over the undulating 
 lawn, and crowning every knoll, a thousand birds were 
 caroling, and a swarm of swallows darted backward and 
 forward, circling around the stacks of chimneys, and making 
 the air vocal with their merriment. 
 
 There was about the odd old mansion an indefinable aii
 
 MISS BONNTBEL. 5$ 
 
 of comfort and repose, and within, these characteristics 
 were equally discernible. The old portraits ranged along 
 the hall in oaken frames, looked serenely down upon the 
 beholder, and with powdered heads, and lace ruffs, and 
 carefully arranged drapery, seemed to extend a stately and 
 impressive welcome. Sir Arthur Vane, who fought for a 
 much less worthy man at Marston Moor, was there, with 
 his flowing locks, and peaked head, and wide collar of rich 
 Venice lace, covering his broad shoulders ; and Miss Maria 
 Vane, with towering curls, and jewel-decorated fingers, 
 playing with her lap-dog, smiling meanwhile with that win 
 ning grace which made her a toast in the days of her kins 
 man Bolingbroke, and Mr. Addison ; and more than one 
 tender and delicate child, like violets or snow-drops, in 
 the midst of these sturdy family trunks, or blooming roses, 
 added a finishing grace to the old walls that grace which 
 nothing but the forms of children ever give. Deer antlers, 
 guns, an old sword or two, and a dozen London prints of 
 famous race-horses, completed the adornment of the hall ; 
 and from this wide space, the plain oaken stairway ran up, 
 and the various doors opened to the apartments on the 
 ground floor of the mansion. 
 
 On the May morning we have spoken of, the old house 
 was in its glory ; for the trees were covering themselves 
 densely with fresh green foliage, and the grounds were car 
 peted with emerald grass, studded with flowers, waving their 
 delicate heads, and murmuring gently in the soft spring 
 breeze, and the golden sunshine. The oriole swung from 
 the topmost boughs, and poured his flood of song upon the 
 air ; the woodpecker's bright wings flapped from tree to 
 tree ; and a multitude of swamp-sparrows flashed in and 
 out of the foliage and fruit blossoms, or circled joyously 
 around the snowy fringe-trees sparkling in the sunshine 
 From the distant fields and forests the monotonous caw of 
 the crows, winging their slow way through the blue sky, 
 indicated even on the part of these ancient enemies of the 
 cornfield, joyous satisfaction at the incoming of the warm
 
 &6 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 season after the lo*. c , winter ; and a thousand merry robin* 
 flew about, with red breasts shaken by melodious chirpings, 
 and brilliant plumage burnished by the sunlight. 
 
 Every thing was bright with the youthful joy of spring, 
 and as Mr. St. John and his friend dismounted before the 
 old mansion, the very walls upon which the waving shadows 
 of a thousand leaves were thrown seemed smiling, and pre 
 pared to greet them ; the open portal held imaginary arms 
 of welcome to them. 
 
 Before this portal stood, its old form basking pleasantly 
 in the sunshine, the roomy, low-swung family chariot, with 
 its four long-tailed grays, as ancient, very nearly, as itself, 
 and showing by their well-conditioned forms and glossy 
 manes the results of tranquil, easy living. By their side 
 stood the old white-haired negro driver, time out of mind 
 the family coachman of the Vanes; and in the person of thu 
 worthy African gentleman a similar mode of living was un 
 mistakably indicated. Old Cato had evidently little desire 
 to be a censor ; sure of his own high position, and quite 
 easy on the subject of the purity of the family blood, he was 
 plainly satisfied with his lot, and had no desire to change the 
 order of things. In his own opinion he was himself one of 
 the family a portion of the manor, a character of respect 
 ability and importance. 
 
 Old Cato greeted the young gentlemen with familiar but 
 respectful courtesy, and received their cordial shakes of the 
 hand with evident pleasure. The horses even seemed to 
 look for personal greeting, and when the young man passed 
 his hand over their necks, they turned their intelligent heads 
 and whinnied gently in token of recognition. 
 
 Mr. St. John patted their coats familiarly, and called them 
 by name, and looking up to the old house said, smiling, 
 
 " Welcome, Vanely The month I 've been away seems 
 a whole century. After all, the town is nothing like th< 
 country, and no other part of it 's like Vanely I"
 
 MISS BOXNYBEL. 67 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BONNYBKL VANS. 
 
 THE young men entered the familiar old hall at d then 
 passed to the comfortable sitting room, where .Tom Alston 
 subsided languidly into an easy chair. 
 
 " Stay here till I return, Tom," said St. John ; " I m go 
 ing to salute my respected aunt, and will announce our ar 
 rival to anybody else I see." 
 
 " Give my compliments to Miss Anybody Else,'' said 
 Tom. 
 
 But his -friend did not hear him. He ran out, ascended 
 the broad oaken stair-case, three steps at a time, with the 
 gayety of a boy, and threw open the door of the chamber 
 immemoriably the haunt of good Aunt Mabel. 
 
 The consequence was a collision with a lovely girl who 
 had been combing her hair, apparently, before the mirror, 
 as the profuse brown curls were hanging down on her bare 
 white shoulders and silken dress, presenting to the eyes 
 of Mr. Harry St. John a mass of shadowy, waving gold, 
 vhich charmed him. 
 
 The girl no sooner caught sight of the young man, or ra 
 ther found their faces in collision, than she uttered a scream, 
 and crying " Good gracious ! me !" quickly retreated, and 
 slammed the door in his face. 
 
 St. John burst into a fit of laughter and cried, gaylji 
 
 " Let me in, Bonny !" 
 
 " I won't !" cried the girl's voice vivaciously, accom 
 panied by the sound of a key hastily turned in the lock. 
 
 Then the following observations ensued, mingled with 
 laughter : 
 
 " I think you might, Bonny ; I want to see aunt," 
 
 " She 's not here ! there, sir !" 
 
 " Why, this is her room." 
 
 4t It is <H ! Mamma has moved down staira." 
 
 *
 
 58 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Oh 1 she has ! But I want to see you, too. I think, 
 after being away so long, you might at least shake bauds." 
 
 " Shake hands 1 humph !" said the girl's voice, very ex- 
 pressiveiy. " I think kissing me was quite enough, sir!" 
 
 " Kissing you !" cried St. John, with well affected sur 
 prise. 
 
 "Yes ! you know you did, and it was just like your pre 
 sumption I" 
 
 "You astonish me! Did I kiss you? If I did it was 
 wholly accidental. But how long will it be before you come 
 down? Pray, make haste !" 
 
 The girl's smothered laughter was heard. 
 
 " You do n't deserve it, you odious fellow !" she said, af 
 ter a pause ; " but wait ! I '11 open in a minute." 
 
 And at the expiration of the appointed time, the key was 
 turned in the lock, and Miss Bonnybel Vane, for that was 
 her name, opened the door. She had hastily arranged her 
 hair, some curls of which were still falling carelessly, how 
 ever, on the bare round shoulders. They did not detract 
 from her beauty. 
 
 "Where in the world did you come from ?" she said, giv 
 ing him her hand. " You frightened me nearly to death, 
 sir, and you dared to kiss me !" 
 
 " Did I ? Well, it is not the first time." 
 
 " Humph !" as before, very expressively. 
 
 " It was by accident," said St. John, laughing, " and I will 
 make you as many apologies as you wish, to say nothing of 
 as many compliments." 
 
 " Thank you !" cried the girl, pouting satirically as she 
 made a mock curtsey, " I do n't want any of your compli 
 ments." 
 
 " Then you are the first young lady I ever knew who did 
 not." 
 
 " My Lord Harry is still severe upon our sex, I see very 
 smart, indeed !" 
 
 " My liord Harry ! How familiar the foolish old nick 
 name sounds. I love every thing about old times, though "
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 59 
 
 " Do you ? But when did your lordship arrive ?" 
 
 "This moment, with Tom Alston." 
 
 " Oh ! then we 're to ha re a double pleasure ! The lieu 
 tenant of his Excellency's guards, and the fine gentleman, 
 above all others, of the colony! And just to think! my 
 goodness! to appear before such company with my hair 
 down ! Will you wait a minute while I fix it, my lord ?* 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and look on too." 
 
 The girl did not seem to mind this in the least, but run 
 ning back to the mirror, gathered up her curls, and quickly 
 secured them with a tortoise-shell comb. She then affixed 
 a bow of scarlet ribbon, added a loop of pearls, and turning 
 round with a demure air, said, 
 
 " How do you like me ?" 
 
 St. John tried to make a jesting reply, but failed. The 
 little elf looked so lovely, standing with a vagrant gleam of 
 sunlight on her head, which was inclined coquettishly over 
 one shoulder, that her companion's fun disappeared. For a 
 moment he gazed at her in silence, and we shall embrace 
 the opportunity to make at< outline sketch of the little beauty 
 -our heroine. 
 
 Bonnybel Vane is a sparkling, mischievous little maiden of 
 about seventeen. She has a slender, but elegantly rounded 
 figure, a clear white complexion, with two fresh roses bloom 
 ing in her cheeks ; red, pouting lips, large bright eyes of a 
 deep violet, which seem ready to melt or fire under the 
 long dusky lashes, and a profusion of light brown hair, as 
 soft as silk. 
 
 The face is oval, of that pure-blooded Norman type which 
 fascinated the kings and princes of the middle ages, and led 
 tQ so many bitter feuds and bloody wars. The beautiful, 
 mischievous looking head is placed upon a swan-like neck, 
 and inclines toward one of the snowy shoulders. 
 
 As to the expression of the girl's features, we can not de 
 scribe it. The brilliant violet eyes are ready to dance with 
 merriment and mischief, or swim in the dews of feeling ; 
 'lie lips are mobile, prepared to contract, !"ke crumpled rose-
 
 60 MISS BON NY BEL. 
 
 leaves, with demure amusement at some jest, or, half-parted, 
 to express a world of pity and pathos. Bonnybel is a strik 
 ing type of the woman of the South, as opposed to the pale, 
 calm, statuesque beauty of more northern countries ; she is 
 brimful of feeling, of impulse, mischief, coquettish wildness; 
 indeed, but for the impropriety of the illustration 
 
 -it sounds ill, 
 
 But there 's no wrong at bottom rather praise" 
 
 we should say that she resembles a " thorough-bred" young 
 race-horse of the most elegant proportions and the purest 
 " blood." 
 
 She is clad in a pink dress, looped back with bows of 
 ribbon, a close-fitting, square-cut bodice ; and a frill of rich 
 lace runs around the neck, and appears beneath the short 
 sleeves, which leave the arms of the girl bare almost to the 
 shoulders. She wears red coral bracelets clasped with gold, 
 and her arms are of dazzling whiteness. 
 
 In reply to her question, " How do you like me ?" St. 
 John at last, when he has recovered from his trance of admi 
 ration, replies that he likes her more than he can tell. 
 
 " Your arms are especially beautiful, Bonny," he says. 
 " Do you use cosmetics ?" 
 
 " Cosmetics ! indeed ! No, sir, I do not !" she cried, with 
 indignation. "Nature made them as they are!" 
 
 " I wish nature had given them to me." 
 
 " To you ? Pray, what would you do with them ?" 
 
 " I would clasp them round my neck," said the young 
 man ; u though I know about fifty young gentlemen who 
 would like, in that event, to put an end to my existence." 
 
 " A very pretty speech !" cries Bonnybel, with a danger 
 ous glance of her coquettish eyes ; " please inform me what 
 romance you have been reading lately." 
 
 " None. I have not had time. I have been thinking." 
 
 " Thinking of what ? 
 
 "Of reaLty suppose I say of you, Bonny?" 
 
 And the young man, losing his tone of jesting satire, al-
 
 M-ISS BONNYBEL. 61 
 
 most sighs. Bonnybel's quick ear catches the sound per 
 fectly, and the change of tone. But she does not bet; ay the 
 fact in the least. On the contrary, she laughs carelessly and 
 says: 
 
 " Of me ? Good gracious ! is it possible you have time 
 to think of your little country cousin in the midst of your 
 arduous toils, parading and marching ?" 
 
 "Yes," replies St. John, looking with honest fondness 
 straight into the girl's eyes, " I thought of you often. Ah ! 
 my dear, a young man can not be so much with his ' little 
 cousin,' as you say, when she is as sweet as you, Bonny, 
 and then master his thoughts. I dream of you sometimes, 
 and 't is a lovely, laughing little fairy I see in my dreams." 
 
 " Excellent ! You have certainly been reading romances ! 
 Gracious ! I a fairy. I suppose you '11 call me an angel next. 
 Thank you, sir, but I 'm sorry to say I am neither. I am 
 only a country girl, made of flesh and blood, with a fine ap 
 petite, a quick temper, and a fondness for every thing like a 
 frolic there, sir! and a " 
 
 " Warm, true heart, in spite of your mischievous ways !" 
 added St. John, returning to his light tone of jest. "Oh, 
 I know you very well, Bonny may be too well. I mean 
 that I had better have not seen so much of you ; but let us 
 go to aunt." 
 
 He took her hand, and Bonnybel, who had rapidly glanced 
 at his face, yielded it without a word. The little beauty, 
 with the quick instinct of her sex, had already discovered 
 the state of her cousin's feelings the secret of the power 
 she could exert over him. The further pi-ogress of our nar 
 rative will show whether the young lady's calculations were 
 or were not correct. 
 
 They rapidly descended the stair-case, hand in hand, and 
 Bonnybel, quietly extricating herself, led the way to a room 
 in the rear, the door of which she opened. 
 
 In a moment Mr. St. John found himself affectionately 
 embraced by a pair of thin arms, and received a kiss. Aunt 
 Mabel sat iu her old chair, thin, erect, clad in black silk, a
 
 62 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 snowy handkerchief pinned across her bosom ; ^er scant 
 gray hair neatly gathered beneath the plaits of her full lace 
 cap. The old lady was busy knitting, casting from time to 
 time a glance at a little negro girl, who was taking her first 
 lessons in coarse sewing, on a cricket at her mistress' feet. 
 At the distance of six paces, a chambermaid was knitting 
 rough stockings, and, in the corner, an old negro woman, 
 with her head tied up in a white cloth, assiduously plied the 
 shears in cutting out clothes for the household. 
 
 Aunt Mabel received her nephew with great affection, 
 and made him give her all the news. 
 
 " Well, well," she said at last, " I 'm glad to see you in 
 such good health and spirits, nephew. Still, you were best 
 here attending to your interests." 
 
 " 1 think so, too, aunt," said the young man, looking to 
 ward Bonnybel, who was powdering her hair at the mirror, 
 with a little round cushion of swansdown ; " and what does 
 Miss Bonnybel think on the subject ?" 
 
 " Sir ?" said the young lady, turning round ; " did you 
 speak to me ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What did you say ? 
 
 " Then our conversation is inaudible is it ?" he said, with 
 a smile. " I was only telling aunt that I thought I had best 
 come back to the old county and remain here. I think 
 there 's nothing like the beauty of our fields in the whole 
 wide world, aunt. To be a country gentleman after all 
 seems to me a worthier ambition than to bow my knee be 
 fore the giandest royalty of Europe. The sight of the fields 
 yonder, where I played in boyhood, makes me a boy again ; 
 and," he added, with a smile, "I have the pleasure of meet 
 ing one of my old playmates." 
 
 " You mean Bonny, I suppose, Harry," says Aunt Mabel, 
 knitting busily. " Yes, she often says 'tis no* so merry 
 when you :ire away your laugh is wanting." 
 
 Miss Bonnybel turned quickly, having suddenly 
 hf*r occupation, 
 

 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 6& 
 
 ** I said ! mamma ! I only meant * 
 
 " That Columbine did n't enjoy herself without Harle 
 quin !" said the young man. "I'm glad you 've suddenly 
 found your ears, Miss Columbine !" 
 
 " Thank you, sir !" said Bonnybel, curtesying with jioe'k 
 ceremony, and pouting satirically, "I suppose you thiufc 
 that 's very smart and fine ! O ! goodness gracious !" sud 
 denly cried the young lady, relapsing into laughter, " there 's 
 all my hair come down !" 
 
 In truth the ardor of the damsel in turning her head had 
 produced the result indicated, and her snowy shoulders were 
 again covered by the profuse brown curls. 
 
 " Let me assist you," said St. John, raising a mass of curls 
 and smiling. 
 
 " No, if you please, sir !" cried the girl, drawing back 
 " you would make a bad lady's maid, and I 'd rather not !" 
 
 " Then I '11 go see Aunt Seraphina and Cousin Helen," said 
 St. John, and with these words he descended to the sitting- 
 room. 
 
 It was a large apartment, decorated, after the fashion of 
 the period, with carved wainscoting, and hung around with 
 many portraits of old gentlemen in powder, and fair dames 
 floating in translucent clouds of saffron lace. High-backed 
 chairs stood about in picturesque disorder, and upon a table, 
 with crooked legs, were a number of volumes in embossed 
 leather, tossed about at random. An embroidery frame 
 stood in one corner, upon which a lady was then working, 
 the design of her picture being Amyntor, in red stockings, 
 and a blue hat, with snowy feathers, playing upon a Spanish 
 mandolin, beneath the window of Amoret. An old sideboard, 
 with some silver plate on it, a little table, covered with china 
 figures and grotesque vessels of that hideous description 
 fashionable at the period, and, between the windows look 
 ing on the lawn, an old harpsichord, tall, stately, and antique 
 completed the accessories of the apartment in which Mr. 
 St. John now found himself. 
 
 Miss Seraphina, sister of Colonel Vane, and a lady of un-
 
 64 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 certain age, was working at the embroidery frame with sen 
 timental smiles, as Mr. Tom Alston exchanged compliments; 
 and Mr. St. John had scarcely gotten through his greetings 
 when Miss Helen Vane made her appearance, her waist en 
 circled by the arm of Miss Bonnybel, a pretty picture which 
 young ladies have affected in all ages. Miss Helen is a 
 handsome brunette of about twenty, with dark hair, dark 
 eyes, and an air of serenity which seems incapable of change. 
 She is erect and somewhat stately in the carriage of her full 
 and handsome person, clad in rich black, rustling silk, and 
 the faint smile which wanders from time to time over her 
 countenance, scarcely relaxes this prevailing expression of 
 collected calmness. 
 
 When Mr. St. John essays to "salute" Miss Helen, she 
 draws back, turning away her head, and the young man is 
 obliged to content himself with a salute bestowed upon the 
 ribband of her head dress. 
 
 We have thus attempted to outline two young ladies who 
 were great toasts in their day especially the younger 
 maiden, Miss Bonnybel, whose brilliant eyes, and lovely face, 
 with those of her companions, illustrated so finely the times 
 in which they moved. Yet who can paint them ? cries our 
 good author, breaking forth, as is his wont, into raptures. 
 Who can even so much as outline them truly, those ten 
 der little dames of the Virginia past ? They shine upon us 
 now like stars, glimmering far away on the blue horizon of 
 the elder day, withdrawing, as we gaze, their ineffectual 
 fires, and fainting in the garish sunlight of the present. It 
 is easy to tell of the looped -back gown, and all the rich fur 
 belows and flounces, with streaming ribbon knots ; the red 
 Spanish shoes, the clocks on the stockings, the lace around 
 shoulders like the driven snow, or the powder that lies, like 
 that snow, on the hair the dark or bright hair, the raven 
 or the golden ! But alas ! these are only the externals. 
 There is something beneath all this which still escapes us, 
 which we vainly attempt to grasp or describe. Mild and 
 serene, there was yet something bright and ardent in these
 
 MISS BONNYBEL.' 65 
 
 natures which we do not see to-day ! The blossom on the 
 bough, the spray on the wave, the dew on the grass some 
 thing fresh, and natural, and indescribable ! A grace which 
 we can not express, which flits when we try to embrace it 
 the shadow of a shadow! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 "OLD GOUTY." 
 
 TKS party of young people are laughing and talking with 
 immense assiduity, when a door in the hall is heard to open, 
 a species of growl resounds, and Helen and Bonnybel say, at 
 the same moment, " There 's papa !" 
 
 The young men rise, and at the same moment old Colonel 
 Vane appears at the door, and cries in a cheery voice, 
 
 " Good morrow, Tom, and welcome, Captain Harry ! 
 When did you turn up, and where from ?" 
 
 " Tom came with me from town, uncle," says Mr. St. John, 
 shaking the fat hand, " how is your health ?" 
 
 " So so so so ! I think the devil 's in this foot, Harry ! 
 I might sit for the portrait of Old Gouty !" 
 
 And the rubicund old gentleman laughed and grimaced. 
 There was much truth in his declaration. Never did gout 
 attack a more suitable subject. Colonel Vane was an old 
 fellow of about sixty, with a portly person, one foot wrapped 
 in bandages, while the other was encased in a neat buckled 
 shoe, and silk stocking, and his costume indicated one well 
 to do in the world, and fond of his ease. His powdered 
 hair was gathered in a queue behind, his ruffles were huge 
 and spotless, and the gold-headed cane which he carried 
 had evidently found its way to Virginia from the shop of a 
 London maker. With this cane he half supported himself 
 though he seemed greatly to prefer the soft shoulders of 
 Misses Helen and Bonnybel, who hastened to his side.
 
 V* MISS BONNYBEU 
 
 Had Addison seen the old fellow thus smiling and making 
 wry fiices at the enemy in his foot, the worthy colonel would 
 have been immortalized in a number of the Spectator, and 
 it is more than probable that Hogarth, or one of the later 
 humorists of the town, would have drawn him in the charac 
 ter of an East Indian director limping forth to his coach, af 
 ter a dinner at the Lord Mayor's, irascible with the gout, 
 acd still growling at the insolence of the American rebels, 
 who had tossed the Company's tea overboard in the harbor 
 of Boston. 
 
 " Youth 's a fine thing !" said the jolly old colonel, smil 
 ing at the party, " and I enjoyed my own. There! there ! 
 my dear softly !" 
 
 And the colonel commenced moving toward tl\e chariot. 
 
 " I am going to the county court," he said, " that is if 
 this cursed gout will let me ! My old enemy, boys," added 
 the worthy ; " and like a scolding wife, has ever the last 
 word ! 'T is enough to make a man swear ; but I won't. I 
 must get on and see to that road to the river ; the girls will 
 take care of you there ! there ! easy, my dear 1" 
 And the colonel stepped upon the portico, still supported 
 by the girls. 
 
 " Come here you old rascal !" he cried to Cato ; " give me 
 your arm I" 
 
 Old Cato, in a measured and deliberate way, abandoned 
 the horses, and approached his master. The colonel, how 
 ever, desired that Cato should rush rapidly toward irim, aid 
 the deliberate pace of the old negro caused him to flour'sh 
 his cane and swear. 
 
 Cato did not hasten his steps, however. He seemed to 
 think that he as well as his master had rights, and moreover, 
 was convinced from long experience that the cane would 
 not descend upon his shoulders. The event proved his good 
 sense he preserved his personal dignity and lost nothing. 
 
 " Look at the old dog !" said the colonel ; " he presumes 
 upon my good nature and takes his time. Come, you aVap- 
 doned old wretch ! There! take care of the foot! eas> t"
 
 MISS UONNYBEL. 67 
 
 And leaning upon Cato, the old gentleman reached the 
 chariot, and was comfortably deposited within upon the 
 soft cushions. The young girls bade him good bye, with a 
 kiss; and old Cato having received an intimation from the 
 colonel that he would thrash him on his return, if he drove 
 1'aster than a slow walk, the chariot rolled away over the 
 smooth gravel at a brisk trot, and was soon out of sight. 
 
 It had scarcely disappeared behind the foliage, when half 
 a dozen ladies and gentlemen on horseback appeared at the 
 outer gate, and mounted the hill at full gallop. They dis 
 mounted before the house in the midst of a joyful clatter 
 and a shower of kisses, and Miss Bonnybel seemed ready tt 
 dance with delight at the anticipation of a frolic. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A MAT MOENINQ IK '74. 
 
 OUB history will not admit of a detailed description of 
 
 the events of the day at Vanely, else should we take pleas 
 ure in relating how the gallants in ruffles and powder paid 
 assiduous court to the damsels in hoops and furbelows; how 
 laughter and sighs, bright glances and jests, with incessant 
 rattling on the old harpsichord, filled the morning. 
 
 Many songs were sang, and in truth says our good au 
 thor, full of admiration, as usual, of the damsels there was 
 rarest music in those girlish voices caroling the tender or 
 gay ditties of the past. The ardent love of faithful shep 
 herds for the dearest shepherdesses sang in their madrigals, 
 and all was love and sunshine, laughter, merriment and joy. 
 Sparkling eyes lent point and brilliancy to jests from rosy 
 lips ; and all was May in the old house, whose very portraits 
 seemed to smile and say, " Be happy while 't is May !" 
 
 At last the gay sunshine drew them to the lawn, and soon 
 they were wandering across the flowery grass, and undei
 
 68 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 the old century oaks a merry party, brilliant as the flowers 
 which the little maidens really resembled in their variegated 
 dresses, and eommaiilcaUug to tl.o grounds of the old home 
 stead new attraction.* 
 
 The birds sang merrily above their heads, flitting from 
 tree to tree across the mild blue ; the apple blossoms lay 
 upon the boughs like fragrant snow, and the fresh river 
 breezes, bearing on their wings the odor of the sea, blew 
 on the tender foreheads, and made every cheek more rosy, 
 and ran through the branches overhead, dancing and sing 
 ing, and then died away, a musical murmur, mingling with 
 the carol of the maidens like a symphony from airy harps. 
 
 And suddenly in a dell of the forest, or rather beneath 
 a knoll of the lawn, they came upon a very pleasing device 
 of Miss Bonnybel's nothing less than a most tempting 
 array of edibles scattered in picturesque confusion on the 
 grass. Heavy slices of fruit-cake piled themselves up or lay 
 in masses ; cut-glass dishes scarcely held the golden moun 
 tains of cool jellies ; bottles of the colonel's finest sherry 
 rolled about, like topers overcome with liquor, in the grass ; 
 and in the center a huge round of beef flanked with cold 
 fowls and ham, twinkled in light and shadow, as the boughs 
 of the great oak moved with the breeze. 
 
 Laughing like children at the pleasant surprise, the young 
 men and maidens hasten to the spot, and the attack com 
 mences very vigorously. 
 
 It is a scene from " As You Like it," or of Robin Hood's 
 day, or such as Watteau liked to place on canvas. 
 
 Seated on the emerald sward, in attitudes of careless ease 
 and graceful abandon, with saffron laces around snowy arms, 
 and silken dresses emulating tulip beds, and small hands 
 grasping slender glasses filled with gold, arid merry laughter 
 at a thousand jests thus scattered over the lawn, beneath 
 the rustling boughs of the old oak, the party make a little 
 Arcady for themselves, without a cloud, filled full with sun 
 shine. 
 
 * Historical Jllustrations. No V.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 69 
 
 '' >T is really charming," says Tom Alston, who, having 
 finished his repast, gently smoothes his ruffles with one hand, 
 holding a glass of sherry in the other ; " 't is quite a sylvan 
 scene, from one of the pastorals, of Mr. Pope, say." 
 
 " Or Theocritus," adds a young gentleman recently from 
 college. 
 
 " Yes," says Mr. Alston, " and reminds me of a similar 
 scene, when I was a young fellow, in Effingham woods." 
 
 " When Kate Effinghani was your sweetheart," cries 
 Bonnybel, laughing. 
 
 " Really ahem ! really now," replies Mr. Alston, mod 
 estly, " I prefer not alluding to these subjects, but I believe 
 that most charming young lady did have some regard for 
 me." 
 
 Mr. Alston looks more modest than ever, and adds, 
 
 " I, however, resigned her to my friend, Will Effingham 
 sacrificed myself on the altar of friendship they are now 
 married." 
 
 General laughter greets this communication, and a smile 
 even wanders over the countenance of Helen. The laugh 
 ter does not embarrass Mr. Alston, who says, 
 
 " On that agreeable occasion, Miss Kate sang a charming 
 song ' I 'm o'er young to marry yet ;' also another, which 
 methinks no poet has surpassed ' There lives a lass upon 
 the green.' " 
 
 Mr. Alston's talent is well known, and he is besieged' to 
 sing. He receives the proposal with surprise, declares he 
 has a cold protests he can not. At the end often minutes, 
 however, he is singing in a voice of great melody. This is 
 his song : 
 
 " There lives a lass upon the green ; 
 
 Could I her picture draw, 
 A brighter nymph was never seen ; 
 She looks and reigns a little queen, 
 
 And keeps the swains in awe. 
 
 " Her eyes are Cupid's darts and wings, 
 Her eyebrows are his bow,
 
 70 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Her silkon hair the silver strings, 
 Which swift and suro destruction bring* 
 To all the vale below. 
 
 " If Pastorella's dawn of light 
 
 Can warm and wound us so, 
 Her noon must be so piercing bright 
 Each glancing beam would kill outright, 
 
 And every swain subdue 1" 
 
 Much applause follows, and Mr. Alston raises his glass 
 
 " I have the honor of drinking the health of our hostess, 
 Pastorella," be says, bowing to Bonnybel. 
 
 The young lady rises, and makes a low and demure cur- 
 tesy, endeavoring to smother her laughter, caused by the 
 languishing expression of Mr. Alston. It bursts forth, how 
 ever, and all join in the merry peal. 
 
 At the same moment, a distant cannon booms across the 
 fields, and every one starts. Bonnybel claps her hands and 
 cries that it is Captain Fellowes, of the *' Charming Sally," 
 with all the new London dresses 1 She has seen his arrival 
 at York in the Gazette, and he always fires his swivel at the 
 landings ! 
 
 Miss Bonnybel's excitement about the new dresses is con 
 tagious, and in fifteen minutes the entire party of young la 
 dies, accompanied by their cavaliers, are galloping toward 
 the Vanely wharf. 
 
 The " Charming Sally" has gone aground, owing to low 
 water, at some distance from the piers running out into the 
 river, but the large boat, always lying below the old ware 
 house, is put in requisition, and, propelled by two stalwart 
 and grinning Africans, the craft plunges her cutwater into 
 the current, and lands the party on the vessel. 
 
 Captain Fellowes is a good-humored old tar, and meets the 
 young people with the air of an old acquaintance. To Miss 
 Bonnybel's excited question as to her dresses, the old fel 
 low replies by lugging down his book of entries, smiling, 
 and the young lady having come to V, reads aloud hur 
 riedly
 
 MISS BONHYBEL. 71 
 
 " Colonel Vane Vanely Landing Prince George casks 
 Canary boxes Zante currants oranges Barcelona Lucca 
 olives saddles harness volumes in leather, namely 
 gowns from Madam Fenton over against " 
 
 " Here it is !" cries Miss Bonnybel ; *' look, Helen ! every 
 thing we sent for !" 
 
 Helen smiles she is less enthusiastic. 
 
 " O thank you, Captain Fellowes 1" cries Bonnybol ; M you 
 must not laugh at me for my noise, for you know I 'm not 
 one of the lords of creation. Please send these boxes at 
 once to the house, and papa's Canary for dinner, if he comes 
 back." 
 
 To all this, Captain Fellowes growled a good-humored 
 assent, and then the party, having scattered themselves over 
 the vessel, and satisfied their curiosity by inspecting every 
 thing, ree'ntered the boat and were rowed back to the 
 wharf. 
 
 But not to the sons or the daughters of men, come days 
 without a cloud unalloyed pleasure the rose without the 
 obstinate thorn. 
 
 Bonnybel and her cousin were the last to leave the boat. 
 With dancing eyes, and bright cheeks, rosy with pleasure, 
 the young lady hastened to ascend the wharf. But unhappy 
 to relate, her slipper was placed much too carelessly upon 
 the smooth gunwale ; the boat swayed, and slipping first 
 upon her knee, then wholly, Miss Bonnybel was precipitat 
 ed into the river. 
 
 We need scarcely say that she rose from the waves in the 
 arms of Mr. St. John, who gallantly rescued her. 
 
 A dozen frightened faces and eager hands were immedi 
 ately stretched out, and the young lady stood safely upon 
 the wharf; but with a direful change in her appearance. 
 Her hair had fallen upon her shoulders, and streamed with 
 water ; her furbelows had disappeared^ and a small foot clad 
 in a white silk stocking, from which the shoe had been lost, 
 peered from her skirt, from wbjch a flood pf moisture cje-
 
 >* MISS r.MYXYRFL. 
 
 " Oh me ;-' jried the young lady, leaning upon one of hei 
 companions, " how did I fall into the water ?" 
 
 " Very gracefully," replied St. John. 
 
 " And you saved me !" 
 
 " In the most heroic manner," replied the young man, 
 wringing his wet sleeves, " and I know you are too much 
 of a heroine to mind it." 
 
 "I do n't," said Miss Bonnybel, laughing and blushing 
 as she drew back her foot ; " but, oh goodness, I 've lost my 
 shoe !" 
 
 It was brought as she spoke, by a negro who had fished 
 it out ; and Mr. St. John most gallantly replaced it upon 
 the foot. It was doubtless owing to the moist state of the 
 stocking that he consumed about twice as much time as was 
 necessary. 
 
 The ceremony was concluded at last, however, and then 
 the young man would have sent for a carriage, but Bonny 
 bel would not hear of it. She declared that the accident 
 was nothing ; she could return upon horseback as she came ; 
 and mounting with laughter into the saddle, she galloped 
 off with her hair streaming, followed by the other young 
 ladies, and the gallants, who declared that she was a hero 
 ine, and " full of pluck." 
 
 We shall not pause to discuss the question, but proceed 
 to relate that they soon reached Vanely ; that Miss Bonny 
 bel was forced to partake largely of artificial spirits by good 
 Aunt Mabel, and that the young lady thereafter put on one 
 of the London dresses which punctual Captain Fellowes had 
 just sent from the vessel, and flirting an enormous fan, 
 swept up and down the room with all the mincing languor 
 of a lady of the court, to the great enjoyment of the young 
 ladies, her companions, who greeted the exhibition with 
 much laughter. 
 
 They had then a great dinner, at which sunset surprised 
 them ; and so the day was done ; but not the merry-making,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 73 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE WINDOW PANES AT VANMLY. 
 
 MR. HARRY ST. JOHN changed his wet dress, and having 
 taken a last survey of himself in the mirror, issued forth 
 and descended the stair-case. 
 
 At the bottom step, he paused and leaned upon the ban 
 ister. 
 
 A portrait hanging high up on the old wall, among the 
 powdered heads and snowy bosoms of the "Vane family, has 
 attracted his attention. 
 
 It is a picture of Bonnybel, taken in her fifteenth year, 
 when the London artist came to Williamsburg, and turned 
 his skill to golden account among the gentlemen and ladies 
 of the colony. The little maiden looks lovely on the can 
 vas, in her pretty costume of silk, and lace, and ribbons ; 
 her sunny hair descending upon plump white shoulders ; 
 her mischievous eyes and rosy cheeks peering forth as it 
 were from the brown curls. She caresses with her dimpled 
 hand the head of a shaggy little bipdog, and looks into the 
 beholder's face with a mixture of mirth and tenderness. 
 
 '"Tis a wonderful art," mutters the young man, "and 
 there 's the very face I 've loved to look on lor many a day 
 full of wild mischief, and yet tender. 'T would make 
 quite a story for the pastoral romances ! the history of my 
 life and now I wish to go away and tight the Indians! 
 
 " Tom 's right after all," he continued. " I doubtless put 
 on the plume of war to dazzle the eyes of somebody ! I 
 believe I am falling regularly in love ; but what will be the 
 issue I don't know. Well, patience and shuffle the cards, 
 as Tom says; who knows what will happen ?" 
 
 "Suppose now you look a minute at the original," said a 
 voice at his elbow. St. John turns quickly and sees the vi 
 vacious Miss Bonnybel, decked out for the evening, at his 
 side. 
 
 4
 
 74 MISS BONNYKEL. 
 
 " But if I prefer the portrait ?" he replies ; " it reminds 
 me of old times." 
 
 " When I was a child, I suppose, sir l n 
 
 "Yes; and when you loved me more than now." 
 
 "Who said I did not love you now?" asked the girl, with 
 a coquettish glance. 
 
 " Do you ?" 
 
 " Certainly. I love you dearly you and all my cousins." 
 
 St. John sighed, and then laughed ; but he said nothing, 
 and offering his arm, led the girl into the sitting-room. 
 
 The young girls, whilst awaiting the appearance of Caesar, 
 the violin player, from the " quarters," amused themselves 
 writing their names, after a fashion very prevalent in Vir 
 ginia, upon the panes of the windows. For this purpose 
 they made use of diamond rings, or, better still, the long, 
 sharp-pointed crystals known as " Virginia diamonds." 
 
 With these the gallants found no difficulty in inscribing 
 the names of their sweethearts, with all the flourishes of a 
 writing-master, on the glass, and very soon the glittering 
 tablets were scrawled over with Lucies and Fannies, and a 
 brilliant genius of the party even executed some fine profile 
 portraits. 
 
 Those names have remained there fbr nearly a century, 
 and when afterwards the persons who traced them looked 
 with age-dimmed eyes upon the lines, the dead day rose 
 again before them, and its forms appeared once more, laugh 
 ing and joyous, as at Van ely on that evening. And not 
 here only may these memorials of another age be found ; in 
 a hundred Virginia houses they speak of the past. 
 
 Yes, yes, says our author, those names on the panes of 
 Vanely are a spell ! They sound with a strange music, 
 a bright wonder in the ears of their descendants ! Frail 
 chronicle ! how you bring up the brilliant eyes again, the 
 jest and the glance, the joy and the laughter, the splendor 
 and beauty which flashed onward, under other skies, in the 
 old Virginia, dead to us so long ! As I gaze on your sur 
 faces, bright panes of Vanely, I fancy with what sparkling
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 73 
 
 eyes the names were traced. I see iu a dream, as ii 
 were, the soft white hand which laid its cushioned palm on 
 this glittering tablet ; I see the rich dresses, the bending 
 necks, the figures gracefully inclined as the maidens leaned 
 over to write " Lucy," and " Fanny," and " Nelly," and 
 "Frances," and "Kate;" I see the curls and the powder, 
 the furbelows and flounces, the ring on the finger, the lace 
 on the arm poor lace that was yellow indeed by the snow 
 it enveloped ! I see, no less clearly, the forms of the gal 
 lants, those worthy young fellows in ruffles and fairtops ; I 
 see all the smiles, and the laughter, and love. All is very 
 plain, and I mutter, " Fair dames and cavaliers, what 's be 
 come of all your laughter and sighing your mirth, and 
 bright eyes, and high pride ? Did you think that all gener 
 ations but your own were mortal ? that the sun would al 
 ways shine, the music ever sound, the roses on your cheeks 
 never wither ? You had pearls in your hair, and your lipa 
 were carnations ; the pearls may remain, but the carnations, 
 where are they ? O beautiful figures of a dead generation 1 
 you are phantoms only. You are all gone, and your laces 
 have faded or are moth-eaten ; you are silent now, and still, 
 and the minuet bows no more ; you are dimly remembered 
 laughter, the heroines of a tale that is told you live on a 
 window pane only !" Old panes ! it is the human story that 
 I read in you the legend of a generation, and of all gener 
 ations ! For what are the records of earth and its actors 
 but frost-work on a pane, or these scratches of a diamond 
 which a blow shatters. A trifle may shiver the tablet and 
 strew it in the dust ! There is only one record, one tablet, 
 where the name which is written lives for ever ; it is not in 
 this world, 't is beyond the stars ! 
 
 " O there 's Uncle Caesar !" cries Bonnybel, " and we '11 
 have a dance !" 
 
 " Yes, a dance !" 
 
 " O yes!" 
 
 " How do you do, Uncle Caesar ?** 
 
 * { A minuet first I"
 
 ?6 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 These are some of the outcries which resound through the 
 apartment as an old gray-haired African appears at the door, 
 and removing his fox-tail cap, louts low before the animated 
 throng. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HOW THEY DANCED A MINUET DE LA COUB. 
 
 WE linger for a moment to look upon the divertisements of 
 that old, old land the far away colonial Virginia. It is all 
 gone from us, and, as says our worthy author, the minuet 
 bows MO longer, but it shall bow in our history as it did be 
 fore. A narrative, such as we write, should not only flow 
 on like a stream toward its termination, it should also mir 
 ror on its surface the bright scenes it passes through the 
 banks, the skies, the flowers of other years, all should be 
 painted on the ever moving current. 
 
 Therefore we pause a moment to look on the minuet, to 
 listen to old Uncle Cesar's fiddle, to hear the long-drawn 
 music wind its liquid cadences through mellow variations, 
 and to see the forms and faces of the young men and the 
 maidens. 
 
 They have a quadrille first, and then a couple take the 
 floor. 
 
 St. John leans on the carved back of Bonnybel's chair, 
 and makes himself generally agreeable. 
 
 " How gracefully the girls of Virginia dress," he says , 
 "like butterflies, all blue and gold, and down." 
 
 " Butterflies indeed !" cries the young lady, " and pray 
 what do the gentlemen resemble wasps?" 
 
 " No ; working bees." 
 
 " Drones rather !" 
 
 " What a wit you have 1" says Mr. St. John, laughing ; 
 ** but, really now, just .see. Consider these lilies of the pur-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 7? 
 
 lor, they toil not, neither do they spin, ike their grand 
 mothers." 
 
 " I do, sir 1" 
 
 " Then you are different. The young ladies do n't sew 
 or spin, they engage Mr. Pate or Mrs. Hunter to relieve 
 them ol it." 
 
 " Pray, what do you know of Mr. Pate ?" 
 
 " I know what I read," says St. John, taking up, with a 
 smile, the " Virginia Gazette ;" " see here the notice that 
 Master Matthew Pate has for sale, ' Stays, twin ana single ; 
 jumps, half-bow stays, stays made to buckle before, pin or 
 button,' no doubt with diamond studs, like yours, madam !" 
 
 " You are extremely wise and learned in the female cos 
 tume; my stays came from London, and I'll thank you " 
 
 Here the minuet ends, and the particular conversation is 
 lost in the general buzz. It is next Bonnybel's turn, and 
 with a queenly air she says to Mr. St. John, who has en 
 gaged her hand, 
 
 " You '11 please ask me to dance formally, sir?" 
 
 St. John smiles, deposits his cocked-hat on his heart, and 
 bowing to the ground, requests the pleasure of a minuet. 
 
 Bonnybel opens her enormous fan, with ivory decorations, 
 places its downy edge upon her chin, and inclining her head 
 sidewise with a die-away expression, declares, simpering, 
 that really the gallants will not let her rest, she 's wearied 
 with attention, but supposes, since my Lord Bolingbroke 
 has asked her hand, she ought not to refuse. 
 
 With these words, and in the midst of general laughter, 
 Miss Bonnybel gives her hand daintily to her partner, and 
 they advance into the floor, to the mellow strains of Uncle 
 Caesar's fiddle. 
 
 It is a little beauty of the eighteenth century, armed cap- 
 a-pie for conquest, that the current of our story now re 
 flects ; the picture will be seen no more in truth, however. 
 unless grandma on the wall yonder, painted at the age of 
 seventeen, steps down and curteseys to us in some reverie 01 
 dream.
 
 73 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Bonnybel wears, over a scarlet petticoa", a hooped dresa 
 of yellow satin, all furbelowed and decorated, especially with 
 a row of rich rosettes, down to the feet. The bodice is cut 
 square, the waist long and slender ; the satin tits closely to 
 the young lady's pliant figure, which is encircled by a silver - 
 girdle, and between the silken network of red cords, secur 
 ing the open front, a profusion of saffron lace, kept in its 
 place by diamond studs, dazzles the eye like a heap of new 
 fallen snow tinted with sunset. The sleeves are short, or 
 perhaps it will be more correct to say that the dress has no 
 sleeves at all, the round, dimpled shoulders of tkz young 
 lady being encircled only, so to speak, by a narrow band of 
 silk ; and, last of all, a cloud of gauze floats round the neck 
 and shoulders, reconciling Miss Bonnybel to a pattern which 
 she gazed at somewhat ruefully when it was first unfolded. 
 Bhu; satin shoes, with slender heels about four inches high, 
 and a light head-dress, principally consisting of a wreath of 
 roses, finish the costume ; the young lady having for decora 
 tion only a pearl necklace, rising and falling tranquilly. 
 
 As this prettily clad little beauty bowed before him, Mr. 
 St. John thought he had never seen a fairer sight, more danc 
 ing eyes, any thing at the same time half so feminine and 
 mischievous. Bonnybel danced exceedingly well ; and as she 
 moved in perfect time to the stately music, and bent in the 
 measured curtesey, until her curls fell like a cloud of dusky 
 gold around the rosy cheeks, and her knee touched the 
 floor almost, thus gliding before him in the fine old dance, 
 and giving him, with dainty ceremony, the tips of her fingers, 
 the young dame made her partner fancy that the most at 
 tractive and provoking fairy of Titania's court had come in 
 from the moonlight, and would flit away as she came. He 
 saw her thus curteseying long afterwards, and when an old 
 man, told it to another generation.* 
 
 So the minuet bowed and curteseyed itself onward through 
 its stately motions, and with a low sigh of satisfaction and. 
 sell-admiration, died away. 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No, VJ,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 7G 
 
 But the dancing was not over. A reel succeeded. The 
 fiddler exchanged his mellow cadences for spirit-stirring 
 mirth, the tragic symphony gave way to sparkling comedy. 
 Darting, inclining, clasping and unclasping hands, the gay 
 party bore no bad resemblance to a flock of children turned 
 loose for a holiday. Even the stately Helen's " dignity" 
 was overthrown, and Mr. Tom Alston's tine peruke, from 
 Monsieur Lafonge's, filled the whole wide apartment with 
 its perfumed powder. 
 
 For almost an hour thus Uncle Ca3sar made the bounding 
 feet keep time to his gay music, and as he approached the 
 end of the performance, the old fiddler seemed to be car 
 ried away by the genius of uproar. With head thrown 
 back, eyes rolling in their orbits, and huge foot keeping 
 time to the tune, his bow flashed backward and forward 
 with a wild delight, and the violin roared and burst into 
 shouts of laughter. Quicker yet and ever quicker grew the 
 movements of the "Snow-bird on the ash-bank," the old 
 musician threw his whole soul into the uproarious reel, and 
 the brilliant forms, with dazzling silks and eyes more daz 
 zling still, and rosy cheeks, and laughter, flashed from end 
 to end of the great room, and whirled through mazes, and 
 were borne like variegated foam upon the sparkling waves 
 those waves of the wild music which roared, and laughed, 
 and shouted over pearls and powder, diamonds and bright 
 eyes, in grandest revelry and furious mirth. 
 
 So reigned the great CaBsar over man and maid, and so, 
 perhaps, the headlong violin would still be playing but for 
 cruel fate. Suddenly a string snapped, the dance was at an 
 end, and Uncle Caasar, with a long scrape, put bis fiddle 
 under his arm, and made his most impressive bow. The 
 maidens stood still panting and laughing, with undulating 
 forms, and rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes, and vigorous 
 fannings ; and then the reel at an end, they hastily prepared 
 to depart. 
 
 In vain they were pressed to stay ; and soon, with a mul 
 tiplicity of kisses, (then, as now, a favorite amusement of
 
 80 MTSS BONNYBEL. 
 
 yo:mg ladies in the presence of young gentlemen,) they 
 fled away into the moonlit forest, with their attendant cav 
 aliers. 
 
 Fair dames ! what a pity it is that the pen of Him who 
 writes could not adequately paint your joy and beauty, your 
 brilliant eyes, your pearl-looped towers of curls, your dan 
 gerous glances all your sighs, and coquetries and laugh 
 ter ! And if your fair grand-children, following, in an idle 
 moment, their most humble servant's chronicle, cry out 
 with a pretty indignation at the fact, the chronicler can 
 only take his hat off humbly, and bow low, and plead his 
 inability to make the picture ; to tell how beautiful those 
 lilies of the past appeared ; those lilies and dear roses of 
 Virginia fields ; and hope that they are somewhere bloom 
 ing on Virginia walls flowers of the years before ; but 
 fresh still for us, in imperishable memory ! 
 
 St. John and Bonnybel stood on the portico and watched 
 them till they disappeared. 
 
 She must have understood the long ardent look which he 
 fixed upon her face, as she stood thus, bathed in the silver 
 moonlight ; but Miss Bonnybel was sleepy and intent on 
 bed. 
 
 Much as she would have liked to promenade with her 
 companion, and tantalize him with her glances, she preferred 
 retiring. So, pursing up her lips toward him. as though she 
 wished to be kissed, she darted away, laughing, and disap 
 peared. 
 
 St. John remained alone, musing by moonlight for an 
 hour, and then also retired to his chamber and his bed. 
 It was to dream of her.
 
 '" HISS BONNYBEL. 81 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHICH VERIFIES THE PROVEEB THAT LISTENERS NKVEB 
 HEAR ANY GOOD OF THEMSELVES. 
 
 ON the morning following the scenes just narrated, St. 
 John leaped out of bed at sunrise, and leaving Tom Al 
 ston still asleep, dressed quickly, and. went down stairs; 
 thence he issued forth upon the lawn, and bent his steps 
 toward the " quarters." 
 
 Here, in all the dignified state of a log cabin of the larg 
 est size, his nurse, " Mammy Liza," resided. 
 
 Let it not be a matter of surprise that the lieutenant of 
 his Excellency's guards rose thus early to go and see his 
 nui-se. In the South, and more especially in Virginia, that 
 element of society denominated " Mammy," is of no slight 
 importance and dignity. 
 
 This lady is of high aristocratic dignity. She is of the 
 Order of the "Bath" in reference to the young ladies of 
 the manor house, both of the " Bath" and the " Garter." 
 Iloni soit qui mat y pense ! 
 
 For her young master, the old African countess preserves 
 an unfailing attachment and a jealous care. All his goings 
 on are criticised with a watchful supervision. Does he per 
 form a generous and noble action ? the countess is there to 
 say it is just like her boy. Does he sit up late with revel 
 ing blades, and make darkness hideous with tipsy uproar ? 
 the countess eloquently extends her arm, assumes a look of 
 outraged virtue, and rates the delinquent soundly using 
 for the purpose all her vast resources in the art of scolding ; 
 and ending with an ominous shake of the head, an unfavor 
 able comparison of the scapegrace with his honored sire, 
 Old Master, and a prophecy that if he do n't reform, he '11 
 come to want, and them overseers will be masters at the hall. 
 Does the crushed malefactor \irge in gentle tones that he 
 was merely entertaining his friends, and playing a hand at
 
 82, MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 cards, for amusement only? the countess is unconvinced, 
 and requests, with dignity, that she may not be told any 
 thing of that sort ; she never thought that any son of Mis- 
 tress would turn out a sorrow to her; and with renewed 
 ominous shakings of the head, she sends away the penitent 
 criminal, overwhelmed with remorse, and making good res 
 olutions. Beautiful and touching is the love of these old 
 women for the children they have nursed ; and they cher 
 ish and love, and scold and forgive them, with the earnest 
 ness of real maternity. 
 
 Mammy Liza is an old woman with her head enveloped 
 in a white handkerchief, and she spins at the door of her 
 comfortable cabin, from the summit of whose stone chimney 
 built up outside, a wreath of smoke rises, and glows like a 
 stream of gold in the sunrise. 
 
 St. John hastens on, smiling, and his shadow falling be 
 fore her, makes Mammy Liza lift her old face. She utters an 
 exclamation of great joy, and in a moment they are sitting 
 side by side on the old bench, talking of a thousand things 
 this talk being chiefly on the part of the old woman, who, 
 with the garrulity of age, embraces the past, the present, 
 and the future, in her monologue. 
 
 For half an hour they thus sit side by side, and then Mr. 
 St. John rises with the bright smile which makes his coun 
 tenance at times singularly attractive. He has renewed 
 with the old woman all those recollections of his youth and 
 childhood, rapidly disappearing amid the dust of the arena, 
 and the kind old vou has sounded to him like the softest 
 music, the very echo of happiness. 
 
 As he looks forth thus into the fields, he thinks he sees 
 Bonnybel approaching, and soon this is confirmed. He sud 
 denly passes behind the door, and cautioning the old woman, 
 waits to give the young lady a surprise. 
 
 She comes on with an active and springy step, clad in a 
 brown gown, thick, serviceable shoes, and a broad-rimmed 
 chip hat ; presenting thus a strong contrast to the Miss 
 Bonnybel of the minuet. B;it her checks are even more
 
 MISS BOSTNYBEL. 83 
 
 / 
 
 rosy, her eyes brighter, her laughing lips resemble rea'i car 
 nations. She is followed by a small negro maiden, carrying a 
 basket and pitcher the duty of this maiden at Vanely being 
 to watch Miss Bonnybel's countenance, and run at her nod. 
 
 Bonnybel's ^ice salutes Mammy Liza, and asks how she 
 is, to which the old woman returns the reply that she is 
 " poorly, thank God ; how is Miss Bel ?" 
 
 " I 'm as gay as a lark," returns the young lady, summon 
 ing her body-guard, "and I 've been to see Aunt Jane an' 3 
 all the sick. Aunt Seraphina tried to take it away from me, 
 but I fought her and made her give up,"* added Miss Bon- 
 nybel, with great cheerfulness. 
 
 St. John, behind the door, laughs silently. The young 
 lady continues, running on carelessly : 
 
 " Here 's some breakfast, Mammy. I suppose you know 
 the news. Your great General Harry 's come back ! and 
 now I suppose you think I 'm going to praise him ! but 
 you 're mistaken ! He is terribly ugly ! and the most dis 
 agreeable person I ever knew ! Lazy, too ! just think of 
 his lying in bed, with poor little me out here ! It was chilly 
 enough when I got out of my warm bed. But I am going 
 to get up every morning, just to shame those lazy boys. 
 Ha I ha ! now you are getting angry, Mammy ! You want 
 me to praise that stiff, awkward, lazy, odious, good-for-noth 
 ing Harry of yours, but I won't ! Do you believe that he 
 had the audacity to kiss me ! Humph ! he thinks I 'm a 
 child still, does he ? I '11 make him know that I 'm a young 
 lady ! I 'm seventeen ! and I intend to make every one of the 
 boys run when I tell them ! some of 'em are glad enough to !" 
 
 The young lady paused to catch her breath ; but seeing 
 what she considered an expression of pain upon Mammy 
 Liza's face, immediately recommenced: 
 
 " Have I hurt your feelings, Mammy, with my talk about 
 your boy? O ! I was only jesting! and I'll say any thing 
 you wish ! To think me in earnest ! He 's the dearest, 
 sweetest, handsomest fellow in the world ! I would n't 
 have had him to miss kissing me for any thing ! He 's sff
 
 84 MISS BONJ7YBEL. 
 
 v 
 
 erect, and proud, and noble! and has such an excellent 
 heart ! and dances so well! and rides so well ! and " 
 
 " Fishes young ladies from the water so well !" says St. 
 John, coming from his hiding place, with a laugh. 
 
 Bonnybel retreats a step, almost screaming. She recon 
 eiders this, however, and bursts out laughing. 
 
 " Ain't you ashamed, sir ?" she then says, passing quickly 
 to a pout, " to lie in wait, and listen to me so ! But tt.eve 'a 
 one comfort, you heard my abuse of you ; listenerr oevei 
 hear any good of themselves." 
 
 "I did," said St. John. 
 
 " You heard some bad too, then !'* 
 
 " "Well, I'll mix the good and bad together, and perhaps 
 I shall arrive at your real opinion of your poor cousin." 
 
 " Now you are commencing your mock humility. I de 
 test you !" 
 
 And Bonnybel draws away abruptly the small soft hand 
 which, by some accident, has remained in that of her com 
 panion since he took possession of it. There is, however, 
 very little detestation in the tone of the words, or the 
 glance which accompanies them. 
 
 When they take leave of Mammy Liza, and return toward 
 the mansion over the beautiful dewy lawn, beneath the great 
 oaks, bathed in the red sunlight, an excellent understanding 
 seems to have been arrived at, and Bonnybel is plying tht 
 dangerous artillery of her eyes with fatal effect upon hei 
 companion. 
 
 Mr. Harry St. John is falling in love as rapidly as it ia 
 possible to go through that ceremony.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BONNYBEL LOOKS IN A MIBBOR AND LAUGHd. 
 
 THE ladies were assembled in the cheerful breakfast room, 
 and half a dozen servants were placing on the broad table a 
 profusion of smoking edibles, contributing to the perfection 
 of that most perfect of inventions, a Virginia breakfast. 
 
 St. John mixed a julep with the skill and rapidity ot an 
 old practitioner, and the ladies, having each taken a sip, the 
 parties were soon seated around the board, Miss Bonnybel 
 behind the urn. 
 
 "Did Mr. Alston commence his toilet when you did?" 
 asked the young lady, innocently, of St. John, glancing, as 
 she spoke, demurely at the stately Helen; "he takes as 
 long to dress as a girl, and Bel Tracy said, the other day, 
 that he was no better than one, with his curls and per 
 fumes!" 
 
 Helen, with a dignified toss of the head, intimates her 
 opinion of this attack upon her admirer, but says nothing. 
 
 " Just think of Mr. Alston on horseback!" continues Bon 
 nybel, pouring out, " with musquetoon, and saber, heavy 
 boots, and pistols, going to the wars ! Now you all frown 
 at me, as if it was treason to doubt that the elegant Mr. 
 Alston would leap out of his bed, and be ready at sunrise, 
 if the trumpet called to horse !" 
 
 " I doubt that myself, my dear Miss Bonnybel," said the 
 subject of the conversation, behind the young lady ; " 't is 
 only the breakfast bell that rouses me." 
 
 And Mr. Alston, in snowy ruffles, and serene smiles, saun 
 ters in and distributes a comprehensive salute. 
 
 "Was I the subject of discussion?" he says, amiably 
 " Chocolate, if you please, Miss Bonnybel." 
 
 " 'T was Miss Tracy's epigram about you that was -e- 
 peated," says St. John
 
 &6 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Tracy ?" replies his friend. A fine girl, Miss 
 Tracy told me she wished she was a man, the other day." 
 
 "Well, Tom, she said she regarded you no more than a 
 girl. 'T is only reasonable to suppose that she wishes to 
 change her condition with her sex and marry you. Mr. 
 Bel Tr.icy, on the 10th, to Miss Thomas Alston, daughter 
 of, and so forth, in the ' Gazette !' " 
 
 Mr. Alston replies, serenely, 
 
 *' Delighted to many Miss Bell Tracy, but not to change 
 my sex." 
 
 "I would," says Bonnybel. 
 
 " You !" says St. John ; " pray why ?" 
 
 " Oh we 'd have such glorious fox-hunts I and the other 
 boys!" cries Bonnybel, "and such a jolly frolic after 
 wards !" 
 
 The air of the young lady, while she utters these words, 
 is so excellent a farce that even Aunt Mabel laughs. 
 
 "But, you will permit me," says Mr. Alston; "what 
 would be the state of mind of your adorers, Miss Bonnybel, 
 for doubtless you wish to marry a young gentleman." 
 
 " No, sir ! Pray whom ?" 
 
 "Why, let us say, Will Roan why not espouse that 
 gentleman ?" 
 
 " For a very good reason he 's not asked me !" laughs 
 the young lady ; " besides, I would n't if he did. I 've no 
 desire to go halves in his affections with the thorough-bred 
 he 's had the goodness, I am told, to call ' Bonnybel,' after 
 me, forsooth !" 
 
 " Well, Roan ia fond of horses. But there 's Buck Ran- 
 ton. He 's a fine fellow ; though I heard an aristocratic 
 little lady in town, the other day, declare that Mr. Ranton's 
 family were scarcely ' good enough for her he was n't an 
 F. F. V.' " 
 
 " An F. F. V. ? I hate that new-fangled phrase !" cries 
 Bonnybel, " and I think the young lady was a goose ! I say 
 Mr. Ranton 's every inch a gentleman, and I do n't care a fig 
 about his family !"
 
 MISS 13ONNYBEL. 81 
 
 " Why not have him then, ray dear Madam ?" .u-ges Mr 
 Alston, gently. 
 
 Bounybel is silent Mr. Ranton's misadventure being very 
 recent. 
 
 " Or Charley Fox," continues the gentleman, smiling, and 
 sipping his chocolate; "he at least does not fill his mind 
 with horses like Mr. Roan." 
 
 " But he does with his namesakes, the foxes !" says Bon- 
 nybel. '"Tis even more humiliating to divide with fox 
 hounds than horses. Mr. Fox's wife is sure to be the keep 
 er of the kennels!" 
 
 " Say Mr. Lindon, then." 
 
 The girl's face clouds, and she says, coldly, 
 
 " I do not like Mr. Lindon." 
 
 " Well, well," says Mr. Alston, " then I will not further 
 annoy you, unless you will permit me to suggest the names 
 of your friends, Mr. Randolph, Mr. Page, Mr. Pendleton, 
 or Mr. Braxton; I believe they all come occasionally to 
 see you, do they not ?" 
 
 A smile runs around the table, and for a moment there is 
 silence. Mr. Alston has given an accurate catalogue of the 
 slain and wounded, for whose condition Miss Bonnybel is 
 responsible for all these gentlemen have met with bad 
 fortune at Vanely. 
 
 Bonnybel, however, is a true woman that is to say, she 
 finds no difficulty in commanding her countenance. 
 
 "Did you ask if these gentlemen were my friends?" she 
 says, with the most dove-like innocence, "and if they ever 
 came to see me ? Yes, they do, sometimes, sir." 
 
 Mr. Alston gently inclines his head, sipping his chocolate. 
 
 "I thought I had seen them here once or twice," he 
 replies, " though not very frequently of late. However, I 
 suppose they have one and all been detained by some little 
 accident." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" says Miss Bonnybel, with innocent 
 curiosity ; " but while I think of it, pray how do you geq- 
 tlemen propose to spend the morning ?"
 
 88 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Mr. Alston acquiesces in the change of topic, and says 
 with graceful ease, 
 
 " I think I shall bestow my poor society on Miss Helen, 
 if she is not afraid of being thrown into a fit of yawning." 
 
 " And I will ride out with you if you wish," says St. John 
 to Bonnybel. 
 
 This arrangement is acquiesced in, and the breakfast 
 ends. Aunt Mabel retires to her chamber to supervise the 
 " cutting out," Miss Seraphina to peruse the last romance 
 brought from London, and the young men to smoke pipes 
 and look at the horses. The Vanely stables boa'st many 
 thorough-breds, and more than one racer in full training. 
 
 St. John had that passion for fine horses characteristic of 
 the soil, and with a corn-cob pipe between his lips, in the 
 midst of a crowd of stable-boys, who respectfully greeted 
 him as an old friend and favorite, discoursed at great length 
 to Tom Alston on the points of the animals, as they were 
 led out, and stepped proudly onward, in the sunshine. 
 
 The last was a bay filly of elegant proportions, and this he 
 ordered to be saddled for Bonnybel, whose property it was. 
 
 Soon afterwards Tom Alston having sauntered back to 
 the drawing-room the young man, mounted on his fine 
 " Tallyho," was flying along a winding road of the Vanely 
 woods by the side of his cousin. 
 
 It is said that ball-rooms, parlors, and social haunts in 
 general, are unpropitious for certain emotions. Either 
 something distracts the attention or the atmosphere is 
 unfavorable to romance. It is added that it is extremely 
 dangerous, however, to a young man to ride alone, with 
 a lovely cousin in a beautiful forest. 
 
 In the case of Harry St. John this proved true. After 
 that ride, he felt with a sort of fearful happiness, a rueful 
 delight, that his fate was sealed. As they galloped on, his 
 eyes were unconsciously riveted on the mischievous little 
 beauty, who, with rosy cheeks and rippling curls, and slen 
 der figure, undulating in the close fitting riding-habit, re 
 sembled rather a wild nymph of the woods than a mortal
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 89 
 
 maiden. Every word she uttered was a jest or an cxcla 
 mat ion ; she performed ? thousand antics on her steed ; the 
 very spirit of the laughing audacious spring seemed to flush 
 her blood. The perfume of a thousand flowers crammed 
 the balmy air with fragrance ; the birds sang joyfully from 
 the oakes and pines; the leaves whispered in the river 
 breeze, and cast a fitful shadow on them as they moved. 
 
 Our chronicle would grow to ponderous length, if we 
 paused to record the witty nothings uttered by Miss Bonny- 
 bel ; her careless and sparkling jests, pointed with laughter, 
 and bright glances of coquettish eyes. We must leave the 
 conversation unrecorded. All lived, however, in the young 
 man's recollection, and this ride became one of the most de 
 lightful treasures of his memory. 
 
 Three hours were spent thus ; then the heads of the horses 
 were turned toward home. At the great gate they encoun 
 tered the chariot, and were gaily greeted by the jovial old 
 colonel, who had been detained over night at the house of 
 one of his neighbors. 
 
 They stopped but a moment ; leaving the ponderous chariot 
 to follow at its leisure, they sped up the hill, and the foam- 
 ing horses were checked before the great portico. 
 
 In helping the young lady to the ground, St. John did 
 even more than his duty. He quietly took her in his arms 
 and lifted her from the saddle, receiving a box on the cheek 
 for his pains, given and received with laughter. 
 
 Bonnybel then gathered her long skirt in her hand, and 
 ran up st;iirs to her chamber. It might have been supposed 
 that her object was to lay aside her habit, but her first pro 
 ceeding was singular. She went to the Inrge mirror, turned 
 herself from side to side before it, surveying, from every 
 point of view, her graceful face, her curls, her cheeks, her 
 very dimples ; then, with a proud and triumphant toss of 
 her little head, and a confidential nod, the maiden thre\v 
 aside her chip hat, and letting fall her beautiful brown hair 
 uttered a low laugh. 
 
 Can "any of our fair readers tell us what slio meant?
 
 90 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE NEWS FROM BOSTON. 
 
 THE profuse dinner is nearly over, and nothing remains 
 upon the wide table but the nuts and wine. 
 
 Leaning one arm upon the board, and pushing about the 
 port and Canary, Colonel Vane, with features which gradu 
 ally flush with anger, addresses the two young men : 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, you have a right to be astonished 1" 
 he says, " and I share your astonishment." 
 
 " But 't is not in the last ' Gazette,' " says Mr. St. John. 
 " How could the intelligence have arrived ?" 
 
 " Well, it arrived through a private channel, but a reli 
 able one. An emissary, who never deceives, announced it 
 yesterday at the court house, and there is no longer any 
 doubt of it. Yes, things at last approach an issue. Gov 
 ernment enacts that, after the first day of June, the harbor 
 of Boston shall be closed by armed troops, her shipping 
 shall rot in the bay, her streets be thronged with red coats, 
 and martial law prevail ! What think you, gentlemen of 
 the colony of Virginia, of this blow at our beloved sister 
 province of Massachusetts Bay ?" 
 
 "I think 't is a despotic and base exercise of power " says 
 St. John, " and I 'd resist at all hazards." 
 
 " And I agree with you, Harry," says Mr. Alston, " to 
 the letter." 
 
 " Yo'i are right, gentlemen," said the old planter ; ** and 
 no North American can see Massachusetts holding out her 
 hand without aiding her. Whatever touches her, touches 
 Virginia, nay, touches all the colonies, for this tyrannical 
 edict is but the entering wedge ! If it does not arm the 
 colonies, then they will lie down in chains for ever ! Miser- 
 alile and woful times! tyrants and knaves banded against 
 honest men !" cries the old gentleman, dashing down his 
 glr^s, \vr;it]if'u|ly. "I'll bucKle o'i my sword and fi^Iit for
 
 MISS BONnYBEL. 01 
 
 the cause in the ranks, as a common soldier, before I '11 forgot 
 that I 'm a Virginia gentleman, and grovel in the dust, and 
 lick the boots of North and his yelping beagles. And not 
 even tyrannical edicts will answer ! We are to be whipped 
 into submission by this General Gage, commander of his 
 Majesty's forces in the provinces ! He is to cut and hack 
 us to pieces if we dare to murmur ! By Heaven ! we are 
 slaves indeed ! We, the descendants of Englishmen, with 
 the strong arms of our forefathers, and their liberty as Brit 
 ish subjects 1 We who fought for the king on a hundred 
 battle fields, and poured out our best blood like water for 
 our sovereigns ; sovereigns that never gave us any thing to 
 bind our wounds, although we served them generation after 
 generation, as kings were never served ! We Englishmen 
 are to be trodden down and trampled on like a pack of curs, 
 and whipped back to our places by this body of time servers, 
 who are rolling yonder in their wealth, and making laws to 
 bind the chains upon our limbs, as though we were their 
 serfs ! Damn my blood !" cries the colonel, striking the 
 table with his fist, " I '11 give half my estate to arm a com 
 pany, and I '11 march myself at the head of it, if Cato has to 
 hold me on my crutches." 
 
 During the course of this explosive address, which was 
 terminated by a sudden attack upon the colonel's foot by 
 his old enemy, Mr. St. John leaned back in his seat, and, 
 with folded arms, revolved, in the depth of his mind, the 
 significance of this new blow at the colonies. 
 
 Was it not foreseen or even reported by its movers, by 
 secret dispatches to Lord Dunmore, and had not this fact 
 something to do with the existence of his Excellency's 
 " guards" at the palace gate soldiers who recognized no 
 other allegiance than that due to their master, and who, if 
 need be, would be employed to awe the inhabitants of Wil- 
 liamsburg and the House of Burgesses ? 
 
 And he was the commander of this body ! He who 
 swore by the code which the old gentleman had just pro 
 Claimed, who rated his dignity of honest gentleman a.g
 
 92 MISS JJONNYBEL, 
 
 high as that of a peer of the realm, who was ready to 
 pour out his blood for the preservation of his most trivial 
 right he, Henry St. John, was in the pay of his Excel 
 lency ! 
 
 The young man's brow clouded and his eyes flashed. 
 
 " You are right, uncle," he said, " 't is a bitter draught 
 th^y hold to our lips and expect us to drink. I predict that 
 this act will open the eyes of the inhabitants of this colony, 
 ;md that there will soon be a struggle for supremacy with 
 Lord Dunmore. In that cause, I, for one, know which side 
 I '11 be ranged on. I 've long felt that my position yonder 
 was slavery, and nothing but disinclination to retreat from 
 my post in the service of the government, threatened with 
 Indian troubles, has kept me from resigning what has come 
 to be a menial's miserable routine! Lord Dunmore has de 
 ceived me, sir, in a manner wholly unworthy of a gentleman, 
 and I '11 tell him so, if need be. Yes, sir ! if the struggle 's 
 here in Virginia, I '11 myself cheerfully brace on my sword, 
 and strike as hard blows as I 'm able in the contest against 
 this detestable tyranny ! I am more than of your way of 
 thinking, sir. For this body of men across the water to be 
 forcing down our throats every nauseous dose they choose ! 
 binding us hand and foot with chains, no doubt to lash us 
 the better, and so force us along the king's highway, drag 
 ging at our heels the lumbering parliament coach, with my 
 Lord North and his family inside ! I '11 no more wear their 
 harness than I '11 longer don the livery of his Excellency, 
 which I 'm fixed to discard and throw from me, as a plague 
 garment ! I '11 be no nobleman's dog, to hunt his prey and 
 do his dirty work ; I '11 not be this man's lackey a vulgar 
 fellow, in my humble opinion, neither more nor less, and I '11 
 say it to his face, if I 'm provoked to it !" 
 
 St. John stopped, red, angry and disdainful, thinking of 
 the scene at the palace. 
 
 " Well, well," said the colonel, relieved by his explosion, 
 '* let us not speak evil of dignitaries, Harry. I confess I dc 
 not like Lord Dunmore, but he vs Governor."
 
 MISS BONNTBEL. 93 
 
 St. John made a motion of his head, indicating his willing 
 ness to dismiss so distasteful a subject. 
 
 " All I have to say, sir," he added, " is that things in Vir 
 ginia seem to be progressing, and we '11 probably have an 
 act of Parliament for our own special behoof ere long." 
 
 " Well, well," said the old gentleman, who seemed to re 
 gret his momentary outburst, " we shall see." 
 
 "If I am not much mistaken, sir, his Excellency will en 
 deavor to make us shut our eyes as long as possible, and use 
 his skill to make us believe black 's white. Yes, sir, we shall 
 see, and perhaps we shall do more we shall fight !" 
 
 There was silence after these words, and the colonel filled 
 his glass and pushed the wine. 
 
 " Perhaps we will not find in his lordship a tool of the 
 ministry, Harry," he said, " and my old blood flushes up 
 too hotly. I should set you youngsters a better example 
 than rashness. You are already too full of fight. I remem 
 ber Lord Botetourt said to me one day that he 'd throw 
 his appointment into the Atlantic rather than aid in enforc 
 ing upon Virginia a tyrannical regulation of Parliament ; 
 and who knows but the like public spirit may exist in the 
 bosom of Lord Dunmore ; at least 't is time lost to specu 
 late at present. Let us hold in, and watch the action of the 
 House of Burgesses. If they proceed to the resolves which 
 become them, they will come to a point, and his Excellency 
 will have to show his hand." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said St. John, " and I predict that you'll see 
 a card up his sleeve." 
 
 The old gentleman smiled. 
 
 "Well, well, Harry," he said, "we won't charge him 
 with cheating till we see it ; and then it will be time enough 
 to outlaw him. Thank Heaven, we have noble players in the 
 game ! There's Bland, and Pendleton, and Harrison, and 
 Henry, a host in themselves, especially this last, who 's an 
 absolute thunderbolt. There 's Lee, and Randolph, ami 
 Nicholas, and Gary, all gentlemen of conspicuous talents. 
 Mr. Jefferson from the mountains, too, goes, I 'in told, t'.|
 
 94 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 lengths, and is of extraordinary political genius. We must 
 not forget Colonel Washington, whose tine house at Mount 
 Vernon is so delightfully situated on the Potomac. You 
 know how heroically he fought in the expedition against 
 Fort Duquesne, in which I am told he gave General Brad- 
 dock advice which it had been well for that ill-fated gen 
 tleman to 've taken. Certainly Colonel Washington is of 
 admirable presence, and there is I know not what of majes 
 ty in his deportment, and grandeur in the carriage of iris 
 head. I think we have a worthy body of gentlemen en 
 gaged at present in our public aifairs, and history may yet 
 dwell on our period and its characters, and future genera 
 tions may erect statues to these patriotic leaders of opinion. 
 Certainly they do seem to possess remarkable unanimity in 
 distrusting his lordship. But let us wait, Harry, and not 
 try his Excellency before he is caught with the bloody hand 
 an unfortunate illustration I have fallen on, but " 
 
 " It 's apt, sir." 
 
 The colonel shook his head in a good-humored way and 
 smiled. 
 
 "No, no, Harry," he said, "let us be just to all men; let 
 us not forget that moderation is the most fatal enemy of 
 despotism, until it throws off its disguise. Then there 'a 
 time enough to gird on the sword. My preaching and 
 practicing are, I confess, somewhat different on the present 
 occasion, and I 've set you a bad example. But the old 
 hound growls the loudest, you know, because he 's got no ( 
 teeth, and thinks every shadow reason for alarm. There, 
 there, Harry, let us leave all this to the future, and to that 
 Almighty Power in whose hand are the balances of fate 
 the issue of peace and war !" 
 
 Si. John bowed his head, and was silent. 
 
 "I'll go take my nap now, boys," added the old gentle- 
 mnn, smiling pleasantly ; "that road to the river 's all fixed, 
 and I shall sleep with a good conscience, and have pleasant 
 dreams, I trust." 
 
 Having delivered himself of this good humored speech,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 96 
 
 the old gentleman emptied the remainder of his glass of 
 Canary, and, assisted by Bonnybel, who ran to give him hei 
 shoulder, limped from tlie room into the library upon llu- 
 opposite side of the hall. 
 
 Here, composing himself comfortably in his customary 
 arm-chair, with the gouty foot across another, the worthy 
 colonel covered his face with a copy of the " Virginia Ga 
 zette," and very soon was slumbering like an infant. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MODEL OF A PERFECT LOVEB. 
 
 WE have repeated the conversation upon the subject of 
 the new Act of Parliament, and we now proceed to say, 
 that at Vanely, as elsewhere in that earnest period, actior 
 followed theory. 
 
 When the family descended on the next morning, they 
 saw ranged in a long row upon the sideboard, the japanned 
 tea-canisters of the house, all hermetically sealed, with the 
 Vanely seal upon the wax.* 
 
 This ceremony had been performed by Miss Bonnybel, 
 under the colonel's supervision, and from that time forth* 
 until the end of the revolutionary troubles, no tea was drunk 
 at Vanely, as happened at a thousand other places all over 
 the colony. 
 
 6 After breakfast, Mr. St. John and the colonel went to 
 witness some operations upon the lands, and Mr. Alston, as 
 usual, betook himself to the sitting-room. 
 
 We have busied ourselves so exclusively with the say 
 ings and doings of two personages of our story, that Mr. 
 Thomas Alston's adventures have not been even adverted to. 
 
 We say adventures, for during all these hours at Vauely 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. VI.
 
 00 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Mr. Alston has been far from idle, and has vigorously aj> 
 plied himself to the prosecution of an undertaking which 
 we have scarcely hinted. 
 
 Let us still forbear to intrude upon this gentleman's pri 
 vate interviews with his friend ; let us respectfully retreat 
 when he closes, on this eventful morning, the sitting-room 
 door upon himself and that friend ; let us go and return 
 with Mr. St. John and Colonel Vane, who get back in their 
 light carriage after an hour or two. 
 
 Mr. Alston's sulky stands at the door his horse's Lead 
 held respectfully by a groom. 
 
 To the colonel's question, whether Mr. Alston intends 
 to depart, his friend, Mr. St. John, replies that he has not 
 been advised of such intention ; and learning soon that his 
 friend has gone up stairs, he follows him, and finds him 
 there. 
 
 Mr. Alston is seated in an easy-chair, with one foot upon 
 the window sill, the other being elegantly thrown over his 
 knee 
 
 He is gazing philosophically out upon the landscape, and 
 nods with tranquil greeting to his friend. 
 
 " What, Tom !" St. John says, " surely you 're not going 
 away : seeing your sulky " 
 
 " Yes, I think I '11 go, Harry, my boy," says Mr. Alston, 
 leaning back easily. 
 ' "Why, pray?" 
 
 "For two reasons." 
 
 " Name them, in order that I may instantly refute them." 
 
 A serene smile wanders over Mr. Tom Alston's counte 
 nance, and he regards his friend with quiet superiority, aa 
 cf one impregnable. 
 
 * Do you think you '11 be able, Harry, my boy ?" he ask* 
 
 " I am confident of it." 
 
 Mr. Alston smiles and shakes his head. 
 
 " Come, speak !" says -St. John. 
 
 " You want my reasons ?" 
 
 * Yes, both at once, if you choose."
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. Jtff 
 
 * L prefer mentioning them in succession, Harry," v-v, s 
 llr. Alston, "if it 's nil the same." 
 
 "Entirely: well the first?" 
 
 " My first reason for departing from this elegant abode 
 of the muses and the graces," says Mr. Alston, eloquently, 
 "is the absolute necessity I'm under of procuring a clean 
 frill, let us say. Can you answer that ?" 
 
 " Easily you know my whole wardrobe 's at your service." 
 
 Mr. Alston shakes his head in the old way. 
 
 " Unfortunately your garments do not fit me, Harry," hp 
 replies, "and nothing but regard for your feelings has pre 
 vented me from revealing the misery I 've experienced from 
 the frill I borrowed of you yesterday." 
 
 "Why, there 's none better in London !" 
 
 " You 're deceiving yourself, my dear friend you do in 
 deed !" says Mr. Alston, almost earnestly ; " indeed you are 
 mistaken ! Were it not from regard for your friendship I 
 should feel compelled to say that your linen 's absolutely 
 terrible !" 
 
 St. John laughs. 
 
 " Well," he says, " there's no appealing from a matter of 
 taste. Mutato nomine de te, you know, and I '11 wager that 
 the weaknesses in my own wardrobe are shared by your 
 own. But there remains the reason in reply, that you may 
 easily have clothes brought to you from Moorefield." 
 
 " I fear not." 
 
 ' Why ? 
 
 " They would necessarily be rumpled, and to wear a rum 
 pled frill plunges me into untold agony." 
 
 "Hang it, Tom," says St. John, laughing, " you 'ro really 
 the most perfect maccaroni I have ever seen. There 's no 
 arguing with such a fop dyed in the grain !" 
 
 " My dear friend, you pain me," says Mr. Alston, mildly ; 
 "pray, don't pursue this mode of talking." 
 
 " Well, that is as you choose. Come, what 's your second 
 famous reason for departing ? f predict I '11 easily refute 
 this one at least."
 
 98 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Mr. Alston smiles. 
 
 " Do you think so ?" he says. 
 
 " I am confident of it." 
 
 Mr. Alston nods serenely, and is silent. 
 
 " Come speak, thou unconscionable Sphynx 1 Thou enig 
 ma of mystery, unfold thy logic." 
 
 Mr. Alston smiles again. 
 
 *' I will ask you a question first, my dear Harry," he say? 
 " If you had laid siege to a fortress for many months h;id 
 plied the enemy with your heaviest chain shot, and red-hot 
 cannon balls if you had sounded the trumpet at last, and 
 so advanced bravely to the assault with your colors flying, 
 and your charger neighing and in this, the final and con 
 clusive onset, been ignorainiously beaten back do you un 
 derstand ?" 
 
 " Yes, so far." 
 
 " I ask, under such a state of things, would you be likely 
 to remain in presence of the victorious enemy ; be cut, and 
 hacked, and wounded ; worse still, be cut to pieces and dis 
 posed of in a bloody trench, as some one of my friends, the 
 poets, says ? Answer me, or rather do n't, for I see, from 
 your dumb-foundered look, that my reasoning has been con 
 clusive." 
 
 And Mr. Alston smooths his peruke gently, smiling. 
 
 " You do n't mean to say " cries St. John, with an out 
 burst. 
 
 " I do indeed, my friend. I have the hon6r of observing 
 that this morning my addresses were respectfully declined 
 by Mistress Helen, and you behold, really, the most unfor 
 tunate of men !" 
 
 St. John stands, for a moment, looking at his friend in 
 silence ; his friend returns the look with pleasing smiles. 
 
 " Well, Tom," says St. John, " I will say that you are the 
 most philosophical discarded lover I have ever seen." 
 
 " Philosophical ?" 
 
 " Intensely." 
 
 " Why, Harry, my boy, you do n't think that propriety
 
 MISS BONNYBKL, 90 
 
 requires me to strew ashes on my head, do you ? If you 
 think so, there 's the fire-place, and, doubtless, sackcloth is 
 convenient." 
 
 "What a philosopher!" cries his friend in admiradon. 
 
 " Well, well, I arrogate no praise. .Why should I ? 
 Why should I pull a long face and groan ? My friend, 't w 
 the fortune of war, and I add, in the unsuspecting and con 
 fiding simplicity of my nature, that this event has happened 
 to me with the same young lady twice before. This should, 
 doubtless, be estimated in the matter, for, you see, I am 
 used to it." 
 
 St. John received this declaration with a burst of laugh 
 ter. 
 
 "And you are not desperate ?" he says. 
 
 " Not at all. After that decent interval which propriety 
 requires, I shall again request Miss Helen's acceptance of 
 my hand, and if she refuses, I shall probably ask her again. 
 Who knows? Some day I am likely to win her, and she 's 
 worth the trouble. She 's no soft peach, my boy, ready to 
 fall into your mouth. The happy fellow who gets her will 
 be obliged to shake hard, and, you see, I 've been shaking 
 Perhaps the fruit 's looser, and will some day fall patience, 
 and shuffle the cards !" 
 
 Having delivered himself of these remarks, Mr. Alston 
 rises and adds, 
 
 " C waited to see you, Harry, before going, and I hope 
 you '11 come to Moorefield soon. If you 're here a week 
 I '11 probably see you again, as I 've promised Miss Helen 
 to repeat my visit. There, my dear boy, do n't stare and 
 laugh so. One would think you were surprised at such a 
 thing as a young fellow 's making the attack and being beat 
 en. I confess I was somewhat precipitate. I thought 1 
 saw a defect in the wall of the fortress in fact Miss Sera- 
 phina told me that Miss Helen admired my peruke, and 
 thought I 'd make a very amiable husband. I should not 
 have been so much deceived but nothing 's lost. T '11 soon 
 be back."
 
 100 MISS BOHTNYBEL. 
 
 And after the young men had exchanged some more con 
 versation serene on Mr. Alston's part, and full of pent-up 
 laugh :cr on St. John's tUu) desceiid'jd to the hall. 
 
 Mr. Alston went round, in the Virginia fashion, and took 
 separate leave of everybody, with a friendly and smiling re 
 mark for each. 
 
 He trusted that the colonel's gout would soon leave him, 
 and that the road to the river would be all he expected. 
 
 He hoped Aunt Mabel would not have a return of iier 
 cough these colds must be very painful. 
 
 He thought Miss Seraphina's coiffure was the handsom 
 est he 'd ever seen. 
 
 He begged Miss Bonnybel to give him the rose in her 
 hair or one of the two in her cheeks. 
 
 And he expressed to the blushing and quiet Helen the 
 most graceful thanks for the thousand kind things she had 
 done for him during his most delightful visit a visit which 
 he should ever continue to remember, and would certainly 
 repeat before many days had passed. 
 
 Having gone through these various friendly and compli 
 mentary speeches, Mr. Alston pressed his cocked hat on 
 his heart, and smiling with the utmost courtesy, bowed 
 low, and issued forth. 
 
 In ten minutes his light sulky, with its rapid trotter, had 
 disappeared in the forest, was seen to glitter with revolving 
 dashes on the road, and then finally it disappeared, carrying 
 away the discarded model of a lover, or the model of a dis 
 carded lover, whichever our fair fr'ends please.
 
 MTSS BONNYBTCT.. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW MB. LINDON CAME TO AND WENT. AWAY FROM 
 
 VANELY. 
 
 SEVERAL days have passed. It is a beautiful May morning 
 Bonnybel and St. John are talking together in the sitting- 
 room a habit into which they have of late quietly and 
 tacitly fallen. 
 
 Bonnybel sits in the most coquetish attitude upon one of 
 the old carved-backed sofas, her slender figure supported by 
 the round, bolster-like pillow. She wears a light blue silk, 
 and around her bare arms falls a quantity of lace. From 
 the skirt of her azure silk peep forth in the most acci 
 dental way two delicate little feet, cased in white silk 
 stockings, and red morocco slippers, with high heels and 
 rich rosettes. The slender ankles are gracefully crossed 
 the beautiful feet seem wrapped around each other, so to 
 speak an ill-natured critic might say that Miss Bonnybel 
 had fixed them thus for her companion's inspection and ad 
 miration. 
 
 He sits at her side, and is showing her a book of engrav 
 ings. One of these is a woman weeping upon the breast 
 of a steel-clad cavalier the illustration of some border bal 
 lad. 
 
 He reads to her, and for the moment, thoughtful Bon- 
 nybel's eyes are weighed down with an impulsive pity. It 
 is a tale of love, devotion and death ; and as he reads, she 
 turns upon him a pair of violet eyes swimming in tears. 
 
 No word is uttered the volume lies on her lap St. John 
 holds her unconscious hand, and the beautiful face, with ita 
 large eyes full of tender pity, droops slowly and uncon 
 sciously as it were, toward the picture of the woman weep 
 ing in her husband's arms. 
 
 This is the pretty little tableau, when, with a shock which 
 skakes both windows, the door is thrown open, and a tall,
 
 102 MISS BOIWYBEL. 
 
 richly-clad gentleman, the arrival of whose splendid equipage 
 they had not been aware of, is ushered into the apartment. 
 Bonnybel rises calmly to her feet closing the volume 
 which she holds in her hand and returns the low sa 
 lute of the visitor with a cold and ceremonious inclination. 
 Mr. Lindon will pray be seated, and if he will excuse her a 
 moment, she will retire to arrange her somewhat informal 
 toilette. Mr. Lindon, she believes, is acquainted with her 
 cousin, Mr. St. John. 
 
 With these formal sentences, Miss Bonnybel moves from 
 the apartment and goes up stairs with the air of a duchess 
 subjected to an intrusion. 
 
 The two men greeted each other with ceremonious cold 
 ness ; on the part of Mr. Lindon there seemed even an .ex 
 hibition of suppressed and somber rage at the changed 
 demeanor of the young lady. 
 
 He was a tall, powerful man, verging, apparently, on forty, 
 and his bearing indicated a supercilious and yet uneasy 
 pride. 
 
 In a few moments Colonel Vane entered, and soon after 
 wards, the ladies appeared. Mr. Lindon did not seem a 
 great favorite with these, and when he announced his inten 
 tion of spending the day and night, as his estates lay at some 
 distance, the intimation did not appear to cause any one 
 unusual pleasure. All were scrupulously courteous and po 
 lite, but nothing more. 
 
 In Virginia, where cordiality and warmth, in the recep 
 tion of visitors, are a standing rule, a greeting of this species 
 always indicates dislike. 
 
 We have heard Miss Bomiybel, under Mr. Alston's teas 
 ing, speak coldly of the visitor; let us endeavor briefly to 
 exhibit the cause of this coldness. 
 
 Mr. Lindon was the only son of an English Catholic of 
 ancient family, who had purchased lands on the South Side. 
 These purchases had become a principality, in extent and 
 value, at the time of his death, and his son found himself the 
 possessor of a princely estate. - Lindon the elder had been a
 
 MISS BONHYBEL. 103 
 
 bigoted Catholic and aristocrat in the worst sense of Jhe 
 term, and his son inherited the same opinions. He honestly 
 regarded his family as the best in the colony, and regarded 
 rebellion against England as a crime of the deepest die. 
 
 Early enabled to command large resources, Mr. Lindon 
 had plunged at once into every species of vice and dissipa 
 tion. He had lost immense sums at the card table, and even 
 had been charged with cheating. More than one hum 
 ble family had been brought to misery and ruin by his vices 
 and he was liable, at times, to horrible excesses in wine, 
 which had already greatly impaired his vigorous constitu 
 tion. His character was a strange mixture of boldness and 
 cunning, of reckless courage and hidden treachery, and 
 the influence of his religious training, in the worst tenets of 
 the Jesuits, was very discernible. Under an affectation of 
 chivalric honor, he concealed a powerful tendency toward 
 secret scheming, and this unfavorable characteristic already 
 began to be suspected by the gentlemen with whom his po 
 sition enabled him to associate. 
 
 Mr. Lindon had made the acquaintance of Bonnybel some 
 months before, and she became the passion of his life. He 
 paid his addresses to her with a conquering air, however, 
 and, to his profound surprise, found himself at once dis 
 carded. 
 
 He had scarcely been able to restrain an explosion of rage 
 and astonishment ; that a man of his family and wealth 
 should be refused, was wholly incredible to him, and after a 
 month's reflection, he came to the conclusion that there was 
 some misunderstanding in the matter. 
 
 Let us pass over the events of the morning, and the cere 
 monious dinner, so unlike the habitual family reunion, fuL 
 of talk and laughter, and come to the afternoon. Perhaps 
 we shall find if there was such misunderstanding. 
 
 The meal had been over for an hour, and as they dined 
 early in those days, Mr. Lindon solicited the company of 
 Miss Bonnybel for a walk. The young lady pouted, but 
 finding it would be discourteous to refuse, consented, hop-
 
 104 MISS KONNYBEL. 
 
 ing to induce Mr. St. John and Helen to accompany them. 
 Helen was unwell, however, and so, in no favorable humor 
 toward her cavalier, Bonnybel was soon walking with Mr. 
 Lindon on the lawn. 
 
 Mr. Lindon's cheeks were somewhat flushed with the wine 
 he had been drinking ; but the Canary of the colonel seemeJ 
 only to have added to his habitual ceremony his uneasy ail 
 of haughty defiance. 
 
 " We have a fine evening, Miss Vane," he said, settling 
 his chin in his voluminous white cravat, " and this scene re 
 minds me of that at my estate of ' Agincourt.' " 
 
 " Does it, sir ?" she said, coldly. 
 
 " Yes ; it was so called by my father, the name of the 
 family hall, in England, being similar." 
 
 Mi - . Lindon settled his chin deeper in his white cravat, 
 and added : 
 
 " It originated after the great battle of that name. Sir 
 Howard Lindon, my ancestor, won his spurs there, though 
 our race came in with William the Conqueror." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "The king, in recognition of Sir Howard's services, 
 created him a Knight of the Bath, which, however, he 
 did not long enjoy, having fallen on the field, some years 
 After." 
 
 " You do not retain the title, I believe, sir," Bonnybel 
 said, coldly, forcing herself to say something. 
 
 " I do not, having no right, I fear, madam. It is hard to 
 be thus deprived of what 's honestly my due." 
 
 Bonnybel inclined. 
 
 " Like many other noble families," said Mr. Lindon, rais 
 ing his head proudly, " we have suffered misfortune, and of 
 all our princely possessions, in the mother country, nothing 
 remnins. It is true that my place of ' Ag-ir. court' is not 
 wholly contemptible, consisting as it does of ten or twelve 
 thousand acres, with three dwellings, besides the manor 
 house." 
 
 And Mr. Lindon settled his chin again.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 105 
 
 " That is a rery.fine estate, I should think, sir," said Bon- 
 nybcl, coldly. 
 
 '' Yes, tolerably fine, but my negroes, a thousand in num 
 ber, if I do not mistake, are badly managed. Still I can 
 not complain. My annual income, from numerous sources. 
 is some fifteen or twenty thousand pounds sterling, and I 
 tind that adequate to my wants." 
 
 "It is a very handsome income, I should suppose, sir." 
 
 "Vanely is not quite so large as Agincourt, I be^evt,-, 
 madam ?" 
 
 " I am sure 't is not, sir," said Bonnybel, quite calmly ; 
 " though I do not know the extent of papa's grounds." 
 
 " Vanely is very richly cultivated." 
 
 " Is it, sir ?" 
 
 " Very but you will pardon me for saying that I did not 
 come hither, upon this occasion, to compare plantation views 
 with Colonel Vane, madam." 
 
 " You did not, sir ? 
 
 " No, Miss Vane, and I think you do not misunderstand 
 me." 
 
 Mr. Lindon's stately ceremony did not -melt at all as he 
 thus spoke. Bonnybel made no reply. 
 
 Mr. Lindon was silent for some moments too, then he 
 aid, 
 
 " I observed that this scene of hill and meadow, oak forest 
 and pine, reminded me of ' Agincourt,' and I often sit upon 
 my portico and think of Vanely." 
 
 "Do you, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, madam, and I will add, of yourself." 
 
 Bonnybel inclined her head silently, and prepared for the 
 rest. 
 
 " Since I had the misfortune to be deprived for a time 
 of your society" this was Mr. Lindon's graceful paraphrase 
 of bis discardal " I have not been able to banish your 
 imnge from my mind, Miss Vane." 
 
 Bonnybel was still silent and cold. 
 
 "I have found no one to supply your plnce," continued
 
 106 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Mr. Lindon, with a look cf increasing condescension, " and 
 you will thus scarcely be surprised to find that I have re 
 turned to ask if you have not seen reason to change your 
 determination. Do not speak yet, Miss Vane you seem 
 about to I desire you to ponder before replying. It is 
 proper that I should repeat that I am the possessor of a great 
 estate, and this fact can not be destitute of weight with a 
 young lady of your excellent sense. Of my family, I think, 
 I need not speak," he said loftily, " but I should of more 
 material things. As my wife, you will have, at your com 
 mand, every luxury which wealth can purchase, chariots, 
 plate, tine horses, and assemblies as often as the mistress of 
 'Agincourt' pleases. I am quite willing, if you desire it, to 
 settle upon you an annual amount to the extent of one third 
 of my entire income ; one entire third, I say, madam, and 
 this you may expend in such manner as may seem suitable 
 1o yourself. It is proper to say that I shall require my sons 
 fo embrace the faith of the Catholic Church, unjustly ex 
 cluded by the bigots of this colony, but I am willing, if it is 
 desired, to permit my daughters to become Protestants, 
 either of the established Church or the new sect of Baptists, 
 it being quite indifferent to me whether they are of one or 
 the other persuasion, if they are not of the true church. 
 With these conditions, I desire to leave my wife wholly to 
 her own views in every matter, and I will compel all who 
 are around her to yield to her wishes. If Miss Yane has 
 f.ny desire to change her former decision, she has now 
 sja. opportunity, and I need scarcely add that her affirm 
 ative decision will be a source of much satisfaction to my 
 self." 
 
 Having finished his speech, Mr. Lindon again buried his 
 chin, in a stately way, in his neckcloth, and was silent. 
 
 Bonnybel did not speak for some moments, and then she 
 merely said, struggling successfully against her anger and 
 indignant scorn, 
 
 "I am surprised, sir, that you should haye again renewed, 
 tbis proposition, and"
 
 MISS JiONNYBEL. 101 
 
 He interrupted her more grandly and ceremoniously than 
 ever, and said, with a motion of his hand, 
 
 "Your surprise is quite natural, Miss Vane. I can under 
 stand that you naturally feared that I would not return, 
 having treated me, upon our last interview, with a coldness 
 which I am sure you have regretted. You are right, madam. 
 Men of my stamp seldom renew a proposition of this descrip 
 tion, and there is room for some astonishment in the pres 
 ent instance. But I have set my mind upon seeing you pre 
 side at my house of ' Agincourt,' and your rebuff has not re 
 pelled me. You, no doubt, regretted it, and I desire to afford 
 you an opportunity of reconsidering your determination." 
 
 His tone was so insulting with its stately condescension 
 now, that Bonnybel blushed with speechless indignation. 
 
 Mr. Lindon misunderstood the origin of this emotion, and 
 said, in the same patronizing way, 
 
 " Do not permit your agitation to carry you away, Miss 
 Vane. I can understand that you did not expect this, and 
 am not desirous of compelling you to declare your regret at 
 our misunderstanding in any formal manner. We are nearly 
 at the portico now, and I beg that you will compose your 
 self. A simple line, as I depart in the morning, will be suf 
 ficient, and if I may suggest, you might fix as early a day as 
 is consistent with social propriety. I shall be very happy to 
 have your cousin, Mr. St. John, as my first groomsman, 
 though he docs not seem well affected toward the govern 
 ment, and may cause me some trouble with his Excellency. 
 I beg to assure you that in any such contingency I shall be 
 most happy to use my influence. We have arrived, madam, 
 and I regret to see you so much overcome with the natural 
 and engaging modesty of your sex. But I beg you will 
 not be flurried. I shall expect your reply when I depart 
 in the morning, and, meanwhile, shall spare your maiden 
 blushes, and not renew the subject." 
 
 They had reached the portico as Mr. Lindon concluded 
 this oration, and were now joined by Helen and Aunt 
 Mabel,
 
 V08 MISS BONNYREL. 
 
 Bonnnybel left her stately admirer, and hastened up stairs 
 whether to hide her maiden blushes, or burst into tears of 
 scorn, and anger, and indignation, we leave the reader to 
 determine. She did not reappear during the whole evening, 
 and only came down stairs on the next morning when Mr. 
 Linden's fine equipage stood at the door. Her cheeks burnt 
 with indignant fire, and her little foot almost ground itself 
 into the carpet with anger as she murmured, " He shall not 
 think I 'm afraid to meet him 1" 
 
 She restrained her scorn by a violent effort, however, and 
 when Mr. Lindon invited her into the library, coldly de 
 clined. Her hand held a note tightly, however, and this 
 note Mr. Lindon took with an expression of condescending 
 satisfaction. 
 
 He bowed ceremoniously, and with his head raised in a 
 conquering attitude, entered his chariot and drove away, 
 holding the reins himself. 
 
 Bonnybel watched him with the same look of scornful 
 pride, but suddenly this expression gave way to one almost 
 of pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Lindon turned in his seat almost foaming with rage, 
 and tore a piece of paper which he held in his hand ; after 
 which he shook his clenched fist at the hall, and lashing his 
 wild horses, disappeared like lightning. 
 
 The torn paper was Bonnybel's note, and this note con 
 tained simply 
 
 "Miss Vane declines, now and for ever, the insulting ad 
 dresses of Mr. Lindon. If they are renewed, she will re 
 gard it as an outrage unworthy of a gentleman. She prays 
 that all personal acquaintance, even, may henceforth cease 
 between them." 
 
 That was all. And if any reader thinks our little heroine 
 too fiery, it is because we have not drawn the portrait of 
 her admirer with sufficient force. 
 
 When Helen took leave of Mr. Alston, a kind look of re-
 
 MISS BONNYBLL. 10(1 
 
 grut was in her eyes ; when Mr. Lindon departed, Bonny- 
 bel's eyes flashed dangerously. 
 
 The reason was that Mr. Alston was a gentleman Mr. 
 Lindon was not. But the fact made him all the more dan 
 gerous, as this history will in due time show. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 BONNTBEL VANE TO HER FRIEND, MISS CATHARINE EFFING- 
 HAM, AT "THE COVE," IN GLOUCESTER COUNTY. 
 
 YANELT, before breakfast. 
 
 I desire to be informed why you have not written to 
 me, madam ? Has that odious domestic tyrant, Mr. Willie, 
 forbidden you to correspond with your friends ? You may 
 inform him, with my compliments, that I regard him in the 
 light of a monster, an ogre, an eastern despot, else he would 
 not keep the dearest girl in the world down at that horrid 
 old house in Glo'ster if it is so fine when her friends are 
 dying to see her. 
 
 I hear that he runs at your call, and obeys your orders, 
 and passes all his leisure moments in composing sonnets to 
 your eyebrows ; but I do n't believe it, that is, I would not 
 if it was not you, dear. He was very humble once when he 
 was on probation, and I '11 never forget his lordship's look 
 of agony and despair when you gave the jessamine bud to 
 Tom Alston that day at the ball ; but heigho ! (that 's the 
 way the romance writers spell a sigh, is n't it ?) I do n't 
 believe any thing of that sort survives the honeymoon 
 does it ? Before we 're married we ''re married ! the beaus 
 are all maccaronies in their dress and manners ; arid they 
 rhyme love and dove, sighs and eyes, kiss and bliss, 'till one 's 
 really weaned with them. Then when the odious hypocrites 
 have worked upon QW failings and entrapped our poor luti?
 
 1 10 MISS BON MY BEL. 
 
 hearts, they forget how to rhyme, and behave abominably 
 It is my intention to be an old maid, which that outrageous 
 Willie of yours predicts. But I won't ! that 's flat ! I 'II 
 get married just to spite him ! 
 
 " What a flood of nonsense I 've written ! but I 'm in ex 
 cellent spirits this morning, and I never feel ill at my ease 
 with you, my own precious, darling Kate. It is very good 
 in you to let a mere child like me take so many liberties 
 with you. But you know you 've raised me ; always at 
 Effingham Hall you made me your companion, young as I 
 was ; and, if I had my arms around your neck now, I 'd 
 squeeze you to death ! I would! Please write soon. I 
 long to hear from you, for I love you dearly dearly I and 
 if you do n't write, I '11 come down to the Cove and make 
 you! 
 
 " There 's little or no news in Prince George ; we have 
 been plagued, as usual, by a crowd of stupid boys, tho' some 
 nice gentlemen came too. I have had another visit from my 
 bugbear, that Mr. Lindon, but I do n't think he ''ll call again 
 in a hurry. He made me the most insulting speech you can 
 think ; but I returned it with interest. You would have 
 thought he was bidding for a slave-girl. I gave him my 
 answer in writing, and he tore it up, and went off in a rage. 
 J [e may rage as he pleases. 
 
 "Dearest papa has the gout again, but it did not prevent 
 his going to court the other day, and coming back in high 
 indignation about the new Act of Parliament the attack 
 on our liberties. They think they '11 make us slaves, but 
 they are very much mistaken. I 've sealed up all ike tea 
 and I 'd die before I 'd drink a drop ! 
 
 "We all rode to Mr. Bland 1 s the other day, and found 
 the dear old gentleman home from the Burgesses. His sight 
 is failing, and he wears a green blind, but there's no finer 
 gentleman in the world. He made me a beautiful bow and 
 k.ssed my cheek. There are very few of the rising genera 
 tioi. l.ke papa, or Squire Effingham, or Mr. Bland* 
 * EpstoricaJ Illustrations, No. YIU
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. Ill 
 
 "The d_;y after "o Cawsorts, which s as lovely as ever, 
 and I think I ']! never grow tired looking on the meeting of 
 the two rivers, the white ships and dipping boughs. Frances 
 Randolph is there from Matoax, with the baby, who is al 
 most walking. She is as dark and lovely as ever, and little 
 Johnny is a wonder of beauty. He 's a darling love of a 
 baby, and has a complexion like a lily with the morning 
 sun on it ! There, madam ! what would Mr. Cowley say 
 of that? I think they ought to have called him Bland, 
 too, or Effingham, as I 'm told a lovely girl, named Kate Ef- 
 fingham, or Mistress Catherine Effingham, if your ladyship 
 pleases, stood godmother for him. Simple John Randolph 
 is too short do n't you think so ? When I took the little 
 creature in my arms you know all the babies come at once 
 to me he laughed, and crowed, and clapped his hands, look 
 ing, all the time, curiously at me out of his dark piercing 
 eyes."* 
 
 Here follows a long description of various scenes at Vanely, 
 the pastoral frolic and other divertisements, of which the 
 reader has heard. The letter ends thus : 
 
 " Give my love to Mr. Willie, and write soon, my precious 
 Kate. How I love you ! Won't you come soon ? Do, 
 there 's a dear ! Vanely 's looking beautiful with green 
 leaves, and I long to see you, to hear your dear, kind laugh, 
 and kiss you to my heart's content ! Tom Alston said, the 
 other day, that I reminded him frequently of you. I could 
 have run and kissed him, I assure you. 
 
 " Give oceans of love to everybody, and do n't forget to 
 kiss the baby for me. Good night, now, my own darling 
 Please do n't stop loving your fond 
 
 " BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Postscript. Did I mention that his Serene Excellency 
 and Royal Highness, the Honorable Lieutenant Henry St 
 * Historical Illustratiots, No. IX.
 
 112 MISS BONNYBEL, 
 
 John, Esquire, was here ? He has been good jnough to 
 take notice of his small cousin occasionally, and to ride out 
 with me. On our return from one of these rides, he had 
 the audacity to take me in his arms ! Just to think of his 
 impudence ! but I boxed him soundly ! Of course, 't was 
 in lifting me from the saddle. I fell into the water, coming 
 back from the " Charming Sally," and the lieutenant had 
 the goodness, in putting on my slipper, which I 'd dropped, 
 to squeeze my foot into a jelly ! Just reflect ! 'j squeezi z 
 young lady's foot ! Was n't it dreadful ? He thought him - 
 self mighty fine, I dare say ! Odious fellow ! not that . 
 mean to speak ill of him, however. He 's too wholly indil- 
 ferent to me for me to take the trouble. By the bye, I 
 heard something of his paying his addresses to a young lady 
 from Glo'ster. Is it true ? I ask from idle curiosity only 
 it is nothing to me. 
 
 " Good night, my own dear Kate. 
 
 "Your 
 
 u BONNYBEL." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HOW MISS BONNYBEL FAINTED IN THE ARMS OF HEE COUSIN. 
 
 ALTHOUGH Miss Bonnybel carefully forgot to state the 
 fact, St. John had accompanied them on the visit to Jordan's 
 and Cawson's, riding by the old chariot on his fine " Tally- 
 ho," and adding very much to the zest of the journey by 
 his wit and humor. 
 
 The young man was now quietly domiciled at Vanely; 
 the fact that he was lieutenant of the Governor's guardt 
 appealing never to cross his mind. He had left his subor. 
 dinate in command, and did not trouble himself further. 
 His whole thoughts were absorbed in the pursuit of the now 
 " cherished object."
 
 MISS BONNYBEL, 113 
 
 Day by day, thus lingering nt Vanely, he bncame more 
 dangerously enthralled. He constantly found, or thought 
 that he found, in the little maiden, some new and more ex 
 quisite attraction. 
 
 Nor was this wholly the result of fancy. Since his last 
 visit, Bonnybel had greatly changed, and was changing still. 
 To every maiden comes a time when, opening from bud to 
 blossom, into the perfect flower of womanhood, she stands 
 upon the banks of the fast-flowing stream, and sees, in 
 dreams as it were dreams full of mysterious loveliness 
 an unknown face : and with sighs and smiles, feels in 
 her pulses a new life before undreamed of. Thus was it 
 with the careless little witch of Vanely. St. John, when he 
 came again to the familiar old mansion, saw, in place of a 
 romping child, a beautiful young lady. 
 
 He had left Bonnybel a girl, and found her, all at once, a 
 woman. The change in her person was even more remark 
 able than in her character. Before, her figure was ungrace 
 fully angular, and many of her movements abrupt and awk 
 ward. Now all this had disappeared. Still slender, her 
 person was yet full and exquisitely rounded ; every motion 
 was gliding and full of grace ; the cheek, once too pale, was 
 now round and blooming like a rose ; the large eyes were 
 brilliant, melting, and full of what the poets have described 
 as " liquid light." In a word, that marvelous change which 
 is so peculiar to the girl just budding into the woman, had 
 come over the young Jady, and with every passing hour the 
 influence deepened, the rosy cheeks grew rosier, the pout 
 ing lips bloomed with a richer carnation, the dangerous 
 eyes increased their fatal brilliancy. 
 
 Bonnybel possessed that rare and indefinable attraction, 
 which, in all nges, has brought men to the feet of the women 
 endowed with it. With far less beauty of feature, her in 
 fluence would probably nave been nearly as great. Her 
 mobile and ever changing countenance reflected, as from a 
 mirror, the ceaseless play of her thoughts and feelings. She 
 was, by no means, at all times, the wild and coquetish girl,
 
 114 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 fill of mirth and laughter; at certain moments, every trac 
 of gaiety disappeared, and the bright eyes swam in tears, 
 or were fixed upon vacancy with a sad intentness. 
 
 She sang delightfully. And here again she was finely en 
 dowed. She not only caroled, with the mot,t contagious 
 mirth and wild abandon, the " comic" ditties of the period 
 "Within a Furlong of Edinborough Town," "Pretty Betty 
 Martin, tip-toe fine," and others ; she sang, with a sadness 
 and pathos equally contagious, the songs of sentiment tLen 
 popular " Flowers of the Forest," " Grammachree," " Fare 
 well to Lochaber," and that beautiful ditty which is certainly 
 the pearl of all music, which sounds like the sigh of the au 
 tumn wind through the broom straw, the inexpressibly pa 
 thetic " Katherine Ogie." 
 
 Of these songs, sung by Bonnybel, our worthy author 
 says They are the sweetest, I think, of all the Scottish rain 
 strelsy. But all are sweet, far more so than the ditties of 
 to-day. They sound for us now with a dim memorial music, 
 those madrigals which were caroled by our grandmothers 
 to the murmur of old ghostly harpsichords, while, standing 
 by the little beauties, our respected grandfathers were cap 
 tivated, and for ever after dreamed of those old tunes, and 
 loved them as the echoes of past happiness and youthful 
 joys, and all that carnival which glitters and darts onward 
 in the rosy dawn of youth. I knew an old gentleman who 
 would often take his book of ancient Scottish songs, and 
 murmur them to himself for hours ; and I 've frequently 
 seen my dear and honored father sit, with wistful smiles, 
 and pensive eyes, recalling, as he listened to his favorite 
 *' Flowers of the Forest," youthful hours, and the little 
 maiden who sang for him, the same song, in the days of silk 
 stockings and hair powder, early in the century. Kind- 
 hearted and true Virginia gentleman, whose hand has so 
 often rested on my head in childhood, may you sleep in 
 peace ! O noble father, gone from us to heaven ! thinking 
 of you now, here in the sunshine, and of what was a rarer, 
 l>urer sunshine your sweet smile the idle words I write
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 115 
 
 swim as I gaze on them. I lay clown my pen and muse, <tnd 
 \m thankful for the blood that flows in my veins, for the no 
 ble sire bestowed upon me by a gracious and kind Heaven ! 
 
 But let us not listen further to the worthy old gentleman. 
 The personages of our history demand attention the scenes 
 which attended Mr. Harry St. John's visit to Vanely. Let 
 us return thither fora brief space, before following the cur 
 rent of the chronicle which glides away to mix itself with 
 the roar of history. Let us lirtger in the old .domain, and 
 watch the ripple of that stream of colonial life which lias 
 flown from us, and seems now to murmur from remote and 
 misty shores. Let us gaze upon the snowy clouds, serenely 
 floating over emerald fields to the far, mysterious horizon ; 
 hear the whisper of the ocean breeze in the Vanely oaks, 
 and follow our hero, Mr. Henry St. John, in his gradual ap 
 proaches toward the woman whom he loved. 
 
 That he had reached this point, his own heart no longer 
 left him in the least doubt. A new influence seemed to 
 have descended upon his life; every thing became, as it 
 -rf-ere, transfigured. A purer orange shone in the sunset 
 and the dawn, the waves upon the shore were perfect mu 
 sic, the songs of birds came to him like a divine harmony 
 of joy and love. The future, which before he had scarce 
 given a thought to, opened now a grand, illimitable land 
 scape, bathed, as it were, in rosy and enchanting sunlight. 
 The poor, cold, trifling past had disappeared like a dream of 
 the hours of darkness, and in the marvelous radiance of the 
 new dawn, the heart of the young man throbbed, his cheeks 
 glowed like a boy's ; the world seemed to him one great field 
 of flowers, over which wandered slowly, like some fairy 
 queen of a sinless realm, the figure of the woman whom he 
 loved. Strange power of ardent and true love ! which in 
 ocr cold, prosaic age is so often strangled by the dust of 
 *he conflict, or in the inexorable grasp of mammon ; which 
 the dilettanti and the " men of the world" sneer at ; which for 
 that reason, if no other, may demand respect and honor ! 
 
 Of the endless walks, and talks, and rides, and excursions,
 
 116 MISS BONf.YBEL. 
 
 we linvo no room to speak. Perhaps we are fortunate .n 
 tliis, since our friends, the sneering philosophers of the new 
 school, might call the history "love-sick," and visit us with 
 their displeasure. 
 
 Still, let us go with the young man and his companion 
 on one of these excursions. Perhaps the ocean breeze 
 may blow on the page, and that is better than the dust of 
 streets. 
 
 It is a balmy morning, and unloosing a sail-boat from the 
 Vanely wharf, St. John assists the girl to her seat, and 
 spreads the white sail, which the wind fills immediately. 
 
 Directed by the skillful paddle, the sail-boat plunges ita 
 cutwater into the waves, and, like a waterfowl with out 
 stretched wings, flies down the broad river. 
 
 Little is said by either the young man or his companion 
 as they float on. The beautiful landscape, the fleecy clouds 
 serenely drifting across the blue sky, the soft and balmy air, 
 these seem to discourage idle conversation ; an indefinable 
 feeling steals over Bonnybel, and she is silent and pensive. 
 Half reclining on the gunwale of the boat, she listens to the 
 murmur of the waves, surrendering herself wholly to the in 
 fluence of the time and scene. 
 
 St. John thinks that he never saw her look more lovely, 
 and, in truth, the picture is attractive. The wide straw hat, 
 with its fluttering ribbons, has fallen back upon the graceful 
 neck, and the young lady's profuse brown hair, parted in 
 the middle of her forehead, lies in a mass of curls upon her 
 shoulders. The head droops forward in a pensive attitude, 
 and as the boat runs before the breeze, the fingers of the 
 wind caress and bring a blush, as it were, to the damsel's 
 cheeks, blowing her hair in ripples from the white forehead, 
 and fluttering gayly the gay ribbon knots which decorate 
 her bodice. The odors of the foliage and flowers along the 
 banks combine to fill the atmosphere with breaths of fragrant 
 perfume, and the brilliant sunlight falls in a silver flood up 
 on the wide expanse, glittering in the ripples, and rejoicing, 
 so to speak, in its tranquil splendor
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. . 11} 
 
 Bonnybel leans lower over the boat's side, and plays with 
 ner fingers in the water, and, with a smile, flirts some drops 
 toward St. John. Then raising her head, she follows tne 
 flight of a hawk or an eagle, disappearing in the clouds, or 
 her glance rests upon some white-sailed ship winging its 
 way like a sea-bird to the ocean ; or with haft-closed eyes, 
 in a dreamy reverie, she listens to the song of birds, heard 
 faintly from the forest, whose rich leaves dance and tw nkle 
 in the sunshine, moved by the balmy wind for ever blowing. 
 
 Such idle words as were uttered, the gay breeze bore far 
 away ; those winds of other years still hold the secret. 
 
 They came at last opposite the old island of Jamestown, 
 and in obedience to the young lady's wish, St. John ran the 
 boat ashore, and they landed. 
 
 The old church and a few ruins only remained, with one 
 or two fishermen's huts near at hand, and lingering among 
 the ruins, the young man and his companion talked of old 
 times. 
 
 Few spots on earth possess the interest of Jamestown 
 island. It was here that the New World was born and 
 cradled, in storm and blood. Here lived and thought, and 
 fought, and suffered, and triumphed, one of the noblest and 
 truest gentlemen that ever walked the world Captain John 
 Smith. Here Pocahontas was received into the church and 
 married ; the child who had held a hero's head upon her 
 bosom, to defend it from the savage war-club; who lives yet 
 in ten thousand hearts, as the impersonation of the highest, 
 truest womanhood, of love, pity, a devotion which count 
 ed life as nothing if she might save from death a poor, un 
 known, disarmed captive ! The monumental pride of kinga 
 in hard marble or the stubborn bronze will go to decay, lapse 
 back to earth, and they and their actions be forgotten. But 
 the story of Pocahontas shall be known and remembered 
 by a mighty host of unborn millions, who will love and hon 
 or her. 
 
 They spoke of the Indian princess, lingering in the old 
 ruins, and on the spot where she had so often stood, and
 
 118 MISS BONNYPEL. 
 
 Bonnybel's pensive eyes seemed to wander to the pa^t, as 
 her companion went on. 
 
 " We lead but poor, cold lives compared witL ter," she 
 said at last, with a deep sigh ; " we are nothing but butter 
 flies !" 
 
 And plucking a flower from the ruins, she added, 
 
 " As this bud to the artificial flower of the dressmaker, so 
 does Pocahontas compare with us. There, it is not worth 
 while to deny it ; it is true, and ' pity 'tis, 'tis true.' You 
 are descended from Pocahontas there, I present you with 
 the flower. It is time to go home." 
 
 The tide was favorable, as it was coming in, and taking 
 in the sail, St. John plied his paddle, and slowly returned to 
 the Yanely wharf. They had then the new recreation of -a 
 walk through the fields, and, as though for their especial 
 benefit, the day became even more delightful. The affluent 
 glory of the morning deepened, a languid pleasure seemed 
 to brood over the landscape ; as St. John walked by Bon- 
 nybel's side, he felt as if he were making a journey through 
 fairy land. 
 
 They were not to reach home without incident, however 
 an incident of a nature sufficiently startling. 
 
 Their path wound through the meadow, crossed a brook, 
 skirted with deep grass and flowers, and then ascended the 
 hill. They paused by the brook side, and Bonnybel request 
 ed her companion to go and get her a bunch of wild honey 
 suckle flowers, which was visible fifty yards off, in a clump 
 of bushes. 
 
 St. John left her side, and the young lady was strolling 
 along the little stream, when her attention was attracted by 
 a singularly brilliant object, apparently lying in the grass. 
 It looked like a jewel, and was buried, so to speak, in a 
 bunch of thick herbage. 
 
 Suddenly the bright object moved. Turning deadly pale, 
 the girl started back, and a stifled cry escaped from her col 
 orless lips. 
 
 It was a rattlesnake of the largest size ; and as the girl
 
 MISS J10NNYBEL, 1 1 $ 
 
 gazed toward the horrible object with panting bosom and 
 charmed eyes, the reptile unrolled his great bulk, and raised 
 high up above the bunch of grass, his loathsome, but beau 
 tiful crest. 
 
 In an instant this crest seemed to swell and expand 
 it assumed a hue like topaz and the small, piercing eyes 
 burned and glittered with a light which seemed to depriv* 
 the girl of her will. 
 
 She stretched out her arms and tried to cry aloud, but her 
 voice expired in a moan. 
 
 The reptile's wide mouth was all at once expanded, and 
 his sharp teeth, bending backward, glittered in a deadly row. 
 The forked tongue shook with an angry vibration ; the tail 
 began to move and curl to and fro. 
 
 The girl was spell-bound by those glittering and satanic 
 eyes, which charmed and dazzled her, while they chilled her 
 heart's blood. She had never for a moment given credit to 
 the stories of this influence; but she now found a horrible 
 attraction in those eyes. She felt a mingled desire to fly 
 and to advance the eyes of the snake terrified her to death, 
 yet drew her toward him. 
 
 But suddenly this expression of the eye changed. The 
 rattlesnake seemed to abandon the idea of charming, and 
 to be mastered by anger. The piercing eyes darted flames 
 of fire, the crest burned and blazed with a thousand colors, 
 the forked tongue darted to and fro like lightning, and the 
 huge folds of the reptile rapidly undulated, writhed about, 
 and changed into all the colors of the rainbow. At the 
 same moment the tail was raised and shaken with the ra 
 pidity of a humming bird's wings ; the huge mouth opened, 
 and the deadly rattle rang out in the silence. 
 
 The girl knew that this was the signal of the serpent's 
 spring, and she no longer straggled against her fate. Her 
 knees bent beneath her, a cold perspiration streamed from 
 her brow, and with laboring bosom, and head thrown back 
 like a wounded bird, she closed her eyes and lost conscious 
 ness.
 
 120 MISS BO^'XYBEL. 
 
 She was aroused by the contact of cold water on her brow 
 and hands, and opening her eyes, found herself lying in the 
 arms of Mr. St. John. 
 
 At two paces from her the rattlesnake lay dead com 
 pletely severed in the middle. St. John had seen her atti 
 tude of horror, had heard the deadly rattle, and arrived just 
 in time to strike the snake with a pliant stick, and prevent 
 the girl from falling. She now lay on his bosom, panting 
 and trembling, and hiding her face. She attempted to draw 
 back, and half rose to her feet, but her eyes falling on the 
 reptile, her strength was again paralyzed, and the second 
 time she fainted in Mr. St. John's arms. 
 
 The young man saw that it was absolutely necessary to 
 remove her from the repulsive object, and doubtless was not 
 displeased with his duty. He hastily took Bonnybel in his 
 arms, as if she was a child, and bore her to some distance. 
 Placing her pale and inanimate form on a bank, he quickly 
 brought some water in his hat and threw it in her face. 
 
 The color came back to her cheeks, she uttered a deep 
 sigh, and opened her eyes. It was some time before he 
 could reassure her, and make her understand that there was 
 no longer any danger. He succeeded at last, however, and 
 leaning on her cousin's arm, Bonnybel slowly returned 
 home. We forbear from relating the scene which ensued. 
 Mr. St. John was the hero of the hour for performing his 
 duty. 
 
 Bonnybel did not recover from her horror for a week, but 
 at the end of that time her gaiety returned, and as she was 
 going to retire one night, she told St. John, with an auda 
 cious look, that if he had asked her on the day of the ac 
 cident, she would certainly have kissed him. 
 
 "It was of no importance," returned the young man, 
 laughing. " I l*ad you in my arms and carried you fifty 
 yards ; your cheek Jay on my shoulder ; it is the softest I 
 ever felt." 
 
 "Ilurnph!" cried Miss Bonnybel, with a decided pout; 
 14 highly improper in you to take a young lady in your arms!
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 1?* 
 
 and I 'd like to know what you know about girls' cheek.* ; 
 Well. I won't quarrel with my brave defender! I'm veiy 
 glad I 'm alive ; I 'm sure 't is infinitely better than being 
 dead. Good night, my lord !" 
 
 Arid the little witch slams the door, and runs to her cham 
 ber singing. St. John follows her example and dreams ol 
 Uer, 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 BONNYBEL VANE TO HER FRIEND, KATE EFFINGHAM. 
 
 VANELY, midnight. 
 
 ;***' 
 * * * *T * * 
 
 * * U I thought I should have died of laughing, Kate* 
 He-drove up to the door in his little sulky, with the pretty 
 bay trotter, and got out with as easy and careless an air as if 
 nothing at all had happened on his last visit. I think he is 
 the most delightfully cool personage I 've ever known, and 
 were I one of the medical profession, I should prescribe for the 
 spleen or melancholy, a single dose of Mr. Thomas Alston ! 
 His demeanor to sister Helen all day was really enchanting. 
 The most critical observer could not have discerned a shade 
 of embarrassment on his part. At first she w.'is very much 
 put out. but I believe she ended by laughing at least I saw 
 her smile. He inquired how Miss Helen had been since he 
 had last the pleasure of seeing her ; he was happy to say 
 that his own health and spirits had been excellent ! 
 
 " Did you ever hear of such a man ? What a wretch ! 
 Just as much as to say, "If you fancy I 'm in the dumps be 
 cause you discarded me, you 're very much mistaken Ami 
 now mark my prediction, Kate sister Helen will end by 
 marry irig him ! just as sure as you Ye alive. And y should n't 
 
 6
 
 12-2 MISS B 
 
 Mame her. Do n't tell anybody what I am now going to 
 say don't even whisper it but, hold your ear close! 
 we girls like a gallant that won't take a repulse I Do n't 
 we? 
 
 " There 's no news but Jenny's marriage. I 'm out of pa- 
 tience with the post for not delivering my letter. I describ 
 ed every thing, and crossed every page. I never saw Curie's 
 so full of company or so noisy. Some of the young men got 
 terribly, or delightfully tipsy, for they were very amusing. 
 There was a bowl of apple toddy that would, sure, have 
 Qoated a ship, and some of the gentlemen visited it so often 
 that they lost the use of their sea legs. That jest is not my 
 own 't is second-hand. 
 
 "I stood, as I told you, with Barry Hunter, and he made 
 himself very agreeable. My dress was white brocade, with 
 rosettes of satin ribbon. The head-dress was of point dt 
 Venise, my hair looped up with the pearls mamma present 
 ed me at Christmas the whole crowned with a wreath o,f 
 roses. I wore a pair of the stays I told you of, from Mr. 
 Pate's, in town. They fit admirably to the figure, and I 
 bend with ease in them, which can 't be said of the new- 
 iashioned ones I got from London. 
 
 " I wish my letter telling you every thing had not been lost. 
 There were a number of your friends there Mr. Gary, Mr 
 Pendleton, and that remarkable-looking gentleman, Mr. 
 Tazevvell, of Jfingsmitt, with his statue-like head and flow 
 ing hair, parted in the middle like a picture of Titian.* Mr 
 Pendleton danced a minuet with me, with admirable grace, 
 but said with his silvery voice and extraordinary sweet smile, 
 that he was becoming an old gentleman, and must make 
 way for the youngsters. Mr. Jefferson from the mountains, 
 came up as he left me, and made himself very agreeable, 
 laughing with a pleasant wit at every thing. I do n't wonde. 
 in the least at Martha Wayles marrying him. in spite of his 
 wild pranks at college which they talk of.f They are a* 
 The Forest, over in Charles City vou know. 
 
 * Historical Illustrntioua, No. X I laid., No- XI.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 123 
 
 " But I have n't told you of the terrible, dreadful acci 
 dent that happened to me, that is, the girls all thought it 
 such, but I did n't care a button. I was dancing with Bai*- 
 ry Hunter, in the reel, when one of the young heroes, who 
 had lost his sea legs from too great devotion to the inspiring 
 punch-bowl, trod on my skirt and tore it dreadfully. I 
 stumbled besides, and made the bride a low bow, kneeling 
 gracefully on one knee ! The gentlemen all ran to aid me, 
 though I rose at once, and they gave the unfortunate young 
 gentleman, who 'd caused the accident, the blackest possible 
 looks. Barry Hunter would have followed, and called him 
 to account, had I not prevented it. The poor fellow, whose 
 name I '11 suppress, made me the humblest apology, for 
 which I gave him my hand and a laugh ; he 's since pre 
 sented me with a copy of verses, so exactly deso^ptive of 
 myself that you shall hear them, madam. 
 
 " Read ! 
 
 " Iris, with every power to please, 
 
 Has all the graceful aids of art ; 
 She speaks, she moves with matchless ease ; 
 
 Her voice, her air alarms the heart 1 
 "While every eye her steps pursued, 
 
 As through the sprightly dance she shoo^ 
 The queen of Love with envy viewed 
 
 A form superior to her own. 
 ' Cupid ! my darling child,' she cried, 
 
 ' Behold, amid that jocund train, 
 A nymph elate in beauty's pride, 
 
 The dangerous rival of my reign ! 
 If aught a mother then may claim, 
 
 1 let her triumph here no morel 
 But mortify this earthly dame, 
 
 Or who will Venus now adore?' 
 She spake, her son obeyed, and lo 1 
 
 Hid where no mortal eye could see, 
 At Iris' feet he dropped his bow, 
 
 She tripped, and fell upon her knee] 
 But ere a youth could lend his aid, 
 
 The sister graces rushed between. 
 Who still attend the lovely majql,
 
 MISS BONNYREL. 
 
 And scA,ly raided her up unseen. 
 The little archer, hi a fright 
 
 To her who first the deed designed, 
 On fluttering pinions took hia flight 
 
 And left the guilty bow behind 
 In Paphos, on a flowery bed, 
 
 Reposes now, bereft of arms ; 
 While Iris conquers in his stead, 
 
 And reigns resistless in her charms 1" 
 
 " Oh me ! to be called the rival of Venus, and Iris, and alJ 
 isu't it delightful? Pray, show the verses to everybody 
 but do n't let them slip in the " Gazette," 't would look so 
 vain.* 
 
 " I suppose we '11 all go to the fine assembly soon, in town, 
 given to the Governor's lady. Won't my darling Kate 
 come too ? I'm not flattering you, madam, when I say that 
 once the maccaronies trooped after you, as the stars follow 
 lovely Cynthia, their queen ! Mr. Willie 's a pretty fellow ! 
 M He 's made the sun in private shine," as Tom Alston says in 
 some verses he claims for his own, but he tells a story, for 
 they're by Mr. Addison. Do, pray, come shine on Vanely ! 
 I know one somebody who '11 dance for joy when you ap 
 pear there ! She loves you dearly ! and her name is 
 
 " BONNYBEL. 
 
 *' Postscript. I must defer to another occasion an account 
 of the really terrifying scene I had with a rattlesnake. His 
 Excellency Lord Harry St. John acted in the most heroic 
 niaimer, and after killing the snake, had the extreme good 
 ness to take me in his arms, as I 'd fainted, and carry me 
 'some distance. O ! it was awful, Kate ! I see the horrible 
 eyes still, but I won't think of it. 'T was in coming back 
 from a sail on the river, and a visit to Jamestown is'-ind. 
 By the bye, I wonder if Pocahontas was brunette / I sho.ild 
 suppose so, as his Excellency, the Lieutenant, whc 's de 
 scended from her, and admires her hugely, is dark. I 'm 
 happy to say that I'm blonde am I not ? You did not 
 * Historical Illustrations, No.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 125 
 
 tell me the truth of the report that his lordship was courting 
 down in Glo'ster. When I ask him he laughs. Do you 
 know, Kate, he 's sadly deteriorated ; he 's really the most 
 odiously disagreeable person I know, and wearies me to 
 death. I wish he 'd go and marry his Glo'ster beauty, but I 
 fear there J s no such good luck is there ? Tell me in your 
 next letter, if you think of it. I 'm dying to have some one 
 to tease him about when he returns from Richmond town, 
 whither he 's going in a day or two. 
 
 *' Goodness ! how late 't is by my repeater ! I'll have no 
 roses in the morning. Pray, write soon and now, pleasant 
 dreams to my precious, darling Kate. Good night 1" 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 AT THE "TRYSTING TREE." 
 
 THE highest point in the Vanely " chase," studded all over 
 with great trees, which throw their twinkling shadows on 
 the green sward, is crowned by a mighty oak, from the foot 
 of which a noble view may be obtained. 
 
 Around the base of the tree is arranged a wicker seat, im- 
 memorially, if tradition may be believed, the favorite resort 
 of lovers. Indeed, the great oak, time out of mind, has 
 been known as the " Trysting Tree." 
 
 It is a balmy evening, and the sun is about to set. A 
 thousand birds carol in the orange atmosphere, darting from 
 tree to tree; the swallows circle on quick wings around the 
 stacks of chimneys, up above them, crimson now in the sun 
 set. It is the hour above all others favorable to lovers, and 
 the two personages, whose fortunes we relate, are sitting on 
 the wicker seat of the trysting tree. 
 
 The attitude of Bonnybel would make an excellent pic 
 ture, It is such as we have described, on the awniing oi
 
 126 JIISS BONNY3EL. 
 
 Mr. Linden's visit, when St. John and herself were reading 
 from the book of ballads. 
 
 The coquettish maiden leans back upon the picturesque 
 seat. She wears her pink dress, ornamented with ribbon 
 knots, and her bare white arms are encircled by the red cor 
 al bracelets. A rebellious mass of curls has fallen, by the 
 purest accident, of course, upon her shoulders, and in the 
 same accidental way, a pair of exquisite feet appear from be 
 neath the young lady's skirt. This accident invariably hap 
 pens to Miss Bonnybel in spite of her most anxious care. 
 They are remarkable feet ; one of the " minute philoso 
 phers," gifted with a genius for poesy and exclamation 
 points, might write a chapter on their expression. They 
 are slender, with lofty insteps, and seem made to dance over 
 flowers and sunny sward, in the revels of May. Rich red 
 rosettes burn on the insteps ; the slippers are of blue mo 
 rocco with high heels, and pointed toes; they are secured 
 with ribbons crossed above the delicate ankles. They wrap 
 themselves around each other as before, and occasionally 
 move about, in a way that would induce a carping observer 
 to declare that the little maiden was abundantly aware of 
 their being visible, and wanted her companion to admire 
 their beauty. 
 
 As she reclines thus in the rich light of the balmy evening, 
 which pours a flood of joyous splendor on her face, her hair, 
 her dress, down to the rich rosettes, in bold relief against 
 the slender little feet, Miss Bonnybel presents a picture 
 of the most coquettish beauty ; at least this is the opinion 
 of her lover, Mr. Harry St. John. 
 
 He has been relating for her entertainment the legend of 
 the trysting tree ; how a lovely little ancestress of the Vanely 
 family met a youth here, who had lost his heart with her ; 
 how the maiden played with him and amused herself and 
 gave him her brig:rtest and most encouraging smi is, and 
 ended by haughtily discarding him in the flattest ar.d most 
 surprised way, when he said how madly he loved her. Ily 
 ha.d left her without a word, with only a profound, cold in
 
 JH1SS WX 
 
 elinn'ion of his head, and for a time the little beauty had 
 not been able to realize the fact thnt his pride had been out 
 raged. She expected him to return, but he did not come 
 She met him at public places, and beamed on him with lici 
 most coquettish sunshine ; he bowed and passed her *vith 
 out speaking. She came to love him with a love greate - 
 even than his own former sentiment for her ; he did not 
 come. She wrote him a laughing, jesting note, inviting 
 him to Vanely ; he excused himself. In a fit of rage and 
 despair she married a wealthy planter, twice her age, and 
 on the night of her wedding, stole from the company, and 
 was found, in a fainting fit, on the wicker seat of the trysting 
 tree. 
 
 Ten years afterwards, her lover was slain in the great re 
 bellion of 1676, and they found, on his dead body, a letter in 
 the handwriting of a woman, with the words, " I loved you 
 and am icretched^ for I can never see you more. Fare 
 well." The ball which tore through his heart had obliter 
 ated the name signed to the epistle, and it was replaced up 
 on the pale, cold bosom, and buried with the body. 
 
 This was the legend of the trysting tree, related by 
 St. John for his companion's amusement. Bonnybel 
 listens silently, and at its termination says, with a heavy 
 sigh, 
 
 " That 's just the way with men ; they never love truly, 
 but fly off, at a moment's warning, for a glance or a word 
 they dislike." 
 
 " Do n't you think he was right ?" said her companion. 
 
 " Right ! who could ever think so ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Right to leave the girl he loved, because she did not 
 yield to his suit at the first word ? Forsooth ! you lords ^f 
 creation are truly very reasonable." 
 
 "I think he was right," said St. John, "because no man 
 should suffer his self respect to be invaded even by the wo 
 man he loves. If he don't respect himelf, how can she: 
 Tt was thus in the legend. The young gentleman loved tl.-j
 
 128 MISS T50NNYBEL. 
 
 young lady honestly and truly ; she beckoned to him with 
 her eyes, and held out her hands to him, as 'twere, to come 
 and receive them. Well, he obeys the enticing eyes, and 
 smiles; he blushes, may be, with the thought that he's 
 surely going to be happy ; he is an honest gentleman, he 
 loves her ; she says, plainly, ' I love you with my whole 
 heart,' though she does not speak, and on this hint he dota 
 speak. But, instead of yielding, she looks indignant ; she 
 is surprised, bestows a haughty look upon him, repulses 
 him. Come now, my dear, could he still remain beside her, 
 much less love her ?" 
 
 " I '11 thank you to keep your ' my dears' to yourself, sir !" 
 says Miss Bonnybel, with a look which says " you may call 
 me so as much as you please." " I think the hero of the 
 legend acted as no true lover could. Humph ! to leave her, 
 and put on his grand airs when she even condescended to 
 smile, and hold out her hand, and solicit him. I 'd have 
 boxed his ears ! No gentleman really in love could have 
 refused her hand." 
 
 " I could have done it." 
 
 "Ha! ha! I know what you would have done; you 
 would have taken it ! Now, just fancy me the young lady; 
 I 'in only a poor little country maiden, but I shall act her 
 part." 
 
 And with the most audacious and bewitching glance, 
 crammed full of coquettish attraction, and caressing bland 
 ishment, Bonnybel held out one of her small white hands 
 toward her companion. 
 
 He put both of his own behind his back, with a laugh. 
 
 Bonnybel, thrown suddenly off her guard by the action, 
 colored to the roots of her hair, and her pouting lips con 
 tracted with anger. 
 
 "So your lordship is determined to act the part of 
 the hero to the life, are you?" she said, with flushei 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Bonnybel turned from him witn a toss of the head, and
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 129 
 
 pouting elaborately, played in a fretftil way with the lasseh 
 of her girdle. 
 
 St. John quietly waited for her mood to change. He dk 1 
 not mistake in his calculation. Bonnybel played petulantly 
 for some moments longer with the tassels, then stole a wary 
 glance at her lover, writlied the small slippers around each 
 other, and finally meeting Mr. St. John's smiling eye, col 
 ored slightly, and burst out laughing. 
 
 " I suppose you would refuse my hand if I offered it m 
 my own character, as simple Bonnybel Vane," she said. 
 
 And with a hesitating movement, she released the unfor 
 tunate tassels, and seemed about to give the hand, but drew 
 it back suddenly. 
 
 It was too late. 
 
 " Refuse your hand !" said St. John, bestowing upon the 
 young lady a look so tender that she turned crimson, " I 
 should refuse it thus then !" 
 
 And imprisoning not only one, but both of the soft 
 hands in his own, the impulsive lover drew Bonnybel 
 toward him, and seemed about to press his lips to her 
 own. 
 
 The young lady uttered an exclamation, and with a slight 
 struggle released herself. 
 
 " How dare you presume, sir," she cried, " to try to kise 
 me ? You ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 "Cousins, you know!" laughed the young man, "'twas 
 only the cousin's privilege I was about to take !" 
 
 " A pretty excuse !" said the young lady, with a rosy 
 blush, and pouting more than ever, " and just look, sir ! 
 my hair 's all tumbled down by your rudeness." 
 
 In truth the beautiful brown hair lay in a brilliant mass 
 upon her shoulders, and a stray curl wandered down and fell 
 upon the young man's cheek, as he Kit on the projecting 
 root beside her feet. 
 
 " I can testify my contrition in one way only," he said, 
 smiling, " but you will not let me." 
 
 "la frhat way, pray?" said Bonnybel, recovering her
 
 130 MISS BON'NYBEL. 
 
 daring self-possession, and bestowing upon him lier oustoni 
 ary glance of provoking atti*action. 
 
 " I will act as your lady's maid," he said, "I have done so 
 often, you know." 
 
 And in spite of some slight resistance on the part of the 
 girl, he gathered up the beautiful locks and set about ar 
 ranging them. We are bound to say that the resistance of 
 fered by Miss Bonnybel was such as to make her smiling 
 companion think she was not reallv averse to his obliging 
 proposal. Bonnybel had the most beautiful hair, as soft aiid 
 glossy as silk, and she was not unwilling to have it admired. 
 Then, after all, Mr. Harry St. John was her cousin and play 
 mate, and in Virginia, ceremony of every sort falls to the 
 ground before the magical spell of " cousin.'* 
 
 So Mr. Harry St. John applied himself assiduously, but 
 not rapidly, to his task. Let not the cynical reader laugh 
 when we relate that his pulse galloped fast as he took in his 
 hands the bright, perfumed curls, and touched the rosy 
 cheek by purest accident. When a young man is as much in 
 love as was our hero we would urge upon the critics in his 
 favor the cheek will occasionally flush, the heart will beat 
 by singular good fortune the hearts of the cynical philoso 
 phers are never known to beat. 
 
 "There, sir!" cried Bonnybel, suddenly, "you've had 
 time enough !" 
 
 " What beautiful hair you have !" he said, finishing hia 
 task, " and how I admire it." 
 
 " That 's all about me that you admire, then, I suppose." 
 
 " No indeed ; I admire every thing. But I need not as 
 sure you on this point. In truth, Bonnybel," added the 
 young man, taking his former seat upon the root at her feet 
 " I do n't know how I shall get on, when I 'm away from 
 you now." 
 
 And there was so much seriousness in his tone, that the 
 young lady, this time, did not laugh. 
 
 "You know I go to Richmond town to-morrow, and thence 
 to Williamsburg. Wh^n I can come again I do n't know.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. ];^ 
 
 I lis Excellency is my master, j m see, and * 've already 
 laken an immensely long holiday. I certainly calculated on 
 fteing arrested, or at the very least, .on a terrific explosion. 
 But this is not interesting to you. I may escape the storm 
 of wrath and come back some day." 
 
 " Not interesting to me ?" said Bonnybel, passing, as he 
 often did, from mirth and jest to sadness, and looking at the 
 young man as she spoke, with her large, sad, serious eyes ; 
 " why do you say that what concerns you can not interest 
 me?" 
 
 St. John sighed. 
 
 " I do n't mean, my dear but you do not like me to call 
 you, 'my dear' " 
 
 " It is nothing," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 " Well, I do n't mean that you '11 not take a certain in 
 terest in my life, dear, for we are of one blood. But I find 
 myself doubting the reality of any deep sympathy in any 
 one. You see, Bonnybel, I never knew my father or my 
 mother, that is, they are mere figures of my early childhood. 
 It is true that uncle and aunt have been as kind to me as 
 kind can be, but I have always felt, as it were, alone in the 
 world." 
 
 " That is not just ; you know how much we all lovo 
 you." 
 
 " Then you will be glad to know that I am well and hap 
 py ? You say * we all? Does that mean that you care any 
 thing for me ?" he whispered, taking her hand and gazing 
 into her eyes, with a long, fixed look. 
 
 With the beautiful head sorrowfully drooping over the 
 right shoulder, and her large, sad eyes, fixed on his own, the 
 young girl, not withdrawing her hand, murmured in a low 
 voice, 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The sweetest hours of evening had descended on them, 
 as they tarried beneath the old trysting tree, and the orange 
 west grew fainter as the great orb sank slowly to its couch 
 in the purple waves. The east began to twinkle with a
 
 132 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 million stars, and the balmy breeze of the ocean sigked 
 through the great boughs above, and died away in a low 
 munn :i-. The birds had folded up their wings and gone to 
 rest, the last lingering rays of sunset rose like golden crowns 
 from the lofty chimneys of the old hall. The whole land 
 scape sank, field after field, tint after tint, into warm and 
 dreamy sleep. 
 
 St. John held in his own the unresisting hand of the young 
 lady, and those words which determine often the fate of a 
 whole life, were on his lips. As he gazed upon the exquis 
 ite countenance; upon the large eyes swimming in pensive 
 sadness ; upon the graceful head, with its clustering curls 
 drooping toward the shoulder ; upon the pouting lips, half 
 parted, as in some dreamy reverie, his glance grew more 
 fixed and tender, his cheek flushed impetuously, and he 
 drew the hand he held toward him. 
 
 Poor St. John ! Unfortunate lover ! Suddenly a voice 
 greets him a voice from behind and Miss Seraphina, in 
 capacious sunbonnet, and holding a bunch of May flowers, 
 is added to the party. She has been out walking, and on 
 her return, seeing the two young people at the trysting 
 tree, has determined to bestow her company upon them. 
 Approaching from behind, she had remained unseen, until 
 they were in contact almost. 
 
 Miss Seraphina does or does not suspect something ; but 
 at least she smiles, and launches forth cheerfully on a variety 
 of subjects. St. John utters an inaudible sigh, and as Bon 
 nybel says that it is time for her to go in, accompanies the 
 ladies to the house. 
 
 The young man and Miss Bonnybel seemed both pre 
 occupied throughout the early part of the evening, but to 
 ward bed-time the young lady's gayety seemed to return, 
 and she bade farewell to Mr. St. John, who was going with 
 the Vanely race-horses to Richmond, at an ealy hour, with 
 her former air of mischief and coquettish satire. 
 
 " I trust your lordship will very soon return," she said 
 "the next time, I promise to be in the drawing-room witli
 
 MISS TSONNr^EL. 13S 
 
 my hair elegantly dressed, and you '11 kiss me at your peril, 
 sir! We'll surely meet at the assembly, but I count on 
 having you come back before that time. Pray do so, if 
 you think the inducements here sufficient. A pleasant jour 
 ney !" 
 
 And giving him her hand, with an audacious glance from 
 her dangerous eyes, the young lady dashed up the broad 
 stair case, candle in hand, and disappeared. 
 
 Mr. St. John was "finished," but his smile seemed to indi 
 cate that he felt any thing but pain. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ST. JOHN M^KES HIS ENTRY INTO RICHMOND TOWN. 
 
 ON the following morning, at early dawn, the young man 
 was in the saddle, and followed by the grooms, leading the 
 race-horses, set out for Richmond town. He had volunteered 
 his services to see his uncle's hoi-ses safely conveyed and 
 entered at the races there* his intention being to proceed 
 thence to Williamsburg. 
 
 The cavalcade traveled slowly in order that the horses 
 might be in the best possible condition, and as the laces 
 did not take place till the next day, St. John stopped and 
 spent the night at Cawson's, the residence of his fnend, 
 Colonel Theodoric Bland. Little John Randolph and his 
 mother were still there, and the young man held in his arms 
 the afterwards celebrated orator of Roanoke. 
 
 On the next morning, early, with the exchange of many 
 cordial good wishes, he set out again on his journey, and 
 crossing in the ferry-boat, entered Richmond town in the 
 midst of an enormous crowd, attracted by the double festi 
 val of the fair and the races. * 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XIII.
 
 134 MISS BONNYLEL. 
 
 The town was scarcely more than a village straggling 
 along a winding creek which emptied its bright waters into 
 the James, flowing in serene majesty 1'rom the foot of the 
 liiils away iuto the immense forest. 
 
 On a hill to the west, above the river, foaming over huge 
 rocks, and encircling the verdurous islands scattered over its 
 bosom, rose from the foliage of May the single tine dwelling 
 house of the town, " Belvidere," some time the residence of 
 Colonel William Byrd, whose large warehouse for tobacco 
 rose above the village. On the opposite hill, to the east, 
 the old church of St. John peeped from the forest, and was 
 gilded by the brilliant sunlight. 
 
 As the young man passed on through the row of log houses, 
 with their wooden chimneys, against which an ordinance 
 had been lately passed, he saw representatives of every 
 clime almost. There were Dutch and Portuguese from 
 sloops in the river, negroes just landed from Africa, and 
 vagrant Indians come to purchase rum with their furs. The 
 Africans spoke their native dialect, and the rest a broken 
 patois, and the numerous goats swarming in the streets, and 
 peering into every thing, added their bleating to the hubbub. 
 
 Almost every class and tongue was represented in the 
 streets, from the swaggering foreign sailor to the well-bred 
 gentleman in his coach, and the small village, usually so ob 
 scure, had become almost a city on this the day of the fair. 
 
 Mr. St. John pushed his way onward, through men, and 
 women, and children, and goats, and reached the door of 
 the tavern, a long building overflowing with revelers. 
 
 He had his animals baited, and then applied himself vig 
 orously to the substantial viands set respectfully before him 
 by mine host of tlie "Rising Sun." Having satisfied his 
 material wants, he issued forth and looked around him on 
 the hubbub of the fair. 
 
 It was a sufficiently entertaining sight, and worthy of the 
 pencil of Hogarth. Unfortunately, we 3o not possess the 
 burin of that great humorous genius, and must content our. 
 selves with saying that those favorite deities of Virginia,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 13ft 
 
 Fun and Frolic, seemed to be ruling the jjreal crowd des 
 potically. 
 
 This crowd was, as we have said, of every possible descrip 
 tion of personage from the wealthy and richly dressed Vir 
 ginia planter, to the traveling showman announcing, in dis 
 cordant accents, like a bull of Bashan, from the opening of 
 his canvas booth, the wonders of his three-headed pig, or hid 
 greyhound with eight legs. 
 
 The great master of the science of thimble-rig here puz 
 zled the rustic clod-hoppers with his feats of legerdemain 
 a step further, a serene and solemn gentleman was stationed 
 in the rear of a table covered with a figured cloth, on which 
 a number of pistoles would be laid down by betters, to be 
 raked immediately into Mr. Sweatcloth's pouch ; still, a step 
 further, an Italian boy turned summersets, and sang and 
 played with his monkey, and from the crowd assembled 
 round these various spectacles, and games, and exhibitions, 
 came a ceaseless buzz of talk and laughter, rising at times into 
 a shout almost, and deafening the ears with joyous discord. 
 
 Mr. St. John poshed his way through the crowd, exchang 
 ing greetings with a hundred acquaintances, and entered 
 the grounds of the fair proper. 
 
 Here it was no longer confusion only it was Babel. A 
 specimen brick, so to speak, had been brought from the edi 
 fices of dealers in all imaginable commodities, and Mr. St. 
 John found himself assailed on a dozen sides, in as many mo 
 ments, by the merchants. 
 
 Would his honor like this fine saddle ? or perhaps this 
 handsome cloth ? But before the victim could reply, he 
 was entreated, by the merchant opposite, to purchase a full 
 set of variegated china. 
 
 Would he look at these buckskin knee-breeches, as fine 
 and pliable as satin ? And no sooner had Mr. St. John de 
 clined the knee-breeches, than a country lass offered him a 
 set of frilled shifts, which seemed to have been made with 
 especial reference to t! e foam of tke sea, so elaborate u 
 immense were the ruffles.
 
 136 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 The young man put aside every thing, laughing, and wen( 
 through the whole grounds uncaptured. He paused beside 
 more than one chariot to pay h's respects to young ladies, 
 and finally found himself opposite the judge of the races on 
 the ensuing day. 
 
 The judge was a portly gentleman, of about thirty, vith 
 a large bundle of watch seals, an enormous frill, and a bear- 
 ing at once dignified and agreeable. He wore a huge peruke, 
 fine buckskin breeches, and fairtop boots with spurs boots 
 covering feet of the dimensions of kneading troughs. 
 
 His large hands were encased in gloves, and the right glove 
 held the handle of a riding whip, ornamented with silver. 
 
 When this worthy saw Mr. St. John, he made him a pro 
 found bow, but immediately raised his head with dignity. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Lugg," said St. John, shaking hands in a 
 friendly way, "I have come to enter some horses. How 
 are the lists ?" 
 
 " Pretty well filled, Mr. St. John," replied Mr. Lugg, sa 
 luting an humble passer by in a friendly and condescending 
 way ; " pretty full, sir, but we 're glad to have as many en 
 tries for the purse as possible." 
 
 " I forewarn you Belsize or Serapis will w r in it." 
 
 " That 's as it may be, sir, for there are some beauties en 
 tered." 
 
 " Have you any horse ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir that is, a mare. If there 's a question con 
 nected with her, of course I do n't act as judge." 
 
 " Exactly. What 's her name ?" 
 
 "I call herDonsy, sir after my lady. A thorough-bred 
 by Selim, the Arabian of my friend, Captain Waters, out of 
 Juliet, whom I purchased of my friend and neighbor, Mr 
 Champ Eflingham. He wished to make me a present of the 
 mare, but of course I could n't accept." 
 
 And Mr. Lugg raised his head with dignity. 
 
 Mr. St. John smiled, and asked his companion to conn 
 and look at his horses, and see Mr. Gunn with him thif 
 latter gentleman being the manager of the races.
 
 MISS BONI-'YBEL. 137 
 
 Mr. Lugg obeyed with alacrity, and more than once re 
 turned a salute from a gentleman riding by holding Mr. 
 St. John's arm. 
 
 They went to the race course, which was in an old field, 
 toward the east, and to the stables. 
 
 Mr. Lugg, and his friend Gunn, expatiated at length upon 
 the merits of the different horses, and bestowed discriminat 
 ing praise upon Belsize and Serapis, who had already been 
 entered by Mr. St. John's servant. 
 
 They then returned, conversing, to the inn. 
 Night fell upon the fair, but it did not diminish the 
 revelry. In the great room of the " Rising Sun," especi 
 ally, was the uproar perfectly tremendous. 
 
 When Mr. St. John entered this apartment, his attention 
 was attracted by a figure mounted on the great table, high 
 above the immense roaring crowd, which figure shook in 
 his hand a parchment, and, with violent gesticulations, de 
 manded to be heard. 
 
 At last Mr. St. John made out that the orator was offer 
 ing the title deed of a lot in the town of Richmond, to any 
 one who would treat the crowd, himself included, to a bowl 
 of punch, of the best Scotch whiskey. 
 
 The young man looked on, curiously, to see what suc 
 cess this offer would meet with, and his patience was re 
 warded. 
 
 A little personage with a tie-wig jostled through the 
 crowd, and took and examined the parchment. The exam 
 ination seemed satisfactory, and the gentleman in the wig 
 signified his willingness to close with the owner's proposi 
 tion. 
 
 The crowd received the speech with shouts of applause, 
 and mine host was ordered to brew an ocean of punch, the 
 offer being unlimited. 
 
 Mr. St. John saw the gentleman in the tie-wig roll up 
 the title-deed and retire, after speaking to the landlord ; 
 and then the young man retired too, fatigued with his 
 ride.
 
 138 MISS BOXNTBEL. 
 
 As to the parchment thus purchased, it was the title-daed 
 of the square upon which St. Paul's Church now stands, in 
 the city of Richmond. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 IN WHICH THE AUTHOR OMITS DESCRIBING THE RACES. 
 
 WE have said that nothing but the pencil of Hogarth 
 could depict the humors of the streets of Richmond town, 
 when Mr. St. John arrived. 
 
 We add, that even this great humorist would have had 
 his powers taxed to their utmost by the scenes on the race 
 course upon the following day. 
 
 We shall scarcely attempt to outline them, for we fee 
 how powerless would be the endeavor. It is enough to say 
 that the old field presented the appearance of Pandemoni 
 um broke loose ; that cock-fights, dog-fights, rat and terrier 
 combats, and human fisticuff" engagements, were the lesser 
 and more unimpressive details of what seemed a tremen 
 dous orgy. 
 
 The crowd was huger, the traveling gamblers more inde 
 fatigable, the Italian and his monkey turned wilder sum 
 mersets, and through this mass of "low life" and revelry, 
 a thrill of delight and expectation seemed to run, which 
 changed to resounding acclamations when the horses were 
 led forth. 
 
 Mr. St. John, by express kindness of his friend, L. Lugg, 
 Esquire, chief judge, was accommodated with a seat in the 
 judges' stand a little round tower, fronting the balcony, 
 and looking down upon the concourse. 
 
 The young man gazed with that interest and curiosity 
 which is said to be peculiar to Virginians, upon the 
 tecle,
 
 MISS JJONNYBRL. 130 
 
 Beneath him the crowd reeled and flowed to and fro in 
 ivaves ; rich chariots shot by like stars, full of little beauties 
 in diamonds and lace, or portly old fellows in enormous ruf 
 fles; the dog-fights, cock-fights, man-fights, went on in a 
 ceaseless uproar. 
 
 Above and fronting him was a spectacle somewhat differ 
 ent. In the wide balcony a mass of dames and gentlemen 
 resembled, with their variegated costumes, a blooming 
 tiower-garden ; and the sparkling eyes, red cheeks^ and lips 
 ever smiling, indicated how much pleasure the young ladies 
 expected from the race. 
 
 Alas ! for the cause of morality and solemnity ! 'T is much 
 the same, says our author, in all ages. Whether princess 
 or young lady, damsel or lass of the mill, they, one and all, 
 are the same foolish, giddy creatures ! They all love fine 
 dresses, and colors of the rainbow ! They thrill one and all 
 at a festival or jubilee ! They like gallants, and admiration, 
 and pretty speeches, and amusement ! and I do n't think, Sir 
 Diogenes, they are heathen ! 
 
 The horses are led up and down through the crowd the 
 cock-fights, dog-fights, man-fights, disappear a thrill of ad 
 miration even runs through the bevy of fair girls. 
 
 The horses are stripped and saddled. They are the cream 
 of Virginia racers, and they know what they are expected 
 to perform. , 
 
 The boys are tossed into the saddle, the drum tapped, 
 and the animals vanish from the stand like meteors on the 
 circular track. 
 
 It is not our intention to dwell on the details of the races, 
 or on the singular and laughable scenes which followed them. 
 If the reader would see that jolly period rise up from the 
 mists of oblivion, renew its faded colors, and unroll its wide 
 tapestry of fun and revelry ; if he would know how our 
 ancestors amused themselves and carried on, he has only to 
 consult the " Virginia Gazette," and the advertisement of the 
 frolic on St. Andrew's day, at Captain John Bickerton's old 
 field in Hanover, to see the whole spectacle again. IJe w$
 
 . 10 MISS BONMYBEL. 
 
 Bet, how the hat worth twenty shillings was cudgeled for, 
 how a violin was played for, and then how they all played 
 different tunes at once ; how a quire of ballads was sung for, 
 and silver buckles wrestled for, and a pair of handsome shoes 
 and stockings danced for the stockings to be given to the 
 prettiest girl upon the ground. 
 
 All this the honest and veracious old " Gazette" sets forth 
 every other word commencing with a capital and there 
 we read it all to-day. How can the poor chronicler depict 
 it ? He listens with respectful attention to the fiddlers, and 
 hears the maidens' voices singing for the book of ballads, 
 and bows to the prettiest girl upon the ground, who got the 
 stockings bows low, quite careless whether she be diamond- 
 decoi ated maiden or poor country lass, caring to know noth 
 ing but her beauty. The chronicler thus hears, and sees, 
 and laughs, and looks down on the rout, or up to the 
 balcony, with its starry eyes but that is all. He cnn not 
 describe you, bright young men and maidens ! though he 
 hears your mirth and laughter chiming through the mists 
 of the century that is gone. He drops the corner of the 
 curtain he has raised for a moment, and passes onward 
 smiling. 
 
 We shall not further dwell upon the races, or the fair, but 
 simply say that, on the following morning, Mr. St. John or 
 dered " Tallyho," and turned his face toward Williamsburg. 
 
 The following note, however, went back, with Serapis and 
 Belsize, to Vanely : 
 
 " AT SHOCCOE'S, Thursday morning. 
 " MY PEAK UNCLE, 
 
 "I am just getting into the saddle for Williamsburg, 
 but write to say that Serapis won the purse. He was nearlj 
 distanced the first heat, but won the two others over every 
 horse upon the ground. He 's worth a thousand pounds. 
 
 " Tom bears you this. I go to Williamsburg, bi t hops 
 aopn to see you all again at Vanely. 
 
 u Your dutiful nephew, 
 
 ST,
 
 MISS I50NNYBEL. 141 
 
 Having delivered this note to the negro, Mr. St. John got 
 into the saddle, and pushed his way through the crowd, to 
 ward the hill upon which stood old St. John's Church. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 HOW ME. ST. JOHN ENCOUNTERED A STRANGER, AND OF 
 WHAT THEY CONVERSED. 
 
 THE road which the young man pursued led around the 
 hill in a sort of curving ascent, and passing by the church 
 of St. John, debouched from the town in the direction of 
 " Bloody Run," where Bacon had defeated the Indian army 
 a hundred years before. 
 
 He looked back upon the town, as he arrived at the sum 
 ruit, and was so much impressed by the beauty of the land 
 scape that he dismounted, and tied his horse to the bough 
 of a tree, and entered the grounds of the church, seeking 
 rbr the highest point of view. 
 
 He found this in the immediate vicinity of the old edifice, 
 and threading his way among the tombstones of three gen 
 erations, paused upon a grassy hillock, and feasted his eyes 
 upon the scene. 
 
 It is beautiful to-day it was far more lovely then. The 
 majestic river, far beneath him, poured its waves from the 
 western hills around islands of dipping foliage, and over rocks 
 which broke its waters into foam, and then, tired of this con 
 tention, flowed away in serene majesty toward the sea. Far 
 away to the south, it wound into view again, the white sails 
 of barks glittering on its bosom against the green forest- 
 that immense fivest which seemed to clasp the whole land 
 scape in its embrace. At the foot of the high hill, scattered 
 along the brook, were the houses of the town, and in t ! M 
 west rose the walls of Bpl.vid.ere, embowered in foliage. ;*uU
 
 *-2 MI&S BONNYBEL. 
 
 looking down serenely on the village. Over the wnole scent 
 drooped the warm and golden atmosphere, and a great pile 
 of clouds, like snow drift, floated away toward the southern 
 horizon. 
 
 The beautiful spectacle was not without its effect upon 
 the young man, whose mind and heart, for a moment di 
 verted by the scenes of the fair, now returned with new 
 p.easure to his possessing thought. 
 
 It was the face of a girl which he saw in the clouds and 
 he mirror-like" river ; it was her voice which he heard in 
 the murmur of the breeze, and the mellow music of the 
 laughing water, foaming over moss-clad rocka. Her image 
 had been obscured by the grotesque scenes, and the passion 
 and uproar of the race-course ; now, however, he was alone 
 with nature, and in the midst of purity and peace, her beau 
 tiful face came back to him, and filled his heart with glad 
 ness. 
 
 The erect brows of the young man drooped ; he leaned 
 against the trunk of one of the old trees, and lowering his 
 eyes, fixed them with idle and dreamy pleasure on the flow 
 ery sward. 
 
 He remained thus silent and absorbed, scarcely conscious 
 ftf the outer world, for nearly an hour absorbed in one of 
 those reveries which come at times to all. Place and time 
 had disappeared he was alone with his love. 
 
 He was aroused by a distant muttering of thunder, and 
 by a heavy drop of rain falling upon his face. 
 
 He looked up. The whole scene had changed. Heavy 
 clouds obscured the sky, fringed beneath by a long, ragged 
 line of fire ; and as he gazed, the far horizon was illumi 
 nated by successive flashes of lurid lightning, which shone, 
 with dazzling brilliancy, against the black masses of the 
 thunder clouds. The May morning had been obscured thus 
 suddenly by~one of those thunder storms which rush into 
 the skies of Virginia, at this season of the year, with scarcely 
 a moment's warning, and the brooding darkness, which ad 
 vanced, like a giant towering from ea^h tp fceavcii, ovej
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 14-' 
 
 I 
 
 iiver, and field, and forest, proved that the storm about to 
 burst would be one of no ordinary violence. 
 
 The young man had scarcely taken in with i glance the 
 state of things, when the heavy drops began to patter more 
 rapidly through the trees ; a huge wall, apparently, of mist 
 advanced rapidly from the west, and accompanied by vivid 
 lightning flashes, and deafening peals of thunder, as its her 
 alds, the storm was upon him. 
 
 He threw a glance toward " Tallyho," who was sheltered 
 somewhat by the great oak, beneath which he was tied, and 
 then hastened to the door of the church for shelter. 
 
 He struck it with his hand, and fortunately it was open. 
 He entered just at the moment when the storm roared down 
 upon the hill, lashing it with all its power, and making the 
 building shake and quiver. 
 
 St. John found himself in an old edifice, almost dark, and 
 at first he scarcely saw his way. -. 
 
 The windows were for the most part closed, but through 
 those which remained open the dazzling flashes of lightning 
 streamed fearfully, preluding roars of thunder like a thou 
 sand cannon. 
 
 The young man had advanced toward the tub-shaped pul 
 pit, and was standing with one hand upon the railing of the 
 chancel, when he heard issue, as it were, from beneath his 
 feet, the words, 
 
 " A dangerous thunder-storm, sir ; you are fortunate in 
 finding refuge from it." 
 
 He started and turned round. At the same moment, a 
 vivid flash of lightning lit up the building, and a step be 
 neath him, in the door of the vestry-room, St. John discov 
 ered the figure of a man, clad in somber and severe black. 
 
 It was the singular individual whom we have seen in the 
 tall, tower-like edifice in Williamsburg in the underground 
 printing office beneath the boughs of the forest and in the 
 chamber of his child, as he prepared to set forth on his mid 
 night journey. 
 
 His appearance had not changed. There was the same
 
 144 
 
 expression of iron calmness, the same steady fire in the dark 
 eyes, the same air, an of one who is possessed by an inte 1 - 
 lectual fanaticism, an absorbing idea, which never for a inv 
 ment disappears from his mind. 
 
 St. John gazed for a moment at the pale Kce, and the nerv 
 ous figure, which seemed like a collection of steel springs. 
 fie was trying to remember where he had met with the 
 stranger before. That he had encountered him somewhere, 
 he was perfectly well assured. But where? The attempt 
 to recall the time or place was vain ; he gave up the search. 
 
 To the deep-toned words of the stranger, he replied, 
 
 " Yes, a dangerous storm, sir ; pardon my staring at you 
 BO very rudely, but I fancied we had met before." 
 
 " Perhaps," said the stranger, gravely. 
 
 " Your appearance in the darkness somewhat startled me. 
 I had expected to find this old building vacant, and almost 
 recoiled when you spoke-from the shadow." 
 
 " I confess my appearance was somewhat melo-dramatic," 
 replied the stranger, advancing from the door with a mea 
 sured movement, " but my presence here, like yours, is very 
 simple." 
 
 " I took refuge from the storm." 
 
 " And I came to look at this building." 
 
 St. John's look denoted that he had failed to underst* -i 
 
 " You wished to see the church ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir its capacity." 
 
 " Its capacity ?" 
 
 "In other words, sir," said the stranger, "how many 
 persons could assemble within its walls." 
 
 " Yes," said the young man, " I think I understand. 
 There is to be an ecclesiastical convention." 
 
 "I have not heard of it, sir." 
 
 " What then ?" 
 
 " A convention of persons employed in other matters, per 
 haps. Possibly a meeting of the Burgesses." 
 
 " The Burgesses ?" 
 
 " Why not ?"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 14* 
 
 41 1 thought that honorable body sat in Williamsburgj 
 sir." 
 
 The stranger was silent for a moment, and during thin 
 pause, his dark eyes, piercing and brilliant, and full of 
 gloomy earnestness, fixed themselves upon the face of his 
 companion. 
 
 " Williamsburg is truly the present place of meeting of 
 the Burgesses," he said in his deep voice, " but do you think 
 they will sit there long ?" 
 
 " Ah ! I understand you refer to Lord Dunmore ?" 
 
 The stranger nodded. 
 
 "You mean that he will coerce them?" 
 
 " Is it very improbable ?" 
 
 "It is just the contrary." 
 
 " Well, then, sir," said the stranger, thoughtfully, " do 
 you think it strange that another place besides Williams- 
 burg is looked to ? But, your pardon. Perhaps I speak to 
 a gentleman having no sympathy with the cause to one 
 connected with Lord Dunmore ?" 
 
 At that name the young man's face had already clouded 
 over, and his eyes assumed an expression of disdain and 
 menace. 
 
 "Yes," he said, coldly, "I am connected with his lord- 
 ihip." 
 
 The stranger made a movement of his head. 
 
 "I am lieutenant of his 'guards,' so styled." 
 
 " I can not congratulate you, sir," said the stranger, 
 gloomily, " but I have nothing to say." 
 
 " I have something to add, however," returned St. John, 
 disdainfully, " and it is this, sir : that I cordially despise his 
 Excellency, and throw the commission I 've held in his face !" 
 
 The stranger advanced a step, his gloomy look changing 
 to one of animation. 
 
 " You do not then approve of this gentleman ?" he said. 
 
 " I deny that he 's a particle of a gentleman !" returned 
 the young man, coldly ; "he's a vulgar fellow, and if he 
 asks me my opinion, I '11 tell him so !"
 
 146 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 The stranger's face glowed. 
 
 " Then you are of the opposition, sir ?" he said in his deej 
 voice. 
 
 " To the death 1" 
 
 " You are a patriot ?" 
 
 " I know not what you mean by the word," returned St. 
 John, coldly ; " if, however, it signifies a man who regards 
 the legislation of Parliament as odious and despotic ; who 
 would war to the death against the tyrannical enactments 
 let loose upon Virginia, like a brood of cormorants ; above 
 all, who would gladly march at the head of a regiment to 
 drive this man, Dunmore, from the capital of the province, 
 and lash him like a hound from our borders if this is what 
 you call being a patriot, sir, I 'm one to all lengths 1" 
 
 As the young man spoke in his bold and earnest voice, 
 with its disdainful and passionate sternness, the form of the 
 stranger seemed to dilate with satisfaction, his strange eyes 
 grew more brilliant, and his pale cheek was tinged with a 
 slight color. 
 
 He advanced and said : 
 
 " Then you would oppose Parliament ?" 
 
 " To the bitter end !" 
 
 " You would resist the execution of its acts in the prov 
 ince ?" 
 
 " With arms, if necessary !" 
 
 "You would levy war against the Governor." 
 
 "As cheerfully as a bridegroom assembles his friends to 
 ride to his wedding !" 
 
 The stranger seemed to glow with gloomy satisfaction 
 as he listened to these disdainful words. But he restrained 
 himself. 
 
 " Do you know that the words you have uttered are dan 
 gerous?" he said. 
 
 " Perfectly," said St. John. 
 
 " That I may be a spy and informer ?" 
 
 " I care not." 
 
 " That the Governor may arrest you and send you to rot
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 147 
 
 in a prison ship, or swing from Tyburn tree, by the verdict 
 of an English jury ?" 
 
 " Stop !" said St. John, as coldly as before ; " there yon 
 are mistaken, sir !" 
 
 " Mistaken ? 
 
 " You lose sight of one thing the fact that I wear a 
 sword ! and that before the tools of Dunmore arrest me " 
 
 " Yes, yes ? 
 
 " I will drive it to the hilt in his cowardly breast- 1" said 
 St. John, carried away with rage ; " if I 'm hanged for trea 
 son it shall be for something ! But this is idle, sir. I talk 
 like a school-boy, and I get blood-thirsty. I mean that my 
 contempt for this man is so deep, my jealousy of parliamen 
 tary misrule so strong, my blood so hot with the cause of 
 this, our native land, that I 'd cheerfully take the first step 
 in high treason to defeat our enemies stake my head upon 
 the game, and abide by the result 1" 
 
 The stranger seemed to listen to these words with stern 
 delight, and his eyes burned with the fires of internal excite 
 ment. 
 
 He advanced two steps, and enclosing the young man's 
 hand in a grasp of iron, said, in his deep, resounding voice: 
 
 " I ofi'er you the clasp of amity, friend, and recognize in 
 you a brother and co worker ! I see in your eyes, your voice, 
 the expression of your lips, what I d trust my life to sooner 
 than distrust it !" 
 
 "You may," replied St. John, coldly; "I am not one to 
 hide any thing." 
 
 " I see that plainly !" said the stranger, " and it is men 
 like yourself that we want bold natures and strong hands. 
 Do not think that I flatter you, sir there is no man living 
 I will flatter. I speak simply when I say that you have 
 interested and moved me, as few persons have moved me 
 for years. But even in this moment of full sympathy, let 
 me still ask if these views are deliberate, and not the re 
 sult" 
 
 " Of private feelings !" said St. John, mastered in spite of
 
 148 MISS 130NNYSEL. 
 
 himself by the, gloomy earnestness of the stranger; " is tha. 
 your meaning, sir?" 
 
 The stranger nodded. 
 
 " I reply that a private feeling toward the Governor has 
 had some weight with me, but my opinions were formed 
 before. They are summed up in this that Virginia is 
 being crushed ! that we, free-born men, are being rapidly 
 enslaved, thai our chains are being forged, and my remedy 
 is war!" 
 
 The stranger listened with an avidity which glowed in his 
 eyes, and seemed to send the blood more rapidly through 
 his veins. 
 
 " You say well, sir," he replied in a voice which swelled 
 and grew deeper and more gloomy as he spoke ; " you have 
 uttered the single word which expresses the whole truth of 
 the times. Yes, we free-born Virginians are becoming slaves 
 serfs ! the serfs of a mean and ignoble Parliament full 
 of representatives from rotten boroughs, and advancing to 
 ti-ead upon the necks of these provinces. The serfs of a 
 Governor, coarse, treacherous and bloody, whose very pres 
 ence on our soil taints it, and makes it tremble with disgust. 
 You have nobly spoken, sir. Your voice has uttered those 
 noble thoughts which tremble, as we stand here, on a thou 
 sand tongues, but are silenced by this tyranny beneath which 
 we groan ; which is crushing our free spirits and making us 
 those most miserable creatures, the slaves of a phantom 
 an idea !" 
 
 As the stranger spoke, his voice grew deeper still and full 
 of menace ; his hands moved, and seemed to tremble with 
 disdain. 
 
 " How long ? how long ?" he said, " this is the cry of the 
 new generation, unfettered by the past or the present, and 
 looking to the future. This new generation I look to as 
 my stay and my hope I who live in and draw my heart's 
 blood from the breath of revolution ! The word startles 
 the old generation it is the watch-word, the battle cry of 
 the new ! Look at my face, sir ! the wrinkles that begin t
 
 MISS BCNNYBEL. WD 
 
 diverge from my eyes they are the result of ten years 
 conflict, often years, in which I have toiled and nearly worn 
 myself out in pushing onward, through evil report and good, 
 through darkness and gloom, the car of a revolution which 
 shall break and overturn, and crush beneath its wheels what 
 oppresses ns ! I speak as I have the right to speak. I tell of 
 the darkness through which I have passed, wherein sca:oly 
 a star shone to guide me. But thanks to the Supreme Rulei 
 of the destinies of humanity, the gloom begins at last to 
 disappear, the day of liberty to dawn. 
 
 "Yes, sir," continued the stranger, his lofty stature seem 
 ing to increase as he spoke, " the day begins to dawn on our 
 western world, and the powers of the night to be dethroned. 
 For generations it has lain in darkness, and the horrible 
 vultures have fed upon its bowels, tearing out its vitals and 
 burying obscene talons in its noble heart. But that heart 
 is not cold the heart of Virginia is still alive it throbs and 
 it rises ! You may see the prostrate form begin to quiver 1 
 see the shudder which runs through the gigantic frame ! it 
 trembles and pants, and, like Lazarus, rises from its grave 1 
 like Samson, it will shiver into atoms the chains which fet 
 ter its mighty limbs ! When that body rises to its feet from 
 the living grave in which a horrible and murderous tyranny 
 has engulfed it, the solid earth will shake beneath its tread, 
 and the waters of the very sea will boil. Wo then to the 
 vultures of tyranny ! Wo to Dunmore, to Gage, to the king 
 on his throne, in that hour ! The atmosphere is even now 
 charged with hatred, the lightnings of years of oppression 
 will fall on our tyrants to brand and paralyze them, with the 
 false and lying hounds they have let loose to tear us ! 
 
 " You gaze at me with wonder, sir," continued the stran 
 ger, "but if you knew what I have passed through, you 
 would not be astonished. I who speak, sir, as I feel myself 
 compelled to speak, by an influence I can not resist I who 
 speak to you, have no thought, no existence, no heart, but 
 Virginia ! Whatever strikes her strikes me, what arrests 
 the life-blood in her veins paralyzes mine; what she thrills
 
 150 MISS UONNYBEL. 
 
 and trembles with sends a shudder through my frame ! Foi 
 ten years I have had no other Kt-r for ten years I have been 
 burnt up by one eternal dominai t idea, and that idea is 
 summed up in the word Revolution ! For this I have toiled 
 to unfetter the human mind has been my mission. If I am 
 worn out, as I nearly am, what matter ? If I brand the ty 
 ranny of Parliament if I help to tear out the lying tongues, 
 and overthrow the power of a hateful and disgusting op 
 pression if I even advance the phalanx one step toward 
 our enemies then I shall go to my grave with joy, for my 
 end will be accomplished. There is little in life to attract 
 me," continued the speaker, who paused, as it were, and 
 with drooping brows, gazed toward the ground, "for at the 
 prime of manhood, I am old when my life should be burst 
 ing into flower, I am alone." 
 
 There was such profound and gloomy sadness in the tones 
 of the deep voice, that St. John gazed at his companion with 
 deep sympathy. 
 
 "You have suffered, sir?" he said. 
 
 "Deeply," said the stranger, in a low voice. 
 
 "Along time?" 
 
 "For a decade the period of my labor." 
 
 St. John was silent, and the stranger for some momenta 
 was silent too. Then he raised his head, and two tears mois 
 tened his fiery eyes, but were instantly dashed away. 
 
 He laid his hand upon St. John's shoulder, and for some 
 moments gazed at him with an expression at once so piercing 
 and so sorrowful that the young man remembered it for years. 
 
 "It is strange," he said, "but I feel an irresistible desire 
 to confide in you, friend. Can I? I think I can." 
 
 " Any thing communicated to me shall be locked in my 
 bosom," was the reply. 
 
 *' Your word is then given that what I say shall be re 
 peated to no one ?" 
 
 " To no one upon earth." 
 
 " Then listen, sir," said she stranger, in his deep, sorrow 
 ful voice, " listen and I will relate to you the history of a life."
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 HOW THE STRANGER BECAME AST HISTORIAN AND A PEOPHET 
 
 THE stranger had scarcely uttered the words, when a daz 
 zling flash of lightning darted across the sky, was immed' 
 ately succeeded by a roar of thunder, like the discharge of a 
 battery, and one of the great oaks, upon which the bolt fell, 
 was split and shivered, from the top to the bottom, by tJ 1Q 
 fiery stream. 
 
 For a moment the eyes of the two men were dazzled by 
 the terrible spectacle, and they gazed at the torn trunk, 
 which r -efreumbered with broken boughs, was fitfully seen 
 by successive flashes, or chance gleams. 
 
 "Do you see this tree thus shattered by lightning?" said 
 the stranger ; " well, that is the type of a man's life of the 
 life which speaks to you now. 
 
 " Ten years ago,*' he continued, " there lived in Virginia 
 a warm-hearted, ardent, and impressible youth. The soul 
 of this youth throbbed with generous emotions, and such 
 was his frankness, and tenderness, and kindness, that he 
 could hot have trodden upon a worm or an insect. His 
 dream was to do good, to ameliorate the condition of hu 
 manity, to unfetter and enlighten his brethren, and give 
 them liberty of thought, self respect, and happiness. To 
 this end all his studies tended, and he lived in a dream, as 
 it were; of love and philanthropy. 
 
 " Such was his state of mind, and such his hope, when he 
 met with a woman a woman of rare and overpowering love 
 liness, and by a strange accident, this woman, or rather girl, 
 was proved to be his cousin. Almost the first moment in 
 which he saw her sealed his fate ; from that instant he loved ; 
 loved deeply, passionately, absorbingly. She returned his 
 affection, and that new world which he had imagined the 
 world of beauty and truth seemed to center and find iU 
 realization in her Jove and her presence,"
 
 152 MISS r,OX-\Y!>,EL. 
 
 The stranger paused for a moment, but continued, calmly, 
 
 " This love became a portion of his life, of his being, of 
 his soul. Before, he had found in the great thoughts of 
 the kings of literature, sufficient food for his mind, and in 
 their grand ideas he had wrapped himself so completely 
 that he lived, as it were, in history, and asked nothing more. 
 But now all was changed ; he no longer dreamed of the pro 
 ress and enlightenment of man ; the happiness and destii^ 
 of mankind was no longer a thought to him. He had found 
 something grander than the fate of the world, a more ab 
 sorbing passion than philanthropy ; he had found a woman's 
 heart to clasp to his own, a heart whose beating made him 
 careless of the past or the future, so that future were spent 
 in her presence, by her side. 
 
 "I said," continued the stranger, "that this woman loved 
 him. O yes, she loved him ! Rare and wonderful decree 
 of a Deity of love and goodness ! the imperishable treasure 
 of this woman's heart was given solely to himself. To speak 
 of her is idle, words fade and fail me ; 't is enough to say that 
 she was such as he had never seen before, and will never see 
 again no never ! Well, well, sir, I linger ; let me go on 
 with my narrative. The man and the woman were married ; 
 they went far away to the vast solitudes, and there, in the 
 presence of nature and the Creator, they were wholly, com 
 pletely, blissfully happy happy as human beings can seldom 
 be, and never for long, because earth would then be like 
 heaven." 
 
 These recollections seemed almost to unnerve the stranger, 
 but he suppressed his emotion and continued, 
 
 " Well, I will not dwell on this further. Let me hurry 
 on. The man and the woman lived a year thus, tranquil 
 and serene, and then the bolt of Heaven fell. God saw fit 
 to take away this woman," said the stranger, hoarsely, "to 
 lead back the m;m to his neglected work. He no longer 
 recognized his mission, for he was happy ; he had forgotten 
 his duty. The Deity decreed that he should come away, 
 $id the means which he u. c ed were the fives of grief and
 
 anguish. Well, sir, all this came about as was decreed. 
 blow fell, and the trunk was stripped of its verdure and fresh 
 ness stripped for ever. The hard heart alone remained, and 
 this sufficed for the work. The man came on foot one day 
 to the capital ; he was dusty and worn with fatigue ; he saw 
 flame and breathed agony and despair. He raised his head, 
 and was accosted by a former companion, who harshly up 
 braided him for his inaction, and in words of fire laid before 
 him his future work. There was a great crowd assembled, 
 every heart throbbed with rage and defiance toward En 
 gland ; before he knew it, he was speaking to them by tho 
 red glare of the burning stamps, and from that moment ho 
 comprehended the behest of Providence. He had neglected 
 his mission ; he was led back and thrust into the ranks to 
 do his part. 
 
 " Well, sir, from that time forth he became what he is, 
 what you see him, a machine of iron, with but one eternal 
 idea burning like fire in his soul. His work was to aid in 
 unfettering the human soul when that is accomplished he 
 will disappear. When I have no longer any work to do, 
 when my aim is accomplished, my memory will kill me, 
 But that will not take place ; I shall fall by the sword, or 
 the cannon ball, or bayonet it matters not and the day 
 which sees me stretched cold and pale upon the battle field, 
 will be the happiest of my life, for on that day I trust to re 
 join my wife !" 
 
 The stranger paused, and wiped his forehead, which was 
 steaming with cold sweat. By an immense effort he sup 
 pressed the shudder which ran through his frame, and his 
 features subsided gradually into iron calmness. 
 
 " You may think it strange, sir," he said, coldly, to the 
 young man, who had listened with deep sympathy to this 
 narrative ; " you may think it strange that I have thus un 
 rolled the history of my life, as it were, to a person whom I 
 do not know. But such is the human mind. Philosophy and 
 self control are mighty bulwarks, but at times the crushed 
 Ueurt will writh.e and raoan U'lienth the iron hod
 
 154 MTRS HONNYnr T . 
 
 are moments when human sympathy is necessary even t<\ 
 my shattered soul, and this feeling has been too much for 
 me to-day. Perhaps I have spoken to unsympathizing ears, 
 but I could not refrain, sir the words have been ul tered." 
 
 St. John said, with great feeling, 
 
 " I have listened with respect, sir, and sympathy, and do 
 not, I pray you, believe that your suffering finds an indif 
 ferent listener in myself. If 't were only from curiosity, I 
 must have heard you with attention, for you relate a strange 
 and moving story ! But it is with more than curiosity that 
 I have listened with sympathy and deference, sir ; that 
 deference which is due to a great misfortune." 
 
 " Thanks, friend," said the stranger, more calmly even than 
 before ; " your face is so loyal and sincere that I scarcely re 
 gret my indiscretion. Well, to finish. From the moment 
 when I saw what my work was, I have been in harness. I 
 have aimed further than protest against parliamentary des 
 potism, I have aimed at perfect independence and a repul: 
 lie." 
 
 " Ah ! a republic ?" 
 
 " Nothing less, sir," said the stranger, calmly. " For ten 
 years nearly I have been stirring up this colony to an armed 
 revolt a rebellion." 
 
 St. John mused with drooping head. 
 
 " I see that you question the possibility of this movement 
 now," said the stranger, " and I regret that my time wil] 
 not permit me to expand my views of the past. See one 
 thing, however. As you, at this moment, are in advance of 
 thousands of the most intelligent and patriotic thinkers up 
 on government, as you would meet Parliament in arms, and 
 Irish the tyrannical Dunmore from Virginia, so, ten years 
 ago, I was in advance of yourself. In that time I have 
 watched, with attentive eyes, the progress of thought, the 
 i xpansion of men's minds. They approach nearer and nearer 
 to me every hour. I do not boast, sir, for God gave me my 
 eyes and my soul, pointed out my work. What I saw, near 
 9 <!or.<r, years since, will be actc'l. porlmp, in twelve months
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 158 
 
 frtnn this time. The stamps were burned in- the year '65 , 
 that was the firing of the slow match. It is nearly burnt 
 out. In the next year, the year '75, it will reach the powder, 
 and Che mine will explode with a crash which shall bury the 
 throne, in America at least, in ruins, from which nothing 
 can dig it forth." 
 
 The speaker's eyes glowed as he spoke, and his nervous 
 hand was stretched out unconsciously. 
 
 " It is this for which I have worked," he continued, in his 
 deep, iron tone, " and how I have worked, I will tell you, 
 for I trust you implicitly. From Williamsburg, the center, 
 I have disseminated into the remotest counties, the thoughts 
 of a body of men, whose mouth-piece I am. They supply 
 the means, I give them my life. We have organized com 
 mittees of vigilance in a hundred places, and, traveling day 
 and night, I have thrown myself everywhere in contact with 
 the heart of the people, feeling its pulsations, and endeavor 
 ing to infuse into it the thoughts of my own mind, and the 
 minds of my associates. I have means given me for private 
 expresses, and many days before the Boston Harbor bill was 
 published in Williamsburg, we were arousing the whole prov 
 ince with this new outrage. Under three royal governors, 
 the press has been busy within a step of their doors, and 
 scattering broadcast what it is treason to print. Fauquier 
 was feasting and card-playing, Botetourt hoping for better 
 times; they did not arrest it. Dunmore has placed all his 
 hounds on the trail, but as yet they have not caught the 
 game. I think I am worth a good sum to the informer who 
 will arrest me, and furnish the proof of my treason. That I 
 am a traitor to the government, under the 25th Edward III., 
 there is not the least doubt, and you may call the association 
 the League of Treason with perfect propriety. That I 
 know to whom I spenk, I prove to you, sir, by entering into 
 these details. For ten years I have thus been the instru 
 ment of a system, and of an organized body. Their work 
 is to arouse the mind of Virginia, and the other provinces, 
 ^0. an armed rebellion, We have b.ai!eJ every new
 
 156 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 struck by the Parliament with profound and unfeigned de 
 light ; we have longed and yearned for the final and de 
 cisive act; we have invited the stamp of the heel whicL 
 shall spur into madness the down-trodden masses ; which 
 shall make them writhe upward and sting! . The Culpeper 
 minute-men will take for their motto the words, ' Do n't 
 tread on me !' over a rattlesnake ; the association which ] 
 represent, have another and a different motto 'Tread on 
 us and grind us ! outrage us, treat us as slaves ! insult us, 
 spit on us, exhaust our whole patience, till we rouse from 
 our apathy and sting you to death !' Do you think we are 
 blundering? Do you mistake our design? Do you imag 
 ine we are wrong in hailing joyfully this new * Port Bill ?' 
 That act is the beginning of the end ! Ten years ago, I 
 spoke with a man of gigantic mind, one of those fiery souls 
 breathing but in revolution, born to wield the thunderbolt 
 of oratory, to ride on and direct the storm. ' Let us strike !' 
 were his words, 'come! a revolution!' I replied, 'You are 
 wrong you desire to strike the blow before we have arms 
 in our hands ; let us enlighten the minds of the people, let 
 us arm them, let us train them, and keep silent and wait !' 
 The name of this man was Patrick Henry, and his senti 
 ments were shared by another gre.it intellect, Thomas Jef 
 ferson by name. These men, then, were carried away by the 
 fires of genius, they advanced too rapidly ; like generals, 
 they rode ahead of the marching legions, who alone could 
 win the battle. There were others, as true friends of liberty, 
 who erred in the opposite extreme. They were sincerely at 
 tached to the mother country ; they closed their eyes to her 
 faults, as an affectionate child will not see its parent's foibles ; 
 they venerated, and justly, the great common law, the bul 
 wark of freedom ; they were deeply attached to the liturgy 
 of the established Church ; they feared innovation, they feared 
 that the masses, once wholly unfettered, would rush into li 
 cense and madness. They doubted, and advocated protests 
 and petitions, from a sincere love of country and the species. 
 The names of these patriots were Edmund Pendleton, Rich-
 
 MIS8 BONNYBEL. 157 
 
 ard Bland, and others. They were borne omvard by Henry 
 and Jefferson, but they, in their turn, held these great lead 
 ers back. Thus the phalanx marched slowly, evenly, and 
 in order, with gradual, but certain progression. Had we 
 sounded the battle cry in the year '65, the rising would have 
 been a revolt, now it will be a revolution ! The result then 
 would have been defeat, and more grinding slavery ; the re 
 sult now will be victory and freedom ! Do you doubt it, 
 friend ? Listen to my prediction ! As we speak, the House 
 of Burgesses are slowly advancing to a point which will 
 compel them to act strongly or be slaves. They will act aa 
 they should, for that body is composed of the flower of this 
 mighty colony, and the eyes of America are fixed anxiously 
 upon there. The whole continent looks to Virginia to sound 
 the war-cry, and she will sound it ! She will first draw the 
 sword, and throw the scabbard away. The result of the 
 action of the Burgesses will be this: the Governor will dis 
 solve them ; they will dissolve and reassemble in Williams- 
 burg, or in this building, and then the full ciisis of the 
 storm will come. The appeal to arms is inevitable, and the 
 die will be cast. The struggle, breast to breast, will com 
 mence in Virginia, the great heart of the South, or Massa 
 chusetts, that other noble heart of the North. Then see the 
 result ! see the fiat of that God who presides over nations, 
 and the doings of his creatures ! In this man, Patrick 
 Henry, the revolution speaks he is its tongue. In Jeffer 
 son, and the rest, it vindicates itself to the public opinion 
 of Europe they are its pen. In some one not raised up 
 yet, it will find its soul and its sword. Do you say, that is 
 the question, that this is the point of doubt ? Friend," said 
 the stranger, with glowing eyes, and a gloomy earnest- 
 ness, which seemed to thrill through his frame, " let us trust 
 in God ! let not the atom distrust the Sovereign of the Uni 
 verse ! That great Being has kindled the first fires of rev 
 olution ; he has raised up, successively, the prophet and the 
 scribe; he has consolidated the phalanx, and he will not 
 leave his work incomplete. Do you question your memory.
 
 158 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 for some uame, for some leader who shall lead the onset ? 
 There are many, and were it not for fear of presumption, I 
 might hazard an opinion whom this leader will be. He 
 will be led, as a child, by the hand of the Almighty, when 
 the time shall come, and that time is approaching; let us 
 wait ! 
 
 "This then," said the stranger, raising his lofty head and 
 gazing out upon the storm which was rolling off to tiie 
 south, " this then is the point which we have reached. The 
 legions are armed, the ranks are arranged, the leaders await 
 but the trumpet of the enemy to charge ! It is this I have 
 toiled for, wearing myself out, and exhausting my life ; but 
 I would give to the cause a million lives did I possess them. 
 My name may not be uttered by a single voice, the form 
 which enclosed my spirit may moulder without an epitaph 
 even, but that is of small import. I have done faithfully my 
 duty, I have performed my work, I have gone on my way, 
 and I shall not die until I see the New World inaugurated. 
 See ! the thunder-storm is over, and the sky is growing 
 clear so will it be with us in our struggle ! The darkness 
 and the gloom in which we are enveloped will be dissipated 
 the old things shall pass away, and behold all things shall 
 become new ! See the sun yonder ; see the glorious and 
 resplendent orb chasing the gloom, rising in serene majesty 
 above the mists and the clouds, and mounting to its merid 
 ian of splendor and glory. It is the sun of America ! The 
 light of the world ! It was hidden by the darkness, but is 
 risen. It is risen ! Oh marvelous spectacle ! It is risen ! 
 Oh noble and consoling thought ! It is risen ! and the power 
 of- a million emperors can never obscure one ray of it, for 
 the hand of the Almighty has rolled it on its glorious way, 
 the hope and the pole star of nations!" 
 
 With eyes fixed almost with ecstacy \ipon the great orb, 
 the stranger ceased speaking, and seemed almost to forget 
 the presence of his companion. He remained motionless 
 and silent. 
 
 This sjience was unbroken by St. John, who, carried awaf
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 15S 
 
 IB spite of himself by the words to which he had listened, 
 pondered the thoughts of his companion, and sent his mind, 
 so to speak, through that future which had thus been un 
 rolled before his eyes. 
 
 He was aroused by the voice of the stranger, whose mo 
 mentary excitement had yielded to his habitual expression 
 of iron calmness. 
 
 " I see that the storm is over," he said, " and now, sir, I 
 must go on my way, for what purpose you know, for I have 
 spoken without reserve. I do not regret having thus ut 
 tered my thoughts, and related my sorrowful story. I have 
 accustomed myself to read human character in the counte 
 nance, and were you my bitterest enemy I would sleep at 
 your side, though you were awake with a dagger in your 
 hand! I speak my honest conviction alone, friend, and I go 
 without a fear that I have committed an imprudence. I feel 
 that we shall meet again." 
 
 Having thus spoken in a tone of noble courtesy, the 
 stranger bowed to St. John, and issuing forth, mounted hia 
 horse, which was tied near, and disappeared on the road to 
 the northward. 
 
 St. John, too, mounted, and overwhelmed with new 
 thought, took his way toward Williamsburg, as the last 
 mutterings of the storm died away in the distance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 HOW ST. JOHN MET A FRIEND IN WILLIAMSBUHO. 
 
 ONCE more in Williamsbnrg ! It was with new emotions 
 that the young man gazed upon the scene so familiar to him, 
 and he scarcely realized that he could be the same person 
 who had left it, carelessly, so short a time since. 
 
 In that time his mind appeared to have altered its whole
 
 160 MISS JJONNYEEL, 
 
 character to have been flooded with emotions and im 
 pulses, new, strange and undreamed of. 
 
 He had listened to the voice of a singular and mysterious 
 personage, he had felt his face flush with fire a* he heard 
 those blazing accents ; a new world had opened to him 
 amid the crash and roar of that storm a fuller life, in 
 the old church there, among the memorials of dead gen- 
 erations. 
 
 But a world more novel and attractive had expanded itself 
 in another direction before his enamored eye a world all sun 
 light, and verdure, and perfume, where the uplands and the 
 fields, lit by suns and moons of surpassing glory, lay sleep 
 ing in the dews of a serener heaven. A world which he 
 entered with smiles and sighs to the music of a million sing 
 ing birds in the foliage, and myriads of streams, that danced 
 over diamonds and pearls. That music and melody resound 
 ed in his ears like the dreamy music of the Eolian harp, and 
 a celestial harmony seemed to pervade, like a mysterious un 
 dertone, the sound of the singing-birds and the flowing 
 water the voice of a "simple girl." 
 
 The town, thus, seemed to rise on the young man's sight 
 for the first time, and as he passed along the streets slowly, 
 and with smiles, he looked up at the houses, and wondered 
 that he had never before observed how picturesque they 
 were, relieved against the foliage, and running in long, pret 
 ty rows with the white-sanded street. 
 
 Was this the place he had hated so ? Could this be the 
 a odious town" he had maligned so? Why it was a fairy 
 village in a lovely land, and the children who tripped along 
 the street with little glancing feet and rippling curls, were 
 the sweetest forms that the eye could possibly behold. 
 
 So true is it that the view we take of life depends on the 
 eyes which we regard it with. Some lips will sneer, and 
 others laugh ; to the melancholy, the jaundiced the un 
 happy, the fairest and most brilliant May day lowers with 
 clouds ; to the happy, the buoyant, the rejoiceful vision of 
 the lover, the gloomiest December is a flowery spring.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 161 
 
 The yomig man's whoV ?: at tire was changed, and he even 
 thought of Lord Dunmore, as he glanced toward the palace, 
 with indifference and unconcern. 
 
 He went toward the old Raleigh tavern, whose long row 
 of dormer windows sparkled in the May sunlight, and when 
 the smiling ostler took his horse, the young man rewarded 
 his cheerful face with a pistole. 
 
 With head erect, lips smiling, and eyes full of light, Mr. 
 St. John then went toward the front of the building, nnd 
 here he was quickly accosted by a laughing and hearty 
 voice, which uttered the words : 
 
 " Why morbleu ! my dear fellow, you look like a con 
 queror. Give you greeting!" 
 
 The speaker was a man of thirty-eight or forty, of tall 
 stature, of vigorous frame, and that erect and martial bear 
 ing which indicates the profession of arms at some portion 
 of the owner's life. The worthy wore a rich suit of dark 
 cloth, profusely embroidered, a Flanders hat with a black 
 feather bound around it, and a pair of large spurs glittered 
 upon the heels of his horseman's boots, against which a 
 long sword, buckled by an old leather belt, incessantly rat 
 tled. 
 
 The face was decidedly a pleasant one, the forehead broad 
 and skirted by short, dark hair ; a heavy mustache as black 
 as midnight fringed the firm lips, and the brilliant eyes 
 sparkled and shone with a laughing good humor. The face 
 of the stranger seemed that of a soldier, a bon camarado of 
 a thousand adventures and vicissitudes, and the heavy mus 
 tache which was curled toward the eyes seemed to be eter 
 nally agitated by merriment. 
 
 " Good morrow, my dear captain," said St. John, shak 
 ing hands, " how are Madame Waters and the little stream- 
 lets, and what brings you to Williamsburg ?" 
 
 "Basta!" cried the captain, "there's a flood of ques 
 tions, and I content myself with replying to the first 
 that the various inhabitants of Flodden are well and joliea, 
 Where have you been ?"
 
 162 MISS BONN x BEL, 
 
 "Everywhere another comprehensive answer." 
 
 " Ah ! you smile !" cried the captain, curling his huge 
 mustache; " the fact is, wow ami, your face seems made for 
 smiling, you do it so well." 
 
 " Because I am in good spirits." 
 
 " Is not everybody ?" 
 
 "I was not the other day." 
 
 The captain shook his head. 
 
 " That 's unphilosophical," he said, sagely ; " keep up the 
 spirits." 
 
 " I can 't always." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "They are tried." 
 
 "And this other day?" 
 
 "They were tried by his Excellency, Lord Dunmore." 
 
 " Ah, ah ! by his Excellency you say ! Morbleu / he 's a 
 bucket of cold water in truth, I understand !" 
 
 " He acted like a shower-bath for me." 
 
 " But you seem to have had the glow of reaction !" said 
 the captain, laughing, " and I do n't wonder at it. As I tell 
 my friend, the Seigneur Mort-Reynard Hamilton, when he 
 growls sometimes, and abuses even my claret, the wretch ! 
 as I tell him, there 's nothing like sunshine and May! Ventre 
 sainte Gris ! what a day ! 'Tis enough to make a fellow 
 swear from pure excess of spirits !" 
 
 " Swear away then," said St. John, laughing, " and dra\v 
 on your assortment of French oaths." 
 
 "French ! I never swear in French, man ami, I heartily 
 despise the ffian$ais, morbleu ! they 're a nation of frog 
 eaters 1" 
 
 " You do n't like them ?" asked St. John, laughing ; " 1 
 can understand then that you never utter a single 'mor- 
 
 "Well, well," said the captain, "perhaps now and then an 
 oath of this description accidentally escapes me, but prepend, 
 mon ami, I detest the Gauls, though they 're brave as steel. 
 You see I fought them for a number of years like an insens)
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 169 
 
 at Gratz, at Ltssn, at Minden and elsewhere, and I assure 
 you they were a devil of a set. I tell yon, comrade, if you 
 give a monnseer his champagne and his yloire and add a 
 few chansons and the eyes of a young woman if the 
 Frenchman has these he will cheerfully march into a trench 
 and be shoveled in the same trench with pleasure. At Min- 
 den but here I am running into a story as usual Basta ! 
 a miserable world where a fellow must be ever fighting his 
 battles over again !" 
 
 And the captain closed his lips as though nothing could in 
 duce him to continue. 
 
 "There is some apology for my thinking of Minden, com 
 rade," he said, " as the newly-arrived private secretary of 
 his Excellency was there." 
 
 " Who Captain Foy ?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 "At Minden?" 
 
 " And fought like a Trojan. A keen fellow, that Foy ; 
 looks a long way ahead, and 's as sharp as a razor, mor- 
 bteu!" 
 
 St. John's eyes were directed down the street. 
 
 " What attracts your attention, comrade ?" said the sol 
 dier. 
 
 "The individual who 's as sharp as a razor," said St. John, 
 laughing ; " I hope he won't cut us." 
 
 *' Who ? why it 's Foy in person." 
 
 "And coming straight toward us." 
 
 "JE7i Men ! we '11 give our brother soldier a military sa- 
 iute," said the captain, laughing, and placing his left hand 
 on the hilt of his sword ; " let 's see if he recognizes his 
 ' compagnon d? armes '' "
 
 164 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE SECRET AGENT. 
 
 As the soldier uttered these words, Captain Foy, private 
 secretary, confidential adviser, and general secret agent of 
 his Excellency, Lord Dunmore, approached the spot where 
 he stood with St. John. 
 
 Captain Foy was a gentleman of middle age, of tall stat 
 ure, with a pale, cold countenance, pieicing eyes beneath 
 shaggy brows, and a certain mixture of boldness and stealth- 
 iness in his carriage, which brought to the mind the idea of 
 an animal of the tiger species at once soft and cruel, calm 
 and ferocious. 
 
 There was about the man an air of mystery and reserve 
 which could not be mistaken, and forcibly impressed upon 
 the beholder the opinion that he was habitually employed 
 in what was then known as " secret service." The secretary 
 was richly clad, but wore no sword, not even a parade 
 weapon, and as he approached, Mr. St. John felt as if a 
 portion of Lord Dunmore himself were walking toward 
 him. 
 
 "Why my dear Foy," said Captain Waters, making & 
 military salute as the secretary came opposite to him, " real 
 ly delighted to see you ! You have n't forgotten an old 
 comrade, eh?" 
 
 The secretary's calm, piercing eye, dwelt for an instant 
 upon the soldier's face, and he replied at once, with a bow, 
 
 "By no means, Captain Waters. lam pleased to meet 
 with you, and with you, Mr. St. John." 
 
 " The same to you my boy," replied the captain, with great 
 good humor ; " I reply for both of us. You 're looking 
 rather thin and pale, which is probably owing to your con 
 finement in your abominably disagreeable office of secretary, 
 and I find you no longer the jolly companion you were on 
 the continent ; but I 'm delighted to see you."
 
 MISS BONNYLEL. 161 
 
 "I reciprocate your obliging sentiments, Captain," said 
 Foy, in the same serene tone. 
 
 " You really, then, have not forgotten me ?" 
 
 " By no means ! I think that is proved by saluting you 
 at once, though I had no expectation of seeing you." 
 
 " Why certainly," cried the captain. " JMbrbleu ! that 
 never occurred to me. The fact is, my dear comrade, I am 
 deteriorating, I 'm getting fat and stupid for want of light 
 ing. Tonnerre I if I only had Minden for an hour! I'd get 
 well again, or the devil 's in it!" 
 
 *' A terrible fight, Captain Waters." 
 
 " Perfectly glorious !" 
 
 " We were near each other frequently, I remember." 
 
 " Morlleu ! that 's a great compliment !" cried the sol 
 dier. 
 
 "A compliment, sir?" 
 
 " To myself, faith ! 
 
 The secretary bowed serenely. 
 
 " No simpers and disclaimers, comrade !" said the soldier ; 
 " may the devil eat me whole, if you did n't fight like a wild 
 boar. At present, companion, permit me to say that your 
 countenance resembles that of a clergyman ; on the day of 
 Minden, it resembled that of Mars, parbleu ! A devil of a 
 fight, friend ! and you did your part like a firebrand !" 
 
 As the captain spoke thus in his rough, laughing voice, a 
 slight color seemed to tinge, for a moment, the pale cheek 
 of the soldier-secretary, and his eyes wandered. He re 
 covered instantly, however, his presence of mind, and with 
 a movement of his hand, said, 
 
 " I fear you are too complimentary, sir ; I did but my 
 small part !" 
 
 " Morbleu ! 't was a large part, companion. I '11 say that 
 everywhere, and do you full justice, if you are the secretary 
 of my Lord Dunmore, whom I 've not yet fallen very much 
 in love with. In fact, I dislike that worthy nobleman to an 
 extent really wonderful, but I do n't commit injustice. I 
 have the pleasure of informing you, my dear St. John, that
 
 166 MISS BONNYBEI, 
 
 Captain, or Secretary Foy, went through the ranks of the 
 French nt Mimlon like a flaming sword, and that he was 
 publicly complimented by his commanding officer, on full 
 parade, alter wards." 
 
 Foy made a modest movement with his hand. 
 
 " You forget after Lissa, Captain Waters," he said, " and 
 for fear you will not mention it, I will inform Mr. St. John 
 that you were publicly thanked also, sir." 
 
 " Why so I was 1" cried the captain. " I 'd forgotten it !" 
 
 " I have not, sir, as I shall not forget the flash of your 
 sword in the charge." 
 
 " See now !" said the captain, laughing. " how pleasant 
 this is." 
 
 " Pleasant ?" 
 
 " Yes, recalling, morbleu ! all these tender recollections ! 
 There is one, however, my dear Foy, which affects me even 
 still more deeply." 
 
 " What 's that, captain ? 
 
 " The little scene at Reinfels I" 
 
 And the captain burst into laughter. 
 
 The ghost of a smile touched the secretary's pale face. 
 
 "Basta!'' cried the captain. "I see you remember !" 
 
 "Perfectly, sir," replied the secretary, serenely. 
 
 "Under the bastion !" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "A little duel, my dear friend," said the captain to St. 
 John, by way of explanation ; " a little bout between Foy 
 and myself. I regret to say that our present dear spiritual 
 adviser, as I regard him, and myself, fell out about a " 
 
 " Ah, Captain Waters ! why recall these follies ?" 
 
 " Why not ? They were but youthful pranks." 
 
 " That is all, sir." 
 
 " Well, as I was saying, 't was a girl that we quarreled 
 for. We fought the next morning, and faith ! both of us 
 were a month in the hospital !" 
 
 " Unfortunately," said the secretary, " that is true -just 
 a month I"
 
 MISS 3GNNYBEL. 167 
 
 "And you remember, my dear comrade ?" 
 
 " What, Captain Waters ?" 
 
 "We were lying in cots, next to each other." 
 
 " Yes, I remember." 
 
 "And I made you explain, with the arm I had slashed, 
 the coup which broke my guard, and ran me very nearly 
 through the gizzard. Morbleu ! 't was admirable, and I 
 adored you after that blow !" 
 
 With which the captain laughed. 
 
 " See how pleasant 't is, recalling these scenes of the past," 
 he said. " Hilf himmel ! is there any thing like it ? Here 
 I 'm getting fat and vegetating, and becoming a country 
 squire, thinking only of tobacco and wheat, and with not a 
 care in the world, when, formerly, in the good old times, I 
 was lean and full of muscle, with a wrist of bone and sinew, 
 not a sous in my pocket, and half the time not knowing 
 where to lay my head ! Bah ! it 's really deplorable is it 
 not comrade ?" 
 
 " I think it more agreeable, sir." 
 
 " More agreeable ! You do n't really ? But I can 't 
 wonder at your mistake you 've not tried it." 
 
 " I am, like yourself, no longer a soldier." 
 
 " Why so you are not." 
 
 " I am a civilian." 
 
 " And a secretary. My dear comrade," said the captain, 
 sighing, "we have both deteriorated. I foresee that we 
 shall have no more amusement, no life, no frolics ! For the 
 future we must resign ourselves to fate. No more Mindens, 
 no Lissas, no glorious assaults like that of Breslau, where I 
 think the devil got loose ; no battles or skirmishes any more f 
 In the bitterness of my regret, comrade, I could propose a 
 bout here in the street, that I might thus be taken back 
 to old times and learn the coup of Reinfels ! I despair of 
 any amusement in the future, comrade, unless but that is 
 idle." 
 
 " Unless, captain ?" 
 
 "Unless Dunmore will afford H, M
 
 1(}8 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 The secretary retired into himself suddenly, all thoughts 
 of the past seemed to disappear, and his pale face became 
 impenetrable. 
 
 " That reminds me, Captain Waters," he said, with forma, 
 courtesy, " that my duties recall me to his lordship's pres 
 ence I have already tarried too long. I have the honor to 
 salute you, gentlemen. 1 ' 
 
 And the secretary bowed, and then moved toward tL 
 palace. 
 
 " I say, my dear Foy !" called the captain. 
 
 " Sir,*' said the secretary, half turning. 
 
 "Give my compliments to his Excellency, and tell him 3 
 am thirsting for something to do. If he '11 only endeavor 
 now to turn the Burgesses out of doors and give me an op 
 portunity of meeing you, sword in hand, and learning the 
 coup of Reinfels, you know ! n 
 
 A strange smile flitted over the subtle face of the secre 
 tary, but he only bowed. 
 
 In a moment he disappeared at the corner of the street 
 which led to the palace. 
 
 Captain Ralph Waters looked after him for a moment in 
 silence, and then moving his head up and down, said to St. 
 John, 
 
 " My dear companion, there goes one of the most dan 
 gerous fellows under heaven ! As close as a trap, as 
 brave as steel, and as cunning as the devil. Take care of 
 him !" 
 
 "Thanks for your warning," said St. John, laughing, 
 ' but I 'm not afraid." 
 
 " Well, I do n't feel so myself. In case of trying the coup 
 of Reinfels, I count on you." 
 
 "The coup?" 
 
 "In a duel with Foy, I mean." 
 
 " Certainly ; aud if ever I 'm in vant of a second, you '11 
 act for me ?" 
 
 " Morbleu! with delight, my dear comrade!"
 
 MISS BOSNYBEL, 
 
 " It 's a bargain ? 
 
 " Signed and sealed." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I may call on you." ^ 
 
 And the friends parted, going each a different way. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HOW A VIRGINIA GIRL WROTE VERSES IN '7 4, 
 
 ST. JOHN was going along in a reverie, with his head 
 hanging down, his hands idle at his side, his steps wander- 
 ing and uncertain, as the steps of drunkards and lovers, those 
 true brethren, are so apt to be, when suddenly he found 
 himself arrested ; a gross material obstacle encountered 
 him, his hat was thrust forcibly quite over his eyes, and he 
 waked up, so to speak, from his dream. 
 
 The first object which attracted his attention was a slight 
 gentleman, clad in a suit of dark drab cloth, and carrying 
 under his arm a bundle of papers, which gentleman, with a 
 profusion of smiles and numerous deprecating waves of the 
 hand, uttered a flood of apologies, accompanied by courte 
 ous bows. 
 
 " I beg you '11 not trouble yourself about such a trifle, 
 Mr. Purdie," said St. John, shaking hands with the editoi 
 of the old " Virginia Gazette," " 't was the most natural 
 thing in the world." 
 
 " Very awkward in me ! really now, excessively awkward, 
 Mr. St. John !" 
 
 " 'T was my own fault." 
 
 " Pardon me," returned Mr. Purdie, with courteous per 
 sistence, " I was really to blame ! But this copy of verses 
 absorbed me." 
 
 " Very well, my dear friend, have it as you will ; but pray 
 let me have a sight of the copy of verses which interested 
 you so t "
 
 IVO TSTTSR 
 
 " Willingly, my dear sir." 
 
 And Mr. Purdie handed a letter to Mr. St. John. J 3 hia 
 eyes fell upon the-, hand- writing, a slight color came to the 
 young man's cheek, and he smiled. Mr. Purdie wondered 
 at the sparkling eyes and deep interest betrayed by the 
 young man as he read the verses ; but we shall soon under 
 stand the reason. 
 
 The letter and poem were word for word as follows. We 
 have even retained the spelling and capital letters customary 
 at the period in written composition. 
 
 " To the Printer of the Virginia Gazette. 
 
 " SIR : The accompanying verses are sent to you by a 
 Country Girl, who hopes they will meet your Approval. 
 Your Correspondent withholds her Name from Fear of the 
 Criticks, whom she truly detests. They 're an odious Set ! 
 are they not, Mr. Purdie ? A Portion of the Effusion may 
 make you laugh, Sir. I offer you a Salute to bribe you in 
 Favour of my Verses ; but observe, Sir 1 t is only when you 
 find me out I That I 'm resolved you shall never do. All 
 I shall say is, that I 've the Honour to be humble Cousin to a 
 very high Military Functionary of this Colony, who honours 
 me with his Esteem ! Now do print my effusion, dear, good 
 Mr. Purdie. I like you so much because you are a true 
 Friend to the Cause of Liberty. We 've sealed up all our 
 Tea, and I 'd walk with bare Feet on hot Ploughshares be 
 fore I'd drink a drop of the odious Stuff! 
 
 " I am Mr. Purdie's friend, 
 
 " Permit a giddy, trifling, Girl, 
 
 For once to fill your Poet's Corner, 
 She cares not though the Criticks snarl, 
 
 Or Beans and Macaronies scorn her; 
 She longs in Print her Lines to see, 
 
 Oblige her, (sure you can 't refuse it,) 
 .And if you find her out, your Fee 
 
 Shall bo iQ kiss her if you choose it
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 173 
 
 Perhaps you '11 tbkik the Fee too small 
 
 Tou would not think so if you knew her I 
 For she has Charms confessed by all 
 
 Who have the Happiness to view her. 
 The Favour that to you she proffers 
 
 Has been solicited in vain, 
 And many flattering, splendid Offers 
 
 Eejected with a cold Disdain;- 
 She scorns the Man however pretty, 
 
 However Riches round him flow, 
 However wise, or great, or witty, 
 
 That 'a to his Country's Rights a Foa 
 He that to flatter Folks in Power, 
 
 His Country's Freedom would betraj, 
 Deserves the Gallows every Hour, 
 
 Or worse to feel a Tyrant's Sway 1 
 May such alone be unprotected 
 
 By Justice and by Nature's Laws, 
 And to Despotic Powers subjected, 
 
 Suffer the Miseries they cause. 
 To scorn them is each Female's Duty ; 
 
 Let them no Children have, or Wife, 
 May they ne'er meet the Smiles 
 
 Nor any social Joya of Life 1" 
 
 These were the lines which caused Mr. St. Jchn'a syes to 
 sparkle and his face to beam with smiles. The explanation 
 of this is not difficult. As the reader has guessed, they 
 were in the handwriting of Miss Bonnybel Vane. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mr. Purdie, smiling, when the young 
 man had finished, " you seem as much pleased as myself." 
 
 $ *I am delighted, my dear Mr. Purdie," was the laughing 
 reply, " indeed I admire them so greatly that I shall esteem 
 as a great favor the gift of the manuscript, promising you a 
 clear copy in an hour." 
 
 " I see not the least objection, my dear Mr. St. John pray 
 keep them a friend eh ?" he added with a sly smile ; " and 
 now I wish you a very good morning." 
 
 Ths friends parted, and Mr. St. John hastened to his lodg 
 ings to make the copy be had promised. The occupation 4
 
 172 MISS BONUYBEL. 
 
 was often interrupted by laughter, but the copy was finished 
 at last and sent to the office of the "Virginia Gazette." 
 
 On the fourth page of the old journal for June 2, 1774, 
 the reader will find them now, though unaccompanied by 
 the letter, good Mr. Purdie having given his space to more 
 important events than the epistles of young ladies. Here, 
 in the discolored pages of the old colonial paper, were the 
 verses found by the present writer. You read such old 
 pieces with smiles and sighs if you are a dreamer. Where 
 now are the lips which kissed, the eyes that shone all the 
 " charms" which true lovers " confessed" the archness, the 
 favor, the disdain ? From far-off fields the fields of colo 
 nial Virginia shines the form of this lovely little maiden, 
 so long dead. She passed away like a shadow or a dream 
 like the brilliant old days she adorned with her loveliness 
 her bright eyes aiid curls, her blushes and smiles. But 
 being dead she still lives and speaks; lives here on the yel 
 low old page, as up there on the canvas ! The " giddy girl " 
 was a heroine at heart ; that heart, like ten thousand more 
 of her sex's, beat high and true in the storm of the Revolu 
 tion! 
 
 Toute dame, tout honneur ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 HOW ME. ST. JOHN EETUENED HIS COMMISSION TO LORD 
 DUNMOEE. 
 
 THE young man had just returned to his lodgings, and 
 had scarcely seated himself, when a knock came at his door, 
 and a servant, wearing the livery of Lord Dunmore, entered, 
 and bowing respectfully, handed him a note. 
 
 " Good," said he to himself, " now I think the storm 
 comes ; I am summoned to be scolded, or arrested." 
 
 And he calmly read the note, bidding the servant return 
 The communication was in these words :
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 173 
 
 "Mr. Secretary Foy presents his respects to Mr. St. John, 
 and requests, on the part of his Excellency Lord Dunmore, 
 that Mr. St. John will attend at the palace this afternoon, 
 for conversation with his lordship on military affairs." 
 
 *' Very well," said the young man, teasing the paper care 
 lessly on the table, " I suppose there '11 be an explosion. 
 I care nothing." 
 
 Early in the afternoon he made his toilette, proceeded to 
 the palace, and was ushered into the council chamber. 
 
 Lord Dunmore, clad with his habitual splendor, sat oppo 
 site the portraits of the king and queen, the members of his 
 council occupying large leather chairs ranged in a circle. 
 Behind the table, draped with red damask, and covered with 
 papers, the pale face of Captain Foy was seen, as he bent 
 over the documents lying before him. 
 
 Mr. St. John was ushered in with great form, and having 
 attracted the Governor's attention, made that dignitary a 
 bow, which was perfectly courteous and stiff. 
 
 His eye then made the circuit of the apartment dwelt 
 on the members of the council, the secretary, the Governor 
 in the center. 
 
 It looked very much like a trial for high treason, a pro 
 ceeding of the Star Chamber. 
 
 Lord Dunmore, upon whose brow was visible its custom 
 ary expression of hauteur and ill humor, acknowledged the 
 young man's salute by the least possible movement of his 
 head. 
 
 The members of the council were, however, better bred, 
 and inclined their heads courteously, as the new comer sa 
 luted them. 
 
 "Well, Mr. St. John," said Lord Dunmore, moving with 
 dignity in his large throne-like chair, " I see you received 
 my message." 
 
 " I did receive a note from Captain Foy, your Excellency." 
 
 " I instructed him to write, as you doubtless saw." 
 
 Mi'i St; John inclined, calmly,
 
 4 MISS BOX x \ :;:::,. 
 
 His Excellency did not seem pleased at the small effect 
 produced upon his visitor by jhe solemnity and state ot his 
 reception. His brow clouded with its unpleasant frown, and 
 his head rose more haughtily than ever. 
 
 " I wished to see you, sir," he said, almost rudely, " to 
 express my disapprobation of your lengthened absence from 
 command of my guards. You must be aware, sir, that such 
 absence does not comport with my views of the duty of the 
 commander of that body, but I am ready to listen to any 
 thing in explanation from yourself, sir." 
 
 As the Governor spoke, the old flush of anger came to 
 Mr. St. John's face, and his head rose proudly erect as he 
 listened to these words, even more insulting in tone than 
 significance. The folly of any exhibition of ill temper seemed, 
 however, to strike him at once, and he controlled himself in 
 an instant. 
 
 " Do not be embarrassed, sir," said the Governor. " I 
 have no desire to confuse you." 
 
 "I am much obliged to your Excellency," said the young 
 man, calmly, " but I do n't feel at all confused or embar 
 rassed." 
 
 " I thought, being a young man, sir " 
 
 " That I was a clodhopper ? No, your Excellency, that 
 is not my station in society," replied Mr. St. John, with 
 calm politeness. 
 
 The vein on Lord Dunmore's brow swelled, and his little 
 eyes began to gleam with anger. He plainly resented the 
 tone of unconcern in the delinquent, and was carried out of 
 his equanimity. 
 
 " You amuse yourself at my expense, sir," he said, coldly, 
 " and intimate that I intended as an insult what was not so 
 meant. My observation arose from the way in which you 
 carry your hat, sir what I should call an uneasy way !" 
 
 And the Governor frowned. 
 
 Mr. St. John was motionless and silent for a moment, in 
 presence of the man who was guilty of this immense 
 Uon of ill breeding
 
 MISS 
 
 He surveyed Lord Dun more with an expression of frigid 
 surprise, which caused the vein in that gentleman's forehead 
 to distend itself hugely. 
 
 " My hat, your Excellency ?" said the young man, with 
 freezing politeness, " perhaps the uneasiness your Excellency 
 is so good as to observe, is caused by the fact that I have 
 no place to deposit it, your Excellency not having requested 
 me to be seated." 
 
 And with the air of & nobleman who has been outraged,, 
 Mr. St. John made his lordship a low and exaggerated bow. 
 
 His lordship was beaten with his own weapons, his rude 
 ness failed, and his ill temper laughed at in the presence of 
 his council, the most loyal of whom could not forbear smil 
 ing. 
 
 His countenance colo.red with anger, and his eyes flashed. 
 
 " Well, sir 1" he said, " you gentlemen of Virginia are ex 
 tremely witty 1 I make you my compliments, sir, upon your 
 attainments in private theatricals ! Your discourteous re 
 ply to my simple remark, however, sir, shall not move me. 
 If I overlooked the fact that you were standing, it was be 
 cause I am not accustomed to request persons who are called 
 to defend themselves before me, to be seated in my pres 
 ence." 
 
 The young man met this outburst with an expression of 
 cold disdain lurking in his eyes, which lashed the Governor's 
 anger into fury. 
 
 " I await your reply, sir !" he said, almost trembling with 
 rage. 
 
 " If your lordship will frame a distinct question, I will re 
 ply," said Mr. St. John. " I can not answer your denunci 
 ation." 
 
 " I demand whyyou have absented yourself from the bar 
 racks of my guards?" 
 
 " I went to visit my relations." 
 
 " That is no excuse, sir." 
 
 " I inform your lordship that I left iny sub-lieutenant in 
 command," said the young man, coldly, controlling himself.
 
 " That was wholly informal, without ray permission, sir !" 
 
 " Informal, my lord ?" 
 
 *' Yes, sir ! worse ! It was a dereliction of duty !" 
 
 *' Your lordship proceeds far, and I am at a loss to under 
 stand upon what grounds this decision is based." 
 
 " I am not in the habit, sir, of defending ray opinions on 
 occasions like this !" 
 
 " This is, then, simply your Excellency's opinion ?" 
 
 " No, sir it is the opinion of every rational individual. 
 You have deserted your post and gone away at your pleas 
 ure, sir, leaving your command to take care of itself!" 
 
 " I have the honor to call to your Excellency's attention 
 the fact that Virginia is not now in a state of war." 
 
 " That is nothing, sir !" 
 
 " Pardon me, my lord, I think 't is a vast deal. During 
 hostilities I should not have gone away." 
 
 " There 's no difference, sir 1" 
 
 "Your Excellency is determined to find fault with me." 
 
 " I repeat that you have deserted your post, sir ! I re 
 peat that !" 
 
 " I have the honor to repeat that my sub-lieutenant is in 
 command." 
 
 " You know perfectly, sir, that he 's no fit commander for 
 my guards !" 
 
 " He 's an Englishman, commissioned by your Excel 
 lency." 
 
 " Mr. St. John !" said the Governor, crimson with rage, 
 " are you aware with whom you are bandying epithets and 
 contradictions ?" 
 
 " Your Excellency has spoken, I have replied," returned 
 the young man, bracing himself against the coming storm. 
 
 " Are you aware, sir, that I am a peer of the realm ?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 " That I am the Governor of this colony do you know 
 that, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord.'- 
 
 "And knowing this, sir knowing my nobility, and my
 
 HISS BONNYBEL, Iff 
 
 power knowing my commission from his Majesty a com 
 mission, sir, which gives me the powe r of punishing sedition 
 and treason ! knowing this, sir, you nave presumed to ad- 
 dress rne as you have done ! Pray, who are you, sir ?" added 
 his Excellency, almost trembling with rage and scorn, " who 
 are you, to reply to me in this manner ?" 
 
 The young man made a ceremonious bow, and in a tone as 
 cold as ice, replied, 
 
 "Only a gentleman, your lordship that, and nothing 
 more." 
 
 These calm words put the finishing touch to Lord Dun- 
 more's wrath. Beaten, defeated, derided, humbled almost, 
 by a young man who did not lose his temper, while he was 
 furious ; exposed and humiliated thus in presence of his 
 council and his secretary, the Governor shook with speech 
 less rage, and almost rose to his feet in the tumult of his 
 wrath. 
 
 " Look you, sir !" he cried with an explosion of passion, 
 " this interview has come to a conclusion ! There is but 
 one reply I have to make to your insults, sir !" 
 
 His lordship turned furiously to Captain Foy, and would 
 have ended his threatening sentence by an order to that 
 gentleman. 
 
 Something in Captain Foy's eye, however, seemed to ar 
 rest him even in the height of his rage. The dark glance 
 of the secretary and the slight movement of his pale lips, 
 seemed to produce an instant effect upon Lord Dunmore, 
 and he did not finish the sentence which doubtless would 
 have ordered the arrest of Mr. St. John. 
 
 The subtle glance of Captain Foy seemed to arouse in the 
 Governor his own large supply of cunning, and he leaned 
 back silent for a moment in his seat, scowling at the young 
 man. 
 
 Mr. St. John preserved the same attitude of coldness and 
 disdain, and waited to be addressed. 
 
 " Young man," said his Excellency, with a bad affectation 
 of digi'itied forbearance, "you have in this conversation 
 
 8*
 
 L78- ?,tt*9 BONNYBE-L. 
 
 adopted a manner of speaking toward myself extremely ir 
 ritating and wholly improper, coming from one of your age 
 to myself. Permit me, also, to say, sir, that more than you 
 imagine is due to a peer of the realm and the representative 
 of his majesty in the colony, and it will be well for the in 
 habitants of this colony to understand the fact. Yes, sir !" 
 continued his Excellency, carried out of his assumed digni 
 ty, "the sooner they become convinced of the fact, the bet 
 ter for them ! and I think that you, sir, have much yet to 
 learn." 
 
 " I desire to treat your Excellency with every particle of 
 respect that is your due," replied Mr. St. John coldly. 
 
 " Those words may contain a new insult, sir !" 
 
 " Your Excellency's number of imaginary insults drives 
 me to despair." 
 
 " That's a very pretty speech, sir ! Then I search for in- 
 Bults !" 
 
 " I did not say so, my lord." 
 
 " But you looked it !" said Dunmore, gradually yielding 
 again to his anger ; " it is your favorite mode of outraging 
 me, sir!" 
 
 " Your Excellency seems determined to be outraged. I 
 have the misfortune to be tried and convicted before my 
 hearing, in the mind of your lordship." 
 
 " No, sir ! this is not the first time you have placed your 
 self upon my level, even arrogated superiority, I think, to 
 judge from your lordly manner !" 
 
 And the Governor's lip curled with a sneer. 
 
 " Yes, sir !" said the Governor, the vein in his forehead 
 again swelling, " on the day of Lady Dunmore's entry I wae 
 subjected to your highness' imposing air, and was informed 
 that I was afraid of a child. Your highness," he continued, 
 with a disdainful sneer, " was so good as to find fault with 
 my honest expression of opinion about the traitor, Waters, 
 and reprove me with your eyes ! By Heaven, sir !" cried 
 Lord Dunmore, starting up and relapsing into greater rage 
 than before, "by Heaven, sir! I have endured sufficient
 
 MISS fcONNYBEL. 17J) 
 
 insult, and my patience is ended. Mr. Lieutenant St 
 John" 
 
 u Stop, sir ! my lord, I should say a moment !" inter 
 rupted the young man, rising to a loftier and colder attitude, 
 ** I am no longer Lieutenant St. John I no longer hold a 
 commission in the service of your Excellency, or the colo 
 ny ; I resign that commission, and return it to your Excel 
 lency, and scorn it !" 
 
 As the young man spoke, his face turned white with rage 
 and disdain, and taking from his bosom the parchment, he 
 threw it at the Governor's feet. 
 
 " 'T is the post of a slave !" he said, " and I '11 be no man's 
 lackey ! Your Excellency may supply yourself with another 
 menial ! I '11 not fill the position of head waiter to any peer 
 of the realm that ever was born ! I 'm a Virginian, and 
 I 'm free ! and I '11 not be your slave to shiver at your frown, 
 and crouch like a hound at your bidding ! I 've been out 
 raged and insulted ; your lordship has tried to put your foot 
 on my neck, and I resist, that is all ! I resist ! and I add 
 that I '11 go to my death before mortal man makes a serf 
 of me 1 I have done, sir ! You hear what has boiled in my 
 breast from the first day I entered your service from the 
 hour when, misled by your unworthy representations, I put 
 on your livery ! You hear a Virginian's vqice one who 's 
 subjected to such insults as he '11 no longer endure ! I throw 
 back your lordship's commission, and scorn it, and stamp on 
 it ! I '11 not be your slave, and I 'm free again !" 
 
 And trembling with passion, his eyes burning in his pale 
 face like balls of fire, the young man turned toward the 
 door. 
 
 Dunmore rose up as on springs. The members of the 
 council had risen tumulttiously to their feet too, and the 
 eyes of Captain Foy glittered in his white countenance as 
 he towered above the group. 
 
 " Captain Foy !" said Lord Dunmore, pallid with rage, 
 " call the sentinel to arrest this man." 
 
 Mr. St. John's sword a part of his full dress flashed in
 
 180 &ISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 itfintly from its scabbard, and he struck his hat down upon 
 Siis brows furiously. 
 
 " I '11 not be arrested !" he said ; " I swore that I would 
 first plunge this sword into your lordship's breast ! and I '1J 
 do it !" 
 
 As the weapon flashed before his eyes, and these furious 
 words resounded through the room, Lord Dunmore trem 
 bled aiid drew back. 
 
 His lordship was not courageous. 
 
 " I '11 not be arrested !" added the young man, white with 
 wrath; "I'll not be sent to rot in a prison, or tried for 
 sedition on your lordship's evidence. You have made me 
 desperate, and I '11 go all lengths to defend myself!" 
 
 With which words Mr. St. John left the room and the 
 palace, unpursued and unmolested. 
 
 We shall only add that the council broke up in confu 
 sion, and that Lord Dunmore and Captain Foy remained 
 alone. 
 
 Dunmore strode about the room crimson with rage, and 
 uttering violent curses, with which he seemed to endeavor 
 to unburden himself of his wrath. 
 
 Captain Foy was writing, serenely, calm, pale and quiet. 
 
 "The instructions for Conolly are ready, my lord," he 
 said ; " let us forget this little scene, and come to busi 
 ness." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 THE LETTEB. 
 
 ST. JOHN proceeded to his lodgings, frowning, gesticulat 
 ing and muttering wrathfully, to the great astonishment of 
 the passers by. Reaching his chambers, he sat down, began 
 to smoke a pipe, and grew more composed. 
 
 u The fact is I gave him as good as he sent," the young 
 nan at length muttered, with a grim smile, "insulted him
 
 181 
 
 to the teeth, and humiliated him in presence of his counHl 
 that 's some satisfaction in any event. I suppose 1 'tn on 
 the Black List ere now, and the order for my arrest is issued. 
 Let 'em attempt it 1 I '11 not be taken alive, and it 's odds 
 if I do n't raise such a storm in the streets of the good 
 town of Williamsburg, as will break some windows in his 
 Excellency's palace !" 
 
 Having thus relieved his feelings, St. John was about to 
 fall into a reverie when his servant entered bearing the tall 
 silver candlesticks. Taking from the table a letter which 
 the young man had not seen, he placed it on a waiter and 
 handed it to his master, with the explanation that Dick, from 
 Vanely, had brought it in his absence. 
 
 St. John took the letter, motioned the servant away, and 
 glanced at the superscription. He had no sooner done so 
 than his frowning brow cleared ; his compressed lips ex 
 panded with a smile. The letter was sealed with blue wax, 
 stamped with the Vane coat of arms an armed hand grasp 
 ing a sword, arid beneath, a shield with three mail gaunlets, 
 supported by a stag and sphynx the motto, Nee temere, nee 
 timide* 
 
 But St. John did not look at the seal the direction was 
 in a handwriting which he knew perfectly and carefully 
 opening the letter, with a smile, and the murmured words, 
 " * Neither rashly, nor fearfully !' an admirable motto for 
 a lover 1" read what follows : 
 
 "VANKLY, Thursday. 
 " These to his Excellency ^ the Ztieutenant, greeting : 
 
 " Papa bids me write to your lordship, and say that you 
 need not trouble yourself to engage apartments for us at 
 Mrs. White's, on the night of assembly, as Mr. Burwell has 
 invited us all to stay with him at his town residence, and I 
 know somebody who 's as glad as glad can be, for she '11 see 
 her dear Belle-Bouche Miss Burwell once, but now un 
 happily a victim on the altar of matrimony .f 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XIV \ Ibid., No. XV.
 
 182 MIHS UOttNYBEL. 
 
 "Having executed my commission T might terminate r.iy 
 letter here, but I shall take pity on your lordship's forlorn 
 condition, so far away from home, and add a few linos. The 
 day you went that is yesterday Barry Hunter came, 
 and said that his lands in the southwest of the colony h&d 
 grown immensely in value, and that any young lady who 
 accepted him, might be a princess if she chose, and have a 
 kingdom. A princess, forsooth ! A princess of the woods, 
 I fancy, with bears and panthers for subjects ! Neverthe 
 less Barry 's extremely handsome, and I am seriously think 
 ing of marrying the young gentleman, if he asks me, which 
 he shall ! Just mark my words, sir. 
 
 " Before I end I 've a favor to request of your Excellency. 
 'T is to write a line to that tyrannical Mr. William Effing- 
 ham of the ' The Cove,' in Glo'ster, commanding him, on pain 
 of my displeasure, to bring Kate to the assembly. She 's 
 the queen of goodness, and the star of loveliness at which 
 declaration I suppose your lordship laughs, and says ' pooh 1 
 pooh ! a woman chanting the praises of another !' That 
 would be quite in keeping with your ordinary turn for satire 
 and injustice. But say what you choose, only write. If she 
 does not come I'll say with Robin Adair, ' What 's the dull 
 town to me Kate is not there !' And you know the other 
 words, ' What makes the assembly shine ?' to which I re 
 ply, Kate ! Mr. Champ Effingham and Madam Clare will 
 be present, and 't will be a delightful family reunion ! 
 
 " Will not your Excellency come to Vanely, and bestow 
 upon us the brilliancy of his countenance before the assem 
 bly ? I pine without him ; my days are spent in sighing and 
 looking down the road ; I 've quite lost my appetite, and 
 Mr. Thomas Alston, who was here this morning, could not 
 make me laugh ! When you come to-morrow, be sure to 
 make a noise in opening the great gate, that I may put on 
 my best gown and ruffles to receive your Excellency as be 
 comes his importance. 
 
 "Goodness gracious ! what a flood of foolish nonsense ! as if 
 so great a military gentleman could think of his poor little
 
 MISS 13ONNYBEL. 183 
 
 Country cousin. Has the explosion taken place at the palace ? 
 I hope not. Of course I do n't expect you about half past 
 eleven to-morrow morning. You in net be far too busy with 
 important matters ! 
 
 "Your lordship will please excuse this thick, roigh sheet 
 *>f Bath post, 'T is the only paper in the house. 
 
 " BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Postscript. Have you heard from the, young lady in 
 Glossier lately ? I 'm desperately anxious to become ac 
 quainted with my future cousin. You must introduce me 
 at the assembly. I shall make her ladyship my very finest 
 curtsey." 
 
 The young man dropped the hand which held the letter, 
 and smiled. 
 
 "The young lady in Glo'sterl" he murmured; "so my 
 friendship for that damsel has subjected us to the curious 
 eyes, and the gossip of the tattling world ! I 'd certainly 
 show my taste ; but pretty Miss Puss has a terrible rival ! 
 Her countenance is lovely, 't is very true, with its beautiful 
 eyes and bewitching lips ; but I look beyond to a face I 've 
 loved from boyhood !" 
 
 And he reread the letter, thinking that her hand had lain 
 upon the paper. Poor St. John ! Then carefully deposit 
 ing the paper in the breast pocket of his doublet, he went 
 and leaned from the open window, and surveyed the moon 
 lit streets of the town, upon which the shades of night were 
 descending. 
 
 An irresistible desire took possession of him to wander 
 out in the balmy night, and putting on his hat, he issued 
 forth into the nearly deserted streets, 
 
 Buried in thought, he went on, unconsciously, for some 
 time. Suddenly he saw a grove of trees before him, and 
 looking around, discovered that he hnd made his way, with 
 out knowing it, as far as the picturesque " Indian Camp,"
 
 184 MISS iJOXNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT THE "INDIAN CAMP." 
 
 THE " Indian Camp" was a wild and secluded retreat, the 
 haunt, in former times, so said tradition, of the great King 
 Povvhatan and his dusky followers. In course of time it had, 
 however, become the resort of those fond of natural beau 
 ties especially the chosen meeting-place of lovers. Many 
 allusions to it may be found in letters of the period. 
 
 It now lay before the eyes of the young man, clothed in 
 all its wild and mysterious beauty. Seating himself upon a 
 mound of moss-covered rock, he gazed pensively upon the 
 scene, surrendering his thoughts wholly to the woman whom 
 he loved. For an hour he was scarcely aware of the objects 
 around him. The weird moonlight fell from the heights of 
 heaven unheeded. The dazzling orb rode like a ship of 
 pearl through the drifting clouds ; the melancholy whip- 
 poorwill sent his mournful cry from the wood ; the owl 
 whooped from the low grounds; the river breeze came 
 and fanned the dreamer's cheek he was still absorbed in 
 thought. 
 
 "Yes," murmured the young man, "J '11 go and essay 
 my fate; 'to-morrow, at half past eleven,' shall find me at 
 Vanely, and I '11 put it on the hazard of the die. Is there 
 hazard ? Did I misinterpret her demeanor on that evening 
 at the try sting tree ? Courage ! nee timide, nee temere /" 
 
 And the murmur died into silence. Another hour passed 
 by, the young man pondered still, gazing at the old shadowj 
 mounds and trenches as they gleamed in the moonlight. 
 
 Suddenly the light was obscured, and raising his eyes, he 
 saw that a huge cloud, moving slowly like a great black 
 hulk, had invaded the moon, and buried it in its ebon folds. 
 
 In the darkness the rude objects of the scene loomed out 
 more shadowy and solemn still, and the cry of the whippoor- 
 will assumed a deeper sadness. St. John rose and leaned
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 185 
 
 against the trunk of an oak, whose wide coughs cast an im 
 penetrable shade, and thus elevated, as it were, above the 
 scene, listened to the subdued and mysterious sounds of night. 
 
 All at once to these stealthy noises was added another 
 sound ; he thought at first that his fancy deceived him, but 
 this impression soon disappeared. He heard cautious voices 
 whispering. 
 
 He bent forward, inclining his ear in the direction of the 
 sound. He was not mistaken in his surmise. As he gazed 
 and listened, holding his breath almost, two dark figurea 
 detached themselves, as it were, from the darkness, and ad 
 vanced toward the spot which he occupied. 
 
 With an unconscious movement he drew deeper into the 
 shadow of the heavy boughs, and, blended with the shade 
 which they cast, was lost completely to view. 
 
 The figures passed so close to him that their garments al 
 most touched his own, still whispering in a low and stealthy 
 tone. They had gone but a few paces when the obscuring 
 cloud passed from the moon, and St. John discerned them 
 clearly. The first figure was very tall, the other shorter, 
 and wrapped from head to foot in a long cloak, upon whose 
 collar drooped the folds of what seemed a Spanish hat, com 
 pletely concealing the face. 
 
 The taller of the two wore no wrapping, and Mr. St. John 
 distinctly recognized the form of Lindon. He bent earnestly 
 toward his companion, and seemed to be urging something 
 which had been met with opposition. Mr. St. John could 
 not catch the words, which were uttered in a low and cau 
 tious, though very excited tone, and he was glad that they 
 did not reach him ; glad when the voice grew more and 
 more a mere murmur, and Lindon, with his silent com 
 panion, disappeared in the iistance and the darkness. Their 
 footfalls, growing fainter and fainter, were finally absorbed 
 by the silence. 
 
 St. John stood for an instant looking in the direction they 
 had taken, and then, issuing forth from the ehadow, calmly 
 bent his way back to Willi.-imsburg.
 
 180 MISS BONNV3KL. 
 
 " That is really something more than I bargained foi^ 
 he muttered as he went along. " I came to enjoy my own 
 thoughts in silence, and alone, and here I stumble on this 
 man and one of his companions. They say that Linden and 
 his Excellency have exchanged many civilities, and my head 
 to half a crown 1 that man is engaged in the plots against 
 the liberties of Virginia !" 
 
 " Well," continued the young man, after a pause, during 
 which he looked thoughtfully towai-d the lights of the town, 
 which were, one by one, disappearing, like fire-flies going 
 to sLeep, " well, let this gentleman of the villainous counte 
 nance go on his way. He is nothing to me, and I do n't 
 fear that he will do us any injury. He plots and walks in 
 darkness as his congenial element, but there are others who 
 conspire against the conspirator I" 
 
 With these words St. John returned to his chamber, and 
 after a last look at the moon, fell asleep murmuring the 
 motto of Bonnybel's seal, " Nee temere, nee timide /" 
 
 He had a strange dream. He fancied himself again at the 
 Indian Camp, with the mysterious figures of Lindon and hia 
 companion before him. They disappeared, but suddenly 
 came upon him again, before he was aware, behind his back. 
 He saw Linden's face convulsed with a smile of triumphant 
 hate, as he placed a dagger in the hand of his companion, 
 with which the cloaked figure struck at the young man's 
 back. He started from sleep, and half sprung from bed, but 
 laughing at his fears, soon fell asleep again, his slumber re 
 maining uninterrupted until morning. 
 
 Do dreams ever forewarn ? Had Mr. St. John believed 
 so, and acted upon his convictions, the whole current of this 
 narrative would have been changed. 
 
 At seven o'clock upon the following morning, he was pur 
 suing, at full speed, the road to Vanely.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. ]f 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A SLEEPING BEAUTY. 
 
 THE young man rode so well that before the hour indi 
 cated in Bonnybel's letter, he entered the great gate of 
 Vanely, and cantered to the door. 
 
 No servant was visible, and securing his horse to the rack 
 beneath one of the great oaks, he entered the mansion. 
 
 He opened the door of the library expecting to see Colonel 
 Vane ; his hand was extended to greet the old gentleman, 
 but suddenly he paused. 
 
 In the great leather chair by the table, covered with books 
 and papers, Miss Bonnybel, overcome, apparently, by the 
 balmy influence of the May morning, was slumbering trah- 
 juilly. Upon her lap rested an open volume, which seemed 
 to have escaped from her hand as she fell asleep, for one ol 
 the slender fingers remained between the leaves. 
 
 St. John paused for a moment to take in fully the entire 
 details of the pretty picture. 
 
 The great chair had a sloping back, and thus the young 
 lady's position was almost that of one reclining. The grace 
 ful head was languidly thrown back, and drooped side- 
 wise towards the rounded shoulder. Her hair had become 
 unbound and lay in brown masses of curls upon her neck. 
 Her small feet, with higkh-heeled slippers, decorated with 
 rich rosettes, reposed upon a velvet-cushioned cricket, and 
 the little pointed toes, over which fell the ribbons of the 
 artificial roses, peeped out gracefully from their hiding 
 place. 
 
 The young man remained for some time silent and mo 
 tionless, watching the sleeper. Not a trait of the picture 
 escaped his brilliant and penetrating glance. His laugh 
 ing eye riveted itself upon every detail on the forehead 
 Ivtthod in the dews of sluinber, the dusky lashes lying
 
 188 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 on the rosy c.ieeks, the glossy curls, which rose and fell with 
 the tranquil breathing of the maiden. He smiled as his gaze 
 dwelt upon the little slippers, so prettily arranged even in 
 sleep ; on the hand, glittering with a single diamond which 
 hung languidly over one arm of the chair ; upon the taper 
 ing arms, the countenance filled with maiden sweetness, 
 and the fawn-colored dress, falling in ample folds around the 
 wearer's graceful figure. 
 
 We doubt if even the most violent advocates of propriety 
 will blame him, when he cautiously approached, and bend 
 ing down, took the disengaged hand and kissed it in a cous 
 inly way. 
 
 But Miss Bonnybel did not awake. He looked at the 
 volume lying on her lap. It was the book of ballads which 
 he had been reading to her on the morning when Lindon 
 interrupted them, and she had opened at the particular 
 poem they had read together. 
 
 A slight color came to the young man's cheek. Let us 
 pardon him he was in love. He hesitated what course to 
 pursue, but, all at once, this hesitation disappeared. His 
 glance fell, with an audacious smile, upon the coquettish 
 feet, and he had fixed on his scheme. This scheme was 
 simply to remove the rosettes, which were secured by small 
 silver buckles, from the shoes, to go into the hall and make 
 some noise which should arouse Miss Bonnybel, and then to 
 enjoy, from his hiding place, the young lady's surprise and 
 confusion. 
 
 He carefully set about his undertaking, and became so 
 absorbed in it that he did not see the maiden's head rise 
 with a sudden movement, her eyes open, and fix themselves 
 upon him. He raised his head, however, to see if the sleeper 
 was undisturbed, and Miss Bonnybel closed her eyes, and 
 drew a long, labored breath smiling, it seemed, in her 
 sleep ! The young man's smile replied to it, and having de 
 Inched one of the rosettes, he set about securing the other. 
 
 Then it was that he heard suddenly the calm and satiri 
 cal words,
 
 MISS BONNYBKL. 189 
 
 " Do n't you think that will do, sir ? I should su| pose that 
 one was enough !" 
 
 Thus caught in the act, Mr. Harry St. John remained for 
 a moment dumbfoundered. But recovering his equanimity, 
 he said, laughing, 
 
 " Did you compose yourself in that pretty attitude to re 
 ceive me, Bonnybel ?" 
 
 " Humph ! and you suppose I would take the trouble !" 
 
 " You said you 'd put on your best gown and ruffles." 
 
 " I was speaking satirically, sir ! I suppose your vanity 
 will not believe it but, pray, what are you doing to my 
 feet ?" 
 
 " I was only taking off your rosettes. I should like to ex- 
 amine them ; they 're very pretty !" 
 
 "I suspect you intended some trick! I know it, sir I 
 But enough ! You '11 please let them alone !" 
 
 And Miss Bonnybel withdrew her feet, vivaciously, from 
 sight. 
 
 " I feel profound remorse for my presumption," said Mr. 
 St. John, in a contrite tone ; " let me atone for my offense, 
 most beautiful lady. The culprit can only make restitution 
 though your feet are dangerous things to approach ! Hold 
 them out !" 
 
 Bonnybel hesitated, glancing doubtfully at him. But 
 the young lady had lovely feet, and her obduracy yielded to 
 her vanity. She thrust out the extreme point of the slip 
 per deprived of its rosette, and Mr. St. John secured the or 
 nament in its place. He was so long doing so, however, 
 that the young lady tapped her foot impatiently, and then 
 the wide folds of her dress swept over foot and slipper. 
 
 " You see," said her companion, " I 've come in obedience 
 to your command. Where 's uncle ?" 
 
 " They all went over to Maycock's," returned the young 
 lady. "Heigho! I've had -such a dull time reading that 
 love-sick ballad. It put me to sleep." 
 
 And she yawned. 
 
 " How 1 should like to take a ride," she added.
 
 190 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Would you ? Then I '11 go order your horse. Mine 'a 
 at the door. Where shall we go ?" 
 
 " Anywhere ; say to ' Flower of Hundreds.' " 
 
 " My old rattletrap ? Well, so be it." 
 
 And the young man went and ordered Miss Bonnybel's 
 horse. 
 
 They were soon galloping over the fields and through 
 the forest, exchanging a hundred jests, and an hour's ride 
 brought them to their destination. 
 
 " Flower of Hundreds," Mr. St. John's mansion, stood on 
 an elevated plateau, near the river. Instead of a " rattle 
 trap," it was a fine old country house, with a score of apart 
 ments, stables sufficient to accommodate a hundred horses, 
 and a servant for every pane in every window. 
 
 They entered the fine old grounds, and the gray-haired 
 African, left as major domo, by his master, came and greeted 
 them with dignity and respect. Half a dozen negro boya 
 ran to take their horses, and leaning lightly on the arm of 
 her cavalier, Miss Bonnybel held up her long skirt, and en 
 tered. 
 
 Along the walls of the old antler-decorated hall hung the 
 St. Johns, male and female, of a dozen generations. A num 
 ber of fox-hounds rose to welcome the visitors, but, neglect 
 ing the young lady, bestowed their entire caresses upon the 
 young man. 
 
 " See the small discrimination of the canine species," said 
 St. John, " they neglect ' Beauty' for the notice of the 
 Beast.' " 
 
 "I always distrust your mock humility, and especially your 
 compliments ; the dogs like you because they 've had no 
 body else to like ; you 're a miserable old bachelor !" 
 
 " So I am, but how can I help that ?" 
 
 " Hnmph ! very easily. That is to say, sir, you can 
 try!" 
 
 And Miss Bonnybel gave her cousin an audacious glance, 
 shot over her right shoulder, and full of coquettish auda 
 city.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 191 
 
 "What 's the use of trying ?" he said. " 'T is very easy 
 to get married, but difficult to get the girl one wants." 
 
 "And she is to marry your lordship without being asked, 
 I suppose ! That 's very reasonable indeed !" 
 
 St. John looked steadily at his companion, to discover if 
 the words meant more than was expressed. But she darted 
 from him, and ran into the great sitting-room. 
 
 " O I there 's my favorite portrait," she cried ; " the pic 
 ture of Sir Arthur St. John, is n't it, of the time of his 
 Majesty Charles II., who died for love? What a noble 
 face, with its pointed beard, and long, gay curling ' love 
 locks !' ' 
 
 " 'T is handsome indeed, but do you admire him for dying 
 of love ?"' 
 
 " Yes to distraction ! I wish he 'd courted me ! He 'd 
 never have died !" 
 
 " Pity you did n't live in his Majesty's times," said St. 
 John, with a glance of admiration ; "the Arthurs have all 
 gone, and our hair to-day is cut close. You might marry 
 a gentleman of the St. Johns somewhere, but he'd be apt 
 to look far less romantic." 
 
 It was Miss Bonnybel's turn to dart a look of curiosity at 
 her cousin now, but she read nothing in his face. 
 
 With a sudden laugh, the conversation was turned by the 
 young lady, and then they ran all over the old mansion, pry 
 ing into every nook, and laughing at every thing. 
 
 An hour passed thus, and then they remounted and re 
 turned to Vanely, where they found the ladies of the family 
 and the colonel. 
 
 St. John related the scene at the Governor's, with many 
 amusing exaggerations, but he was glad at last to steal away 
 into a corner with Bonnybel, who drew him toward her with 
 laughing glances. 
 
 Thus passed several days, and, with every passing hour, 
 the dazzling loveliness of Miss Bonnybel increased in her 
 lover's eyes, and he found his resolution failing him. 
 
 In their rides and walks, the damsel said a hundred care-
 
 192 MISS ]:OXNYBEr.. 
 
 less things which made Ins pulse throb, and her dangeroul 
 eyes gave meaning to her mischief. 
 
 Who can paint sucli a compound, as she was, of audacity 
 and reserve, of feeling and mirth ? who could place, in cold 
 words, the light, and fire, and attraction of her brilliant 
 eyes ? The present chronicler is unequal to the task. He 
 sees her smiles and coquetries, her pouts and blushes; lie 
 hears her laughter and her sighs, but he can not describe 
 them. 
 
 Of what those days of constant meeting resulted in, he 
 can tell with ease, however. But even this trouble is spared 
 him. By good fortune, he has a letter from St. John to hia 
 friend Mr. Alston, and this will tell the tale. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ST. JOHN, PEOM HIS HOUSE OF " FLOWEB OF HUNDREDS," TO 
 HIS FBIEND, TOM ALSTON, AT " MOOKEFIELD." 
 
 "FLOWER OP HUNDREDS, May 22, 1774. 
 
 "WELL, Tom, I 've got my quietus. You 've the pleasure 
 cf hearing from a young gentleman who 's just been dis 
 carded ! 
 
 " Do you start, my dear friend ? Does the event seem 
 so very tremendous and unexpected ? I 'm sorry to shock 
 your feelings, and would not do it for the world, could I 
 avoid it, but the fact is as I 've stated. 
 
 " I do not take the event with your equanimity ; I am 
 sufficiently miserable even to satisfy the vanity of the young 
 lady who has thought it decorous to give me many reasons 
 to believe that she returned my affection, and then to inform 
 me that she can't be my wife. You see I 'm angry, as well 
 as unhappy. I do n't deny it, and I think I 've some reason. 
 
 " I went to Vanely on Saturday, and we rode hither, 
 where we spent an hour, and then returned ; on Sunday
 
 . 193 
 
 you remember, we met at church, and on Monday but 
 I 'm prosing with a detail of my movements. I meant to 
 say that on the visit here, in all of our rides, and interviews, 
 and conversations, I was fond enough to imagine than I saw 
 some indications of real love on Bonnybel's part. She de 
 clared that I would find no difficulty in marrying, that faint 
 heart never won fair lady, upbraided me for not speaking, 
 s if maidens could propose themselves, and in a thousand 
 different ways, led me to believe that she loved me, and 
 Was willing to marry me. 
 
 " On these hints I spoke ; it was one evening at the tryst- 
 Ing tree, the old oak at the end of the lawn, you know, and 
 I made myself clearly understood. You know that, much 
 as I may love a woman, I 'm not the man to kneel at he 
 feet, and wipe my eyes, and whine out, 'please love me!' 
 On the contrary, I told Miss Bonnybel simply that I loved 
 her truly, and asked her to marry me. 
 
 " You should have seen her look when I spoke thus. She 
 became crimson, and was silent for a time. Then but hang 
 it, Tom ! I can't fill the chair of the historian. She dis 
 carded me that 's all. She had the greatest affection for 
 me, 't was true, she said, but she was over young to m'arry 
 yet ; she 'd not made up her mind it was unfair in me to 
 thus make her feel pain she would always love me as her 
 deai- cousin and playmate then she raised her white hand 
 kerchief to her eyes, and begged me to reconduct her to 
 the house. 
 
 " I did so in silence, and then discovered that I had im 
 portant business here. That's -all. 
 
 " Well ! I '11 neither cut my throat, nor sit down and 
 weep, nor, worst of all, go crouching back to her, like a 
 dog ! Henceforth I forswear the sex. A bachelor's life 
 for me, my boy. Come, take a main at tric-trac with me, 
 and help me to find the bottom of a cask of Bordeaux 01 
 Jamaica. I 'm moping, you see, and want company. 
 
 " Your friend, 
 
 "HABBT ST. Joinr,* 1
 
 194 .MISS BOXNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE REPLY. 
 
 "MOOBEFIELD, May 23, 1774. 
 
 " YOUB letter really astonished me, my dear boy it did, 
 upon my word. You will permit me to observe that you 
 are really the most unreasonable and exacting of all the 
 lovers that I 've read of, from the time of Achilles to the 
 present hour. 
 
 " And so, when you pointed your gun at the tree, the 
 bird did not flutter down and light on your shoulder ! Or 
 eay that you banged away, my boy, do you expect such a 
 wild little thing as Miss Bonnybel to sit and be shot at by 
 you? You discharge your fowling piece, and before the 
 smoke 's cleared away, walk tranquilly up to pick up the 
 game ; you find that your aim was bad, and there *s no bird 
 on the ground, and you scowl, and growl, and complain of 
 her for not falling ! 
 
 " * My son,' I would say to you, as I 'm told the great King 
 Solomon did on one occasion, ' listen to the words of the 
 wise ; wisdom is the principal thing,' he adds, ' therefore 
 get wisdom, and with all thy getting, get understanding.' 
 
 " Curious and complex, my beloved friend, is the heart 
 of woman. Many philosophers have written concerning 
 them, but they are hard to understand. But one thing I 
 am sure of, that the young ladies of the province of Vir 
 ginia object to falling without due warning subsiding, hys 
 terically, into the embrace of any young man who is good 
 enough to hold out his arms. And you will pardon my de 
 elating my opinion that it is reasonable ; were I a woman, 
 as that engaging young lady, Miss Tracy, says I am already, 
 I 'd demand a siege of a decade ! 'T is true I should be 
 verging toward forty by that time, but I 'd possess the in 
 estimable satisfaction of reflecting that I 'd passed my life in 
 worrying a young man. 
 
 "?You dissent, perhaps, from my views, but, honestly now
 
 BONNYBKL. 195 
 
 fio you tln'nk you gave Miss Bonnybel 'sufficient notice' of 
 the intended movement in your ' suit ?' 'Tis a charming 
 damsel (though of course much less so than a certain per- 
 son], and I fancy she resents your cavalier assault, your fe 
 rocious charge, as though your banner were inscribed, ' Mar 
 riage or instant death ! ! !' And then you go on to complait 
 of her bright eyes, of her chance-uttered words and jests 
 Really, my dear Harry, you are a perfect ogre. You can't 
 let a maiden display her liking, and smile, and look attract 
 ive, and please you ! Suppose all the world was of yout 
 way of thinking ! What a dull, stiff, artificial world it 
 would be. Just think, my dear fellow, of the awful result. 
 No laughter, no ogling, no flirting any more ! The true 
 joy of our existence would disappear, the girls would be 
 lifeless statues. You may fancy a statue of marble for yom 
 spouse, but I 'd rather have a nice young woman of the real 
 world, with her dangerous smiles, and head bent sidewise ! 
 Do you say that a friend of mine at Vanely is not such as 
 this? I can only reply that my tastes were not formed 
 when I met her. I adore her, 't is true, out logically speak 
 ing, I 'm wrong. 
 
 " Take my word for it, some day, your bird will descend ; 
 shake the tree, and tho fiuv will fall. Imitate an unappre 
 ciated friend of yourS;, *bd still continue the shaking.* 
 
 "As to misery and Doping, and anger, and all that, 't is 
 natural but very irrational ; 't is unpleasant, and does no 
 good. Go back to Vanely and renew your attack love the 
 damsel so much that her pride may be flattered. My friend, 
 there is nothing like perseverance. Go court your inamo 
 rata more ardently than ever, and if, meanwhile, you do n't 
 meet a girl you love more, I '11 lay you ten to one that you 
 get her ! 
 
 " These few words, Harry my boy, must suffice. I can't 
 come to see you ; I am busy at home. But we '11 meet at 
 the assembly, in town. You say that the young lady put 
 
 * On the margin, we find in his, St. John's, hand-writing : 
 
 "If I do, I'll be hanged. I '11 tie myself to no woman's apron-string I'
 
 196 MISS BONNYBEL, 
 
 her handkerchief to her eyes ; well I predict that those eyes 
 will shine brightly when they next rest on you. 'T is always 
 thus u hen the April shower is over. 
 
 " Your friend Heaven grant, your brother 
 
 "ToM ALSTON." 
 "P. S. Get wisdom." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 BLOSSOM. 
 
 THE views of his friend had little effect upon St. John. 
 It was not his pride which was so deeply wounded ; it was 
 his heart. 
 
 His letter was one of those tissues of self-deception, which 
 are woven to blind their eyes by the most clear seeing. He 
 loved the girl more than ever when he found her beyond 
 his reach, and his faint flush of anger gave way to misery. 
 
 It was not long, however, before this sentiment also yield 
 ed. The first pangs of his disappointment gradually became 
 less poignant. He coolly set about seeing to his neglected 
 affairs on the estate, and having attended to every thing, 
 and wound up the machine, cast about him for some occu 
 pation to divert his thoughts. 
 
 " I '11 go to town," he said, with a sardonic smile ; "I '11 
 go give his Excellency a chance to arrest me ! What an 
 admirable scene will be enacted if he tries it ; perhaps the 
 cause will be affected by my act, and historians will put 
 my name in their books !" 
 
 The real object of the young man was to divert his mind 
 from thought, and he had no sooner conceived his plan than 
 he proceeded to execute it. 
 
 Mounting " Tallyho," he rode to the nearest ferry, crossed 
 the river, and approached the capital as the sun was set 
 ting, He went along carelessly through the forest illumined
 
 HISS BONNYBEL. 197 
 
 by the orange light, and with eyes fixed on the ground, gave 
 free rein to his thoughts. He did not observe that his horse 
 had taken a wrong turn in the road, and was aroused from 
 his abstraction suddenly by a voice. This voice, which seemed 
 that of a child, said, 
 
 " Won't you stop a minute, sir ? I 'm very glad to see 
 you !" 
 
 In the little maiden who spoke, he recognized Blossom, 
 and she stood at the gate of the small cottage, which smiled 
 on him, embowered in foliage and flowers. 
 
 " Will I stop ? Why with pleasure, my little spring blos 
 som ;" replied the young man, pleased with the fair face; "I 
 am not the least in a hurry, and I am glad to see you in 
 turn." 
 
 With these words he dismounted, and securing Tallyho, 
 shook hands with Blossom, and followed her to the trellised 
 porch. 
 
 " My dear, you are the very image of your namesakes," 
 he said, caressing the child's hair; "where did you get such 
 roses?" 
 
 Blossom took a cluster of buds from her bosom, and 
 said 
 
 " They are from the flower-bed yonder, sir." 
 
 St. John smiled. 
 
 "I mean the roses in your cheeks, my dear; they are 
 prettier than the others." 
 
 " Oh it 's nothing but running about playing," said Blos 
 som, blushing, " I run sometimes as far as town, sir, yon 
 know as I did that day " 
 
 "When my horse nearly killed you yes," said St. John ; 
 " well he '11 never do so any more. I saw our friend, the 
 Governor, the other day, and I 'm happy to say for the last 
 time as his servant." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope you did not quarrel, sir ! he 's a dreadful 
 man 1" 
 
 " Quarrel ?" said St. John, with his sardonic smile, " what 
 out (such a thought in your head ? Why his Excellency and
 
 198 MISS liONNYBEL, 
 
 myself fairly dote upon each other, and the room was full 
 of the first gentlemen of the colony, invited to attend and 
 meet me ! His lordship talked more with me than with any 
 one else, and when I went away, called a soldier to escort 
 me!" 
 
 Plaving made this elaborate jest, St. John smiled on Blos 
 som. 
 
 " Oh ! I 'm very, very glad that you did n't quarrel !" she 
 said, "he 's so fierce looking, and spoke so cruelly of papa." 
 
 " Of your father ? Oh yes, I remember where is he, 
 Blossom ? 
 
 " I do n't know, sir." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 " I never know where papa goes, sir," she said, simply, " I 
 believe he has a great deal to do." 
 
 As she spoke horse's feet were heard, and Blossom jumped 
 up crying, 
 
 " Oh there he is, sir !" 
 
 At the same moment a gentleman entered the gate. 
 
 In the father of the child whom he had so nearly crushed 
 beneath the hoofs of his horse, St. John recognized the 
 stranger of the old church at Richmond. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THK WOOF OF EVENTS. 
 
 THE stranger was clad in black, as formerly, and his face 
 wore the sane expression of iron calmness. His penetrat 
 ing eyes were full of collected strength, and when he greet 
 ed St. John in his deep and resounding voice, the young 
 man felt again that he was in the presence of a remarkable 
 individual. 
 
 "I am glad to see you again, Mr. St. John," said the 
 stranger, with an iron-like grasp of the slender white hand.
 
 MISS BONNYBKL. 199 
 
 " I believe I need not introduce myself as my child has 
 told you my name." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Waters," returned St. John, " and we can not 
 meet as strangers. 'T is true, I come ill recommended, since 
 my horse nearly killed your child." 
 
 The stranger made a movement with his hand. 
 
 " Do not speak of that," he said, " 't was no fault of yours. 
 The real offender was Dunmore, and I congratulate you on 
 leaving his service." 
 
 " You have heard, then, of my resignation ?" 
 
 " Assuredly. I have even heard every particular of the 
 interview at the palace. I knew all, half an hour after it 
 occurred." 
 
 " Pray how was that possible ?" 
 
 " In the simplest way the society I represent has friends 
 everywhere." 
 
 " You seem to know every thing. Did you recognize me 
 yonder in the old church of Richmond ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, sir ; how could I fail to ? You have been 
 for some time a public character, and I knew perfectly your 
 opinions before I spoke. If in what I said, I was carried 
 away by a rush of bitter memories into egotism, you will 
 not think harshly of it, and will pardon me will you not, 
 sir?" 
 
 There was so much simplicity and nobility in the air of 
 the speaker that St. John, unconsciously, held out his hand. 
 
 " You did me an honor, sir," he said, " in confiding you; 
 misfortunes to me. I trust we shall be friends." 
 
 " We are such already, I am sure," said his companion ; 
 44 your words in the old church yonder stirred my pulses, and 
 your reply to the insults of Dunmore, in his palace, was the 
 reply of a fearless patriot and gentleman." 
 
 St. John bowed low. 
 
 " Thanks !" he said, " but I merely defended myself. Was 
 any action taken in regard to my humble self?" 
 
 *' None. Dunmore and Captain Foy had more critical 
 business. Do you know what they were <loing ? and are do*
 
 200 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 ing now ? They are devising a plan to embroil the peopk 
 of Pennsylvania and Virginia on the subject of the bound 
 ary line, and further, to invite the savages to invade the 
 western frontier of the province." 
 
 " Impossible !" 
 
 " So it is," said the stranger ; " the agent of these traitor 
 ous schemes to crush Virginia in the coming revolution is a 
 man named Conolly, commandant at Fort Pitt ; he is now 
 in Williamsburg awaiting instructions. Those instructiona 
 were being drawn up in cipher by Foy, without the knowl 
 edge of the council, on the day you appeared before the 
 Governor." 
 
 St. John's head fell, and his brows contracted. 
 
 "Why 'tis nothing less than treachery blood mur 
 der!" he said. 
 
 " Precisely that," said the stranger, coolly. 
 
 " And I ! am I forgotten ?" 
 
 " As yet nothing has been done ; a new lieutenant has 
 been appointed ; the matter waits. But I advise you to lie 
 down armed. I am a peaceful man, but I rarely move un 
 prepared. I would advise you to do the same." 
 
 A careless movement of the stranger's hand threw open 
 the breast of his doublet. From a side pocket protruded 
 the dark handles of a brace of pistols. 
 
 " Events ripen," he continued, " and the times grow dan 
 gerous. This very day, sir, a great movement has been made. 
 The Burgesses have resolved that the Boston Port bill is 
 dangerous to liberty the dispatch of troops thither an act 
 of oppression. The first of June is appointed as a day of 
 fasting, humiliation and prayer ; to implore divine Provi 
 dence to give them courage and heart to oppose this inva 
 sion of Right. In accordance with this act, it was further 
 resolved this morning that the Burgesses, on the day ap 
 pointed, will proceed with the speaker and the mace to 
 church, there to pray for the cause of America. Such ar$ 
 the resolves, and they will answer the purpose." 
 
 " The purpose ?"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 201 
 
 " To force the Governor to dissolve them." 
 
 " Do you think he will ?" 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 "Ah! and then?" 
 
 "Tlie rest is arranged prepared." 
 
 " Can you speak ?" 
 
 "Yes, to you, friend. We are alone here, and I know 
 whom I address. The House of Burgesses will be dissolved 
 to-morrow. The members will, on the next morning, meet 
 in the Raleigh tavern, and eighty-five, perhaps eighty-nine, 
 of them, will unite in an association to arouse the colonies, 
 through a committee of correspondence, to a general con 
 gress, binding themselves to use nothing from the docks of 
 the East India Company. They will then leave Williamsburg. 
 They will every one be reflected by the people. They will 
 meet here again on the first day of August, and their work 
 then will be to cement the disjointed resistance North and 
 South, and appoint deputies to the general congress. That 
 congress will meet, probably, in Philadelphia, and much will 
 depend upon its proceedings." 
 
 "The Governor will dissolve the Burgesses to morrow?" 
 
 "Yes, at three in the afternoon he will summon them 
 before him, as though he were majesty itself, and then he 
 will dismiss the chivalry and wisdom of this land like diso 
 bedient school-boys. Would you see the proceeding? I will 
 meet you at the door of the capitol." 
 
 St. John was silent, only assenting with a thoughtful 
 movement of his head. 
 
 " Your long labor is then beginning to produce results ?" 
 he said, looking at his companion. 
 
 "Yes," said the stranger; "yet "not mine alone. I am 
 but a poor soldier in a noble army ; an army of strong 
 arms and great hearts, which advances under the leader 
 ship of the Almighty, who directs and guides its onward 
 march." 
 
 As the stranger spoke, his companion again observed 
 that look which had formerly attracted his att"nUoi^
 
 202 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 the expression of an intellectual fanatic who has but on 
 idea, and is bent and swayed by a pursuit which is his life 
 blood. 
 
 " What we have just been discussing," he said, " these 
 resolutions, and debates, and associations, these are are but 
 the husks of ideas, the shells in which principles are wrapped, 
 the costume and material frame. There is beneath all this, 
 the heart and the soul, the vital idea, which must clothe it 
 self thus for action. To read the annals of history, without 
 eternally keeping in view the existence and superintendence 
 of that Almighty Being, under whose breath we move, is to 
 paralyze the mind with a chaos of unmeaning and discordant 
 elements, a jumble of effects without causes. The voice 
 of God resounds to my ears through the long galleries of 
 history, and I see His footprints on the soil of every land. 
 It is that great Being who shapes, in silence and darkness, 
 the far-oif result, who strikes, when he is ready, with hia 
 thunderbolts. It is not from a clear sky that these thunder 
 bolts fall ; it is only when the atmosphere is prepared that 
 he unharnesses his lightnings. It is only when the political 
 atmosphere has reached the requisite state that he lets loose 
 the thunderbolts of revolution. 
 
 "I wish to say," continued the stranger, with his far-away 
 look, " that under all these resolutions and business details, 
 these husks and shells, is the living and vital idea, the on 
 ward march of man. Every word and phrase in these pa 
 pers we have referred to, embodies a thought crammed with 
 significance ; every new expression, growing bolder and 
 bolder, is like the increase in the height of the waves when 
 the storm sweeps onward. From the year '65 to the pres 
 ent hour, I have looked with awe and wonder upon the 
 gradually unfolding intent of the Deity. I have seen this 
 land advance toward a new and splendid existence, as a 
 ship is impelled by the breath of the hurricane. I have 
 seen the great multitude advance, step by step, pushed on 
 ward by an invisible hand toward the bloody gates of revo 
 lution, through which, and which alone, shall we enter op
 
 MISS BONN YD::!.. 203 
 
 the promised land of liberty. 'We spoke, yonder, of this, 
 and I then said that I thought I saw how to each one hia 
 part was assigned. To Patrick Hejiry, that soul of fire, and 
 prophet of liberty, was assigned the duty of putting the 
 huge ball in motion. He was raised up at the crisis and did 
 the work which the Deity assigned to him ; he struck, ns it 
 were, with the flat of his sword, and aroused the whole 
 land to indignation. In his fiery and burning periods, in his 
 immense denunciations, the oppressions of England shone 
 forth in all their deformity. He did no half work ; beneath 
 his gigantic shoulder, the ball of revolution began to move.* 
 But the immense mass must move in its appointed way; 
 it must not roll at random ; its course must be fixed. And 
 to fix this course, to define the revolution, its track and its 
 aims, to the public opinion of Europe and America; Thomas 
 Jefferson appeared, a man who has just begun his career, but 
 whose genius for overturning is immense. See here, too, 
 the hand of the Deity ; see this wonder and mystery of his 
 decrees. This man, thus raised up to fulfill the divine pur 
 pose, is an infidel, has no particle of reverence ; for him, 
 Christ is but a name. The Almighty has removed the 
 faculty of reverence completely from his intellect, and he 
 advances over thrones and systems, through prejudice and 
 prestige, with a fatal, a mathematical precision. He carries 
 out his premises to the bounds of and beyond pure treason ; 
 like a machine, his splendid intellect does not stop to reflect, 
 but accomplishes its work without pausing. Well, sir, see 
 how, in these two men, who utter and define the revolution 
 see how God has raised up, at the appointed time, the in 
 struments with which he designs to produce his results. I 
 said, up yonder, and I repeat, that the military leader will 
 appear in good time ; I doubt it not at all I expect with 
 out impatience I calmly await the appointed moment. 
 Who knows what the hand of God has been doing ? Per 
 haps, as we have passed our serene existence here in the 
 midst of civilization, and surrounded by comforts perhapt 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XVI,
 
 204 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 eorae lonely youth, in the wilds of the forest, fording great 
 rivers, and ascending vast mountains, has been trained in 
 peril, and suffering, and hardship, for the leadership of lib 
 erty. Perhaps, as we speak, this man is ready to appear ; 
 let us wait, let us trust in God. 
 
 " But I weary you," said the stranger. " I forget that the 
 philosophy of history, as the schoolmen say, may not in 
 terest you as it does myself. What my brief and awkward 
 train of thought would utter is this, and this alone : that 
 for ten years these colonies have been slowly advancing, led 
 by the AlmigLty, as he led the Israelites of old, to a point 
 from which they can not recede, where they can not stand 
 still, when, consequently, they must press onward, even 
 though it be through the Red Sea of revolution and blood. 
 The seeds of liberty were sown in the opposition to the 
 Stamp Act ; they have sprung up and spread into a tree, 
 whose iron grain will blunt the sharpest battle-ax. In '65, 
 the alarm was sounded by the voice of Patrick Henry, and 
 reverberating from cliff to cliff, it will mingle, in '75, with 
 the roar of cannon, the trumpet blast of battle ! Do not mis 
 take or misunderstand, I beseech you !" said the stranger, 
 with his dazzling and fiery glance. "Revolution is logical, 
 mathematical, but it is the logic, the mathematics of God ! 
 It is God, sir, who directs us poor puppets beneath him ; it 
 is God who has made all things work together harmoniously 
 to this splendid result ; it is God who, having aroused our 
 minds, and strengthened our souls, will also give us victory 
 in the struggle. For my part I do not fear the result ; I 
 look forward, I pray, I wait !" 
 
 The stranger was silent, and for some time nothing dis 
 turbed the stillness. At last Blossom stole out, thinking 
 the conversation was over, and came to her father. 
 
 The gloomy and wistful eyes grew clear, the lips relaxed 
 from their compressed expression, and a sad smile played 
 over the stranger's face. 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, it is better to listen to the heart." ht 
 aid, " and happy is the man who does not feel compelled tc
 
 MISS DONNY3EL.. 205 
 
 espouse the cause of his species. Poor intellect which has 
 riot a heart !" 
 
 And with a sad and wistful look, the stranger passed hia 
 white hand over the child's bright curls. 
 
 Blossom took the hand and pressed it to her lips, at the 
 moment when Mr. St. John rose to depart. 
 
 To the stranger's courteous invitation to remain, he urfred 
 business in town, and so they separated, appointing to meet 
 at the capitol. 
 
 Blossom, too, had her little speech, which was a request 
 that her friend would please come again, and this promise 
 being given, the young man set forward to Williamsburg 
 again as the night fell. 
 
 A singular idea occurred to him as he rode onward. 
 
 The man whom he had just left, with every thing which 
 surrounded him, seemed a living protest against the old 
 world and the past. The cottage, with its low roof, hid 
 den in the wood, from which issued a man whose spirit 
 aroused revolution, was the direct antagonist of kings' pal 
 aces and courts. As the palace, and the king in his royal 
 trappings, were the incarnation of privilege and prerogative, 
 and superstition, so the cottage in the wild forest, and the 
 plain man in black, were the representatives of liberty, dis- 
 enthrallment of that freedom of thought and soul which 
 the new world must inaugurate. 
 
 The child before him, young, weak, and so nearly crushed 
 to death beneath the hoofs of his horse, was the type of Vir 
 ginia, which the legions of Great Britain would soon strive 
 to trample down ! 
 
 He reached Williamsburg and his lodgings before he was 
 aware of it. Wearied with the long ride from "Flower ot' 
 Hundreds," he was soon asleep.
 
 -U6 MISS r,. . 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE FIXED STARS OF VIRGINIA. v 
 
 ST. JOHN was awakened by the sunbeams falling on hia 
 forehead. 
 
 It was the 26th of May, 1774, a day memorable in the 
 annals of Virginia. 
 
 As though to cheer and embolden the hearts of patriots, 
 the great orb of day rose clear and brilliant, and mounted 
 to bis noon unobscured by clouds, as on that occasion in the 
 old church of St. John, when the stranger had pointed to 
 it, soaring above the retreating thunder storm, and called it 
 " the Sun of America." 
 
 At an early hour, the entire capital was in commotion, for 
 the news had gotten abroad that on this day Lord Dunmore 
 would dissolve the Assembly. The crowd continued to in 
 crease throughout the morning, and at three in the after 
 noon, it poured in one living mass toward the capitol, in 
 front of whose wide portico the statue of the good Lord 
 Botetourt looked down with calm serenity upon the multi 
 tude. 
 
 But since the days of that honest nobleman, men and 
 events, unhappily, have changed. Other times have come, 
 and another Governor rules in the chair of Norborne Berke 
 ley. 
 
 Lord Botetourt, it is true, had also dissolved the Bur 
 gesses, but sadly, sorrowfully, with the reluctance of a man 
 who acknowledges in his heart the justice of a protest, but 
 is forced, by his sworn duty, to oppose himself to the pro- 
 testants. The worthy nobleman loved Virginia and the Vir 
 ginians, and many persons said that the oppressions of the 
 ministry had hastened his death. However that may be, 
 one thing is certain, that soon after his dissolution of tlu 
 Burgesses, this statue of him was commanded by that body; 
 iii'l having been duly erected before, the capitol, to be re-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 207 
 
 moved afterwards to the college grounds, where it may now 
 be seen, the marble image of the good nobleman, on this 
 May day of 74, looked tranquilly upon the masses ruled now 
 by Dunmore. 
 
 Let history, with her inexorable justice, her cold stylus, 
 fill the space left blank before the name. The present 
 writer disdains to attempt the task, leaving to others tno 
 duty of depicting one who united in his character the most 
 perfect treachery, the utmost cowardice, and the most con 
 sistent and harmonious meanness. 
 
 But let us follow St. John. 
 
 The whole population, as we have said, flowed toward the 
 old capitol, along Gloucester street, as, on the day of Lady 
 Dunmore's entry, in an opposite direction toward the pal 
 ace. But now it seemed agitated by far different emotions. 
 Then it had shouted and laughed, now it was silent and 
 frowned. Then it saw a cavalcade, brilliant with the bright 
 eyes and smiling faces of a good woman and her beautiful 
 daughters, and it smiled gladly in return. Now it waa 
 about to behold the haughty progress of a bad man, with 
 a scowling face, surrounded by his mercenary attendants. 
 And the people scowled honestly back in advance, and 
 .ooked sidewise, with a threatening air, at the guards when 
 they appeared. 
 
 St. John was carried onward by the crowd to the base of 
 Lord Botetourt's statne, where the waves of the multitude 
 were divided, and flowed right and left. 
 
 It was with immense difficulty that he succeeded in el 
 bowing his way up to the portico. At last, however, he at 
 tained his position, and then his glance surveyed the long 
 street, with its undulating and imposing occupants, its old 
 men with gray beards, and maidens in picturesque dresses 
 and curiously peering children, lost like flowers in the waves 
 
 He was still absorbed in this scrutiny when he felt a hand 
 on his arm, and a calm voice said, 
 
 "An interesting spectacle, friend; the curiosity of tht* 
 multitude seems general."
 
 208 MTSS BOXNTBfiL. 
 
 lie turned, and found himself face to free with the strang> 
 sr, who added with a grave inclination, as he leaned i^ainst 
 a pillar, and thoughtfully surveyed the crowd, 
 
 " We are punctual to our appointment, Mr. St. John ; 1 
 have been awaiting you, however, as the Burgesses are 
 awaiting the Governor." 
 
 St. John pressed the extended hand, and said, 
 
 "I should like to look at the House. Will we have time 
 before the Governor arrives ?" 
 
 " He will not come for twenty minutes." 
 
 "Well then let us go into the gallery, and you shall point 
 out to me some of the leaders." 
 
 " Willingly." 
 
 And in a moment they were in the gallery of the Bur- 
 
 The speaker sat opposite in a tall chair, clearly relieved 
 against a red curtain, held aioft by an ornamental rod.* 
 Beneath, sat the clerk of tiie House, behind his table littered 
 with bills; before him on the table lay the great mace, 
 which signified that the body was in full session. When 
 they sat in Committee of the Whole, it was laid under the 
 table. 
 
 The members were scattered throughout the hall, talking 
 earnestly in groups, and scarcely heeding the hammer and 
 cry of " Order, gentlemen !" 
 
 " Strange to say I have not before visited the present 
 House," said St. John ; " 't is my loss, for they have a most 
 imposing air." 
 
 " It is the reflex of their mental characteristics," said the 
 stranger. " The body before you, friend, contains the great 
 leaders of Virginia the burning and shining lights of t<ie 
 coming storm. Look, there, in front of the speaker. Do 
 you know the member in the peach-blossom coat, with the 
 tie-wig and the worn red cloak ?" 
 
 " I have seen him pass on the street I think : yes, one day, 
 talking with Mr. Carrington."f 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XVII. f Ibid., No. XVIII.
 
 MISS 
 
 ' That is Patrick Henry," continued the stronger, "the 
 prophet and king of the revolution that comes onward, the 
 torch which illumines the way. He was born in Hanover, 
 among the slashes, and after a youth spent in idleness, 
 studied law, and appeared in the ' Parsons' cause.' The rest 
 of his career you are familiar with. The burning eloquence 
 which drove the clergy in despair from their seats in the 
 court house, soared to heaven like a flame of fire in the days 
 of the Stamp Act agitation, in '65. At this moment, that 
 awkward-looking man, with the listless air and the stooping 
 shoulders, is the grandest orator on the continent of Amer 
 ica, and none in the old world compare with him. Heaven 
 sends but one such man in a thousand years. It sent De 
 mosthenes, and now it sends this greater than Demosthenes. 
 Sir, I weary you, but this man, the very sight of him, arouses 
 me. He will rule and sway, in right of his genius, the storm 
 which is rushing downward !" 
 
 St. John looked at the ungainly figure, and could not re 
 alize the truth of what he heard. It was simply a slouching 
 county court lawyer that he saw. 
 
 " I see that you think I am enthusiastic," said the strang 
 er; "you think that this man in the old worn coat this 
 man of the people is unequal to the task I describe.* Hear 
 him speak, and your doubt will disappear. You will then 
 see him rise erect like a giant, you will see the lightning of 
 such glances as you never even dreamed of, hear the thun 
 der of an oratory which will shake the throne of England, 
 and reverberate through the history of this continent !f 
 Enough ! the event will show." 
 
 The stranger was silent for a moment, then turning hia 
 eyes from Henry, continued, 
 
 " Those two gentlemen in front of the speaker must bo 
 known to you. The one whose tall figure is bowed by th 
 weight of seventy years, with the deep blue eyes protected 
 by a green shade that is Colonel Richard Bland, of ' Jor 
 dan's,' in Prince George, the author of the letter on the 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XTX. f Ibid, No. XX.
 
 210 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 'Twopenny Act,' of the tract on the 'American Episco 
 pate;' above all, of the 'Inquiry into the Rights of tha 
 American Colonies,' whose logic advances with tho resound 
 ing roll of an avalanche. He is descended from Giles Bland, 
 who fought with Bacon is called, for his great acquisitions, 
 ' The Antiquary of Virginia,' at seventy, and when almost 
 blind, he still puts on the old harness in the service of his 
 countrymen."* 
 
 " I know Colonel Bland," said St. John, " and his com" 
 panion " 
 
 " Is Mr. George Wythe, one of the most learned gentle 
 men of the province. His mother taught him Latin and 
 Greek in his childhood. He drew the celebrated memorial 
 to the Commons in '64 ; he is second to no one in patriot 
 ism. But these men are but units in a noble line. See, yon 
 der, Mr. Thomas Nelson, from the town of York ; see his 
 gentle smile, and the suavity that beams in his features. 
 He is capable of giving his time, his means, his very life- 
 blood to his country. And there beside him is Mr. Robert 
 Carter Nicholas thin-featured, growing bald, of grave bear 
 ing ; he is a sound financier and far-seeing statesman. You 
 know the tall and portly gentleman with whom he converses. 
 It it Mr. Benj imin Harrison, of ' Berkeley,' on James river. 
 In his veins flows the blood of Harrison the Regicide, the 
 man who was prominent in condemning Charles I. to death. 
 He is a man of the most admirable administrative genius, 
 of a patriotism unsurpassed ; his courage would make him 
 smile at the foot of the gallows."f 
 
 " Yes," said St. John, " that is true, every word, of 
 Mr. Harrison. And who is that tall youth just behind 
 him ?" 
 
 " With the slender figure, and amiable black eyes? That 
 is a young gentleman, residing in Fauquier; Mr. Joha 
 Marshall. He is seeking, I believe, for a commission in tha 
 service."J 
 
 Historical Illustrations. No. XXI. f Ibid, No. XXII. 
 
 J Historical Illustrations, No. XXIII.
 
 MISS BOXNYBEL. 211 
 
 " I do not know Mr. Mai-shall, but his face is attractive," 
 returned St. John. 
 
 " But you doubtless know that tall gentleman to his right, 
 That is Mr. Edmund Pendleton of Caroline, the type and 
 representative of the conservative revolutionists the think 
 ers who desire to advance, logically, and in well-ordered 
 phalanx. You read in his bearing, in his very countenance, 
 the character of the man the man whom I regard as equal 
 ly valuable to the revolution with Mr. Henry and Mr. Jef 
 ferson. Mr. Pendleton is profoundly read in the laws bind 
 ing nations and individuals; his conservative genius curbs 
 the fiery and rash minds of the passionate reformers ; his 
 familiarity with forms and parliamentary rules, will be of 
 indispensable value to the cause. In debate he is wholly 
 unsurpassed by any man in North America, and in the 
 fiercest encounter of the sharpest weapons 't is impossible 
 to throw him off his guard. His noble and serene bearing 
 is a great aid to his oratory ; his suavity and grace concili 
 ate the rudest. No finer type exists of the courtly gentle 
 man. If Henry is our Demosthenes, Pendleton is our Cice 
 ro ; his silvery voice steals away your reason."* 
 
 ' Absolutely," said St. John. " Yes, I know Mr. Pendle 
 ton wery well." 
 
 " You doubtless know also the group who are talking 
 yonder earnestly in the corner," continued the stranger. 
 " Do you see the tall gentleman who thrusts a hand covered 
 with ruffles into the breast of his blue, gold-laced waist 
 coat ; him of the broad massive brow, the dark eyes, full of 
 mingled sadness and severity, the brown cheek and the lofty 
 carriage ? That is Mr. George Mason from the county of 
 Fairfax, but not a member if the present Burgesses. He is 
 a man of the profoundest political genius, not second even 
 to Mr. Jefferson. A statesman of the very first rank, deep 
 ly read in the lore of charters and constitutions, with a brain 
 aixl heart beating with one pulse of patriotism. Should a 
 declaration of rights be thought advisable by the provmo*) 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXIV.
 
 212 MTSS 
 
 a chart to steer by in the et:.-m it is to this man th.vt I 
 would most willingly confide the task. The bill of right? 
 which he would frame would be the platform of liberty, the 
 embodiment of the philosophy of honest government, the 
 exposition of the inalienable rights of mankind."* 
 
 " 'T is truly an admirable head," said St. John. " I did 
 not know Mr. Mason." 
 
 " The small gentleman," continued the stranger, " of grace 
 ful feature and eyes singularly piercing, is Archibald Gary, of 
 ' Ampthill,' in Chesterfield, called 'Old Iron' for his inflexi 
 ble courage,! and the member whom he addresses is Rich 
 ard Henry Lee, of ' Chantilly,' in Westmoreland, called 'The 
 Gentleman of the Silver Hand.' Is his not a noble head ? 
 The type of the Roman, a true Scipio Africanus, inclining 
 forward with lofty grace, as though he were listening to you 
 with his best courtesy. 'T is a pity that an accident made 
 the black bandage on his left hand necessary ; but let him 
 once speak and you see it no longer, though he uses it in 
 his gestures ; you hear only his swelling and magnificent 
 periods !J Many of the rest you doubtless know. Mr. 
 Peyton Randolph, Mr. Francis Lightfoot Lee, Mr. Ruther 
 ford, Mr. Langhorne, Mr. Paul Carrington, Mr. Lewis Bur- 
 well of Gloucester county ; and yonder you see Mr. Thomas 
 Jefferson." 
 
 " Ah ! you spoke warmly of him, sir, when we talked," 
 said St. John. 
 
 " Not more warmly than I should have done," replied the 
 stranger. " See the pen of the revolution ; you have looked 
 at Henry, the tongue. You may discern in the countenance 
 of this gentleman, too, his whole character. See his broad, 
 swelling forehead, with thin sandy hair ; his prominent nose, 
 thin lips and resolute chin ; see, above all, his piercing and 
 clear eye. It is the face of a man with a genius essentially 
 political ; a mind which arrives, with a single bound, at con 
 clusions which startle the boldest. In this man, as in Mr. 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXV. ( Ibid. ; No XXVI. 
 
 $ Historical Illustrations, No. XXVII.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 218 
 
 George Mason, the revolution vindicates itself to history ; 
 the true representative of a convulsed epoch, he will guide 
 and direct great events. His glance of lightning has already 
 flashed through the cobwebs and ruins of feudalism, the 
 trappings of royalty and nobility ; he believes in nothing, 
 trusts to nothing, accepts nothing which is not clearly proved 
 by the doctrine of inalienable right ! Before the fatal ad 
 vance of his inexorable logic, royalty, aristocracy and religi 
 ous intolerance yield, one after another, and are overthrown. 
 His faults are those of a genius too youthful and fiery ; 
 his views are extreme, and need the mellowing hand of time 
 to harmonize them, but still he is the man for the times, the 
 gladiator for the present arena!" 
 
 As the stranger uttered these words, a stifled sound fronr 
 the great crowd without was heard, and the Burgesses gath 
 ered in more earnest groups than before. 
 
 " The moment has come !" said the stranger, taking St. 
 John's arm, "let us go look on; but first, see that great 
 figure which has risen but now, the man who stands sur 
 rounded by Henry, Mason, and Nelson, and Jeflerson, and 
 young Marshall, who is as tall as the lofty General Lewis, of 
 Botetourt, beside him. Ah ! I see you know him. Yes, 
 that is Colonel George Washington, of * Mount Vernon,' in 
 Fairfax. He sustained the whole frontier on his shoulders, 
 fought with Braddock, and is now a member of the Bur 
 gesses. I have spoken of the tongue and the pen of the 
 revolution, friend. If Providence so wills it, see the 
 sword." 
 
 And without further words the stranger led the way from 
 the gallery. In a moment they again stood on the portico 
 of the capitol.
 
 BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 HOW THE STRANGER'S FIRST PROPHECY WAS FULFILLED. 
 
 THE movement and murmur in the crowd had been caused 
 by the approach of Lord Dunmore. 
 
 The two men had arrived just in time. 
 
 From the portico upon which they were stationed, above 
 the statue of Botetourt, and the undulating masses, their 
 glances embraced the whole spectacle. 
 
 The approach of his Excellency was announced by a hand- 
 full of his guards who rode before, royally, to clear the way. 
 Then a larger detachment appeared riding abreast in front 
 of the chariot, the plumes of a troop of like number reveal 
 ing themselves plainly in the rear. 
 
 At the head of the troop in front rode a tall and magnifi 
 cently accoutred gentleman, and as the cavalcade drew on, 
 St. John started slightly. 
 
 The new commander of his Excellency's guards was Mr. 
 Lin don. 
 
 The young man's lip curled. 
 
 " Ah well !" he said, carelessly, " I congratulate his Ex 
 cellency on securing such a fine captain, and Mr. Lindon on 
 entering the service of such a master. They '11 suit each 
 other to a marvel." 
 
 Having thus expressed his view of the matter, St. John 
 continued to gaze at the procession with a curling lip and a 
 sort of wonder, as he thought that, but a short time before, 
 Linden's position was his own. 
 
 His Excellency drew on. 
 
 Having a profound conviction that the easiest mode of 
 ruling the human species, was to awe and dazzle them in 
 advance, his lordship had made great preparations for the 
 present ceremony, and in the programme, so to speak, had 
 studied to imitate the royal model. 
 
 As the guards sent before were to represent those troop?
 
 :.::sj UOXNYBEL. 21S 
 
 sent in advance of royalty to cry, "make way! make way 
 for bis majesty!" and as the larger detachments were to 
 still further carry out the idea and the resemblance, and 
 awe the masses into terror and submission, so, in the seleo 
 tion of his equipage itself, the Governor had endeavored to 
 dazzle the eyes, as with the splendor and state of a king. 
 
 The chariot was a huge affair, covered with gilding, and 
 velvet, and damask ; a dozen footmen in liveries seemed to 
 hang behind and at the sides, and a driver with a hat bound 
 with gold lace, looked grandly downward on the heads of 
 the common people, through whom he urged onward his 
 six glossy horses, when the guards allowed the mass to 
 close in. 
 
 His Excellency was accompanied only by Captain Foy 
 and Lord Fincastle, the secretary or captain, as the reader 
 pleases, preserving his habitual expression of serenity. Hia 
 dark eyes shining from his pale face, quietly surveyed the 
 crowd with a species of philosophical composure, and then 
 were again lowered thoughtfully. 
 
 The chariot paused before the front of the capitol, and 
 the Governor issued forth, in the midst of a profound 
 silence. 
 
 He raised his head haughtily, as a king, who is not met 
 with the shouts and acclamations he expects, might do, and 
 then, taking a comprehensive view of the crowd, ascended 
 to the council chamber, followed by the secretary and Lord 
 Fincastle. 
 
 " Come," said the stranger to St. John, " let us see the 
 rest ; there is a gallery I know of from which we may see 
 all." 
 
 And with a rapid step he led the way up a narrow and 
 winding stair, and with a key which he took from his pocket, 
 opened a low door beneath the ceiling. 
 
 From behind the high railing of the small, circular gal 
 lery, the eyes of the two men looked into the council 
 chain Der. 
 
 The members of the council, who had already assembled,
 
 216 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 rose upon the Governor's entrance, and saluted him also 
 his companions. 
 
 Lord Dunmore then took his seat in the large carved chair 
 of red damask, at the end of the council table, with Lord 
 Fincastle and Captain Foy at his side, the members remain 
 ing in their former seats. 
 
 A pause of some moments followed the arrangement of 
 every one in his place, and during this time his lordship's 
 countenance wore an expression at once haughty and nerv 
 ous, disdainful and anxious. 
 
 He cleared his throat, arranged with nervous hands some 
 papers before him, and then, leaning back in his chair, 
 said, 
 
 "Gentlemen of the council, I have summoned you to meet 
 me here to-day in order that I may express to you, briefly, 
 the reasons for the course I am about to adopt. I shall be 
 extremely brief, for my resolution is taken, and I shall not 
 be swerved from my purpose. 
 
 " It is scarcely necessary for me to inform you, gentlemen," 
 continued the Governor, haughtily, but, as he thought, with 
 dignity, " that seditious persons and enemies to the govern 
 ment in this colony have for a series of years been disturb 
 ing the public tranquillity, and even proceeding to what is 
 constructive treason, and would be held such under the 25th 
 Edward III." 
 
 St. John exchanged a glance with the stranger, who moved 
 his head slightly, but again riveted his cold look on the 
 Governor. 
 
 " The men that I speak of, gentlemen, are not, I believe, 
 members of the Burgesses, who heretofore, except upon cer 
 tain occasions, have conducted themselves respectfully to 
 ward the government and its representatives in the colonies. 
 The persons I refer to are those who have printed and cir 
 eulated seditious pamphlets., some of which I have seen pur 
 porting even to be issued in this capital. I Lave information 
 that a man named Waters is the most active agent and des- 
 ieminator of these papers, and I shall, at an early day, take
 
 MISS BOl^NYBEL. 217 
 
 uteps to arrest and send him for trial to England, with the 
 proofs of his guilt, which are ample. If these proofs do not 
 rid the government of one- who is eternally holding sedition, 
 then, gentlemen, I shall lose all confidence in the lawss of 
 England, and that gallows whioh punishes treason !" 
 
 A grim and disdainful smile seemed to flit across the 
 countenance of the stranger as he and St. John exchanged 
 glances. Then his fiery glance vailed itself, his face grew 
 cold again, and he fixed his eyes on the Governor. 
 
 "But it was not my purpose, gentlemen," continued Lord 
 Dunmore, with a severe air, " to refer to these obscure and 
 contemptible agents of treason. I designed calling your at 
 tention to the fact that these seditious views are being so 
 widely disseminated that ah 1 classes of persons are becoming 
 aroused by them. All proper subservience to the govern 
 ment and myself; the very respect that is due to my person, 
 is refused in a manner most insulting and outrageous !" 
 
 The stranger laid his hand on St. John's arm and said, in 
 a low voice, " Now it 's your turn, friend, but do n't move 
 or speak let us listen." 
 
 The Governor, whose countenance slowly colored with 
 anger as he spoke, continued. 
 
 " You know, gentlemen," he said, " to what I have refer 
 ence the scene that took place at my palace some days 
 since. You were, some of you, present, and you witnessed 
 the spectacle of a peer of the realm, and the representative 
 of his Majesty, insulted, outraged, and even menaced by a 
 young man whose reply to my just complaints of his re- 
 missness was a threat to plunge his sword into my breast. 
 If I have not brought this impudent person to justice, it is 
 only because I have been absorbed by affairs more impor 
 tant, but he is marked in my black book, and in good time 
 his sedition will be punished." 
 
 " Listen," said the stranger, in his low, deep voice, and 
 crouching with fiery eyes, near the face of the young man, 
 *' lirtten ' affairs more im% vrtant /' do you understand ? 
 
 
 10
 
 218 ?.::S3 BOXNYBKL. 
 
 And the stranger's eyes seemed to blaze as he loaned tor 
 \\ ard, pointing to Dunraore. 
 
 " Yes," said St. John, coldly, f I understand ! 
 
 The Governor paused a noment, then went on. loftily. 
 
 " All these outrages and commotions," he said, " indicate, 
 on the part of the people of this colony, a tendency to tu 
 mult and rebellion. This tendency has entered the House 
 of Burgesses, and even appeared in that body some yeary 
 ago. On that occasion, their action compelled Lord Bote-' 
 tourt to dissolve them, an act which he, however, performed 
 in a manner extremely reprehensible. I say reprehensible, 
 sirs, and I know what I say ! His lordship committed a 
 great fault, and I shall take warning from the result of his 
 ill-advised proceeding." 
 
 The Governor frowned as he spoke, and looked round 
 the council haughtily. 
 
 " In myself, gentlemen," he said, " his Majesty has a rep 
 resentative of another description. I keep no terms with 
 rebels, I utter no honeyed words ; I suppress their rebellious 
 career, that is all. And this brings me, gentlemen, to the 
 point I would reach. The House of Burgesses, yesterday, 
 proceeded to resolves upon the late bill for the closing of 
 Boston harbor to resolves, in their spirit, if not in letter, 
 treasonable ! Yes, treasonable !" said the Governor, scowl 
 ing at the council ; " they have presumed to declare that 
 this bill is a blow at the liberties of America ! The liber 
 ties ! the very word is nonsense ! I know what the tools 
 of sedition say about these ' liberties,' but I say that the 
 best writers upon constitutional law lay down the fixed 
 principle that dependent colonies can have no liberties. 
 They are subject to Parliament and the King ; it is their 
 place to submit, and I for one, gentlemen, will see that the 
 government does not yield to these impudent claims! Yea, 
 iiiipndent! You think the word too strong, I do not ! It 
 is impudence, and nothing less, to declare that the govern 
 ment has no right to close the port of Boston, for their overt 
 act of sedition, in drs'roying the U':< in December last j And
 
 MISS BONN YE 2L. 21!) 
 
 the House of Burgesses is not content with declaring this 
 an attack on the liberties of America, forsooth ! It must 
 proceed further, and appoint the first day of June a day of 
 fasting, and humiliation, and prayer ! Well, gentlemen, I 
 have but one word to add. The Burgesses, by their own ac 
 tion, declare themselves desirous of being humiliated. They 
 fix on the first day of June ; I will save them the trouble and 
 delay by humiliating them now !" 
 
 And with an angry flush upon his countenance, the 
 Governor turned to the clerk of the council and said, 
 haughtily, 
 
 " Bid the gentlemen Burgesses attend me in my council 
 chamber !" 
 
 The clerk bowed low, and left the apartment in the midst 
 of profound silence on the part of the council. 
 
 " Look now and listen !" said the stranger, in a low voice, 
 to St. John ; " see how this coarse little terrier will snarl at 
 the lions of Virginia 1" 
 
 The usher returned and announced that the Burgesses 
 were approaching. 
 
 They soon made their appearance, headed by the speaker 
 and the sergeant carrying the great mace, defiling into the 
 apartment with measured steps, and heads bent with cold 
 courtesy as they fronted the Governor. 
 
 Lord Dunmore's eye, for a moment, quailed before the 
 clear and calm gaze of these men of lofty stature and erect 
 port. 
 
 He nervously arranged his papers as before, and cleared 
 his throat. No doubt his Excellency had designed to utter 
 his views at length, and in a manner similar to that already 
 made use of to the council. 
 
 But before the array of fearless countenances with their 
 firm lips and cold eyes, filled with a hauteur greater even 
 than his own, this design seemed to be too great a tax on 
 bis powers. 
 
 He gazed for a moment with his former mixture of nerv 
 one trepidation and insulting disdain at the body, and then,
 
 220 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 raising from the table a copy of the resolutions passed OD 
 the previous day, he said, 
 
 " Mr. Speaker, and gentlemen of the House of Burgesses, 
 I have in my hand a paper, published by order of your House, 
 conceived in such terms as reflect highly upon his Majesty 
 and the Parliament of Great Britain, which makes it neces 
 sary to dissolve you, and you are dissolved accordingly !" 
 
 Having so spoken, the Governor, with an angry and swol 
 len countenance, leaned back in his chair, and gazed with a 
 sort of fearful defiance upon the Burgesses. 
 
 The speaker simply bowed, and then, followed by the 
 members, left the apartment in the same deliberate and 
 measured manner. 
 
 " Come, friend !" said the stranger to St. John, whom he 
 drew away, " the first scene is played, and the rest will rap 
 idly follow 1" 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 HOW HIS EXCELLENCY ASKED THE NAME OF THE STBANQEB. 
 
 THE two men soon found themselves again upon the por 
 tico of the capitol. 
 
 The crowd, if any thing, had increased, and now seemed 
 to have exchanged its silence and gloom for indignation and 
 uproar. 
 
 The great waves rolled, and muttered, and dashed them 
 selves about with somber menace, and at times the long pro 
 cession, so to speak, lining the whole of Gloucester street, 
 writhed to and fro, resembling, in the brilliant sunshine, a 
 great serpent with glittering scales, his body agitated and 
 lustrous as that of the cobra or the rattlesnake, when about 
 to raise his crest and strike with his fangs. 
 
 This threatening air was obvious at once, and the stranger 
 surveyed the huge mass of heads with a species of gloomy 
 satisfaction,
 
 MT8S BONNTBEL. 221 
 
 " Good, good I" he said, in his deep vo^ce, " the breath 
 of the storm sweeps toward us, the surface begins to 
 foam !" 
 
 " The people ?" said St. John. 
 
 " Yes, look ! Do you see this great crowd this crowd, 
 made up of gray beards and children, of matrons and maidens, 
 of high and low, rich and poor ? Well, friend, I see in their 
 faces the result of our labors, our toils, our long waiting ! 
 They rise, they tremble ! the billows begin to boil ! you may 
 see the ' white horses,' as the poets say ; wait ! You will 
 see the tenth wave before long !" 
 
 As the stranger spoke, his brilliant and fiery eye embraced 
 the whole spectacle, and his body bent forward like that of 
 the hunter, when he finds himself in the presence of the lion 
 at bay. 
 
 " You say, the * tenth wave,' " said St. John, gazing on the 
 stranger's pale countenance with its sparkling eyes. 
 
 " Yes, the wave that will strike and overwhelm !" 
 
 " Heaven grant it !" 
 
 " That is the prayer of thousands night and morning 
 that this insolent armed tyranny may be swept from the 
 earth ! 
 
 " Ah ! armed 1 you refer to the guards ?" 
 
 " Yes, look at them !" 
 
 " They almost trample on the crowd. To think that 1 
 was once commander of these men!" 
 
 " You are free again, and see what you have gained !" 
 
 At this moment the agitation of the crowd grew even 
 greater, and the guards of his Excellency were hemmed in 
 on every side by the waves, from which issued threatening 
 murrnurs. 
 
 From their elevated position the two men had a full view 
 of the scene, and especially of Mr. Lindon, whose tall form, 
 on his large horse, rose above the press. 
 
 Lindon's countenance wore a mingled expression of fear 
 and defiance, of anxiety and supercilious disdain. 
 
 JJe seemed to regard *he crowd with the impatience ant]
 
 222 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 scorn of a nobleman, in presence of a rebellious canaille, but 
 a canaille which it was good policy not to arouse. 
 
 His horse, however, was restive, and the heavy spurs 
 which his rider unconsciously dug into his sides at times, ex 
 cited him more and more. The result of the last application 
 of the sharp rowels, was a furious bound of the animal, and 
 an old man, with hoary head and beard, was struck heavily 
 and fell. 
 
 In an instant the crowd was driven to frenzy, and with 
 furious countenances, they were about to throw themselves 
 upon the troops, when a loud noise from the portico attracted 
 every one's attention. 
 
 It was his Excellency, who had adjourned the counci 
 and now descended to his carriage. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this uproar ?" he said, sternly ; 
 "are my people being attacked by these insurgents?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord," cried Lindon, " the masses here are in 
 commotion !" 
 
 And he struck at the hand of a tall fellow who caught at 
 his bridle. 
 
 The Governor saw the threat of the man, and his face 
 grew pale. 
 
 " If they attack you, charge and disperse them !" he said, 
 pale and fearful amid all his anger. 
 
 Lindon hesitated. 
 
 The furious faces and menacing arms intimidated the 
 worthy commander. 
 
 "I say charge them !" cried the Governor. 
 
 The words were distinctly heard by the crowd, and a how] 
 of rage was the reply. 
 
 The women and children were hastily hurried to the rear, 
 the men with strong arms appeared all at once in front, in, 
 an immovable phalanx, and the hands of these men, whose 
 i'aces were pale and determined, were inserted into tht 
 pockets of their doublets, grasping concealed arms there. 
 
 In a moment a sanguinary contest would have ensued^ 
 and the streets flowed with blood.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL, 221 
 
 But a more commanding voice than that of his Excellency 
 rung above the heads of the crowd, and drew all eyes to 
 the speaker. 
 
 It was the voice of the stranger, and it resounded like the 
 blast of a trumpet above the roar of shouts and menaces 
 
 The words which he uttered were brief, fiery, and to th^ 
 point. He counseled moderation the moment had not 
 come. The men before them were a handfull only, which a 
 breath would scatter, but no advantage would be gained by 
 dispersing them. 
 
 " Let them pass !" he said in his sonorous voice, which 
 rang above the menacing multitude like a clarion ; " the hour 
 has not struck ! Wait ! it comes !" 
 
 " And you, my lord," added the stranger, advancing with 
 his head raised proudly erect toward Dunmore, " do not lash 
 this people into madness ! 'T is sound counsel ! Return to 
 your palace before it is too late, sir! In ten minutes your 
 path will be barred by the crowd, and at a word the streets 
 of the capital will flow with blood ! I give you good advice, 
 and advise you to profit by it. Return, I say, while you 
 have time !" 
 
 The Governor trembled with rage, and glared at the 
 speaker for an instant without speaking. 
 
 "And who are you, sir?" he said, with an explosion; 
 " who are you that give advice to a peer of the realm, and 
 the representative of his Majesty ?" 
 
 " A man of the people only, my lord." 
 
 " Your name, sir ! I desire to remember it !" 
 
 A cloud passed over the stranger's brow, and his eyes 
 flashed. 
 
 " It is a name that is not pleasant to your lordship !" he 
 said, haughtily, " a circumstance which I do not regret 1" 
 
 " Your name, sir !" 
 
 " Waters !" replied the stranger, returning the Governor's 
 frown with a glance of fire which showed to what depths 
 his nature was moved. " Waters is my name, and I am the 
 father of the child whom your lordship, with a coarseness
 
 224 MISS UONNYBBL. 
 
 and cruelty only worthy of a peer of the realm, outraged 
 and wounded in your paiace ! I scorn to conceal any thing ! 
 If your lordship presumes to order my arrest, I will arouse 
 that crowd to tear you and your escort to pieces !" 
 
 Carried away for the moment by rage and scorn, the 
 speaker advanced another step toward the Governor, and 
 confronted him with a look of such decision and fire, that 
 Dunmore's cheek grew pale, and his lips vainly endeavored 
 to shape an answer. 
 
 " Your lordship will doubtless have all your hounds on 
 my track to-morrow !" said the stranger, " but I will defend 
 myself now and at all times ! If you arrest me, it will be my 
 dead body !" 
 
 The Governor had not time to utter a word in reply to 
 this speech, before the portico suddenly filled with the mem 
 bers of the House of Burgesses. 
 
 At sight of them the crowd uttered a shout, or rather a 
 roar, indicating a perfect knowledge of their ignominious 
 dismissal. 
 
 The menacing waves rushed again toward the troop, 
 ana the six horses, drawing the chariot of his Excellency, 
 tossed their heads and moved about in their harnesses with 
 fright. 
 
 " My lord," said the speaker of the Burgesses, " permit 
 me to respectfully suggest your return to the palace. The 
 people assembled here evidently construe your dissolution 
 of the Burgesses into an insult and outrage, and we can not 
 be responsible for the consequences of the further presence 
 of the troops!" 
 
 Dunmore, boiling with rage, and pale with fear, surveyed, 
 alternately, the Burgesses and the roaring crowd. 
 
 The people were more completely aroused than ever ; Lin- 
 don's eyes turned, from moment to moment, uneasily toward 
 the Governor. 
 
 " My lord !" said the speaker, " in the name of Heaven, 
 either return or dismiss your troops ! In ten minutes blood 
 will flow 1"
 
 MISS BONNYUKL. 22* 
 
 Dunmore, with a convulsion of wrath, but a step waver- 
 in/7 and undecided, half descended the flight of steps. 
 
 " Go on, my lord," said the speaker, " we will attend you 
 and restrain any commotion of the inhabitants. I beseech 
 your lordship to proceed !" 
 
 Lord Dunmore half turned, with a countenance red and 
 pale with rapid changing expressions, and for an instant his 
 wrathful glance rested upon the face of the stranger. 
 
 He ground his teeth audibly, and shaking his glove to 
 ward his enemy, turned and descended the steps. 
 
 The members of the Burgesses surrounded him, and mix- 
 ing with the crowd, spoke earnestly and reproachfully to 
 them. 
 
 The justice of these representations seemed to be acknowl 
 edged, and the sea of heads flowed backward toward the 
 houses on each side of the way, leaving an open space, 
 through which the troops, headed by Lindon and the chariot 
 containing the Governor, rapidly advanced towards the pal 
 ace. 
 
 The Burgesses continued to escort it until it disappeared 
 at the turn of the street, and then they mixed with the 
 crowd, in whose tumultuous and agitated waves they were 
 swallowed up and lost. 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 '., v ^':s!^ ;'c-vi:! '; . j r .-: 
 
 THE STEPS AND THE BASE OF LOBD BOTETOUBT'S STATtTK. 
 
 ONE member of the Burgesses remained on the portico 
 of the capitol. 
 
 It was the awkward-looking man in the tie-wig, tne peach- 
 blossom coat, and old red cloak.* 
 
 Leaning against a pillar, with his shoulders bent, a pair 
 of old saddle-bags, containing papers, on his arm, his iroq 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXVIII. 
 *
 
 /2G MISS HONNYBEL. 
 
 mouth wreathed with a coiu, grim smile, the man in the red 
 cloak gazed after the retreating chariot and its escort. 
 
 lie then rose erect, and Liying hig hand on the arm of the 
 stranger, said, in a voice at once harsh and musical, careless 
 and earnest, 
 
 " Well, brother patriot ! that 's a handsome spectacle, ia 
 it not now ?" 
 
 The stranger was silent for some minutes, during which 
 time he seemed to be engaged in suppressing the lust mut- 
 terings of the storm of wrath which had clouded his mind. 
 
 One after one his features sank into rest, the old iron 
 calmness again diffused itself over his countenance, and he 
 replied, 
 
 " I know not, friend, if it is a handsome sight, but I think 
 it a very fair exhibition of aped and mimiced royalty." 
 
 "Well, you see, his Excellency's king here we can't 
 complain." 
 
 " Yes, king ! by right of arms." 
 
 "I don't think you treated royalty with sufficient re 
 spect," said the man in the red cloak, smiling grimly; 
 " he '11 take his revenge and arrest you." 
 
 " My dead body, perhaps." 
 
 " Good ! good !" said the grim speaker ; " that 's the way 
 I like to hear people talk ! That 's the true lingo ! I know 
 you are in earnest, and are ready." 
 
 " I am," said the stranger. 
 
 " Beware of your movements watch ! guard yourself. 
 For you have a cunning and treacherous enemy to deal 
 with, a man who absolutely disgusts and revolts me !" 
 
 And the countenance of the man in the red cloak lost its 
 grim carelessness, and his eyes flashed. 
 
 " Brother !" he said, proudly raising his head, " I think 
 we 're beginning to reap ! Do you remember our talks at 
 the Raleigh ten years ago ? I then affected to teach you , 
 I was really learning. I was wrong, you were right ! It 
 was necessary to advance step by step ; * from doubt to cer 
 tainty, from certainty to indignation, from indignation tc
 
 MtSS BONNYBEL. 22', 
 
 revolution !' Those were your very words, and they have 
 been the iron bit, the chain bridle which curbed my natural 
 impetuosity and recklessness. I would have shot on, like-a 
 war-horse, and you held me in. I would have rushed head 
 long, your mind held me back ! Yes, you were the true 
 thinker, marching, step by step, with the times, neither in 
 advance or behind. Do not deny it," continued the man in 
 the red cloak, gazing with a proud look upon the stranger, 
 which seemed to illumine his countenance, and rendered it 
 most attractive ; " do not say no, for I speak the truth of 
 your genius ! You saw further and deeper than I did, and 
 history is your vindication. "Well, now, we have truly gone 
 from doubt and certainty to indignation, and the end will 
 be the fires of revolution, as you predicted.'* 
 
 " Yes, friend !" said the speaker, raising his head still morj 
 nobly, and with glowing eyes, "you were right, a thousand 
 times right, and yet ten years ago we really inaugurated this 
 revolution. Can your memory ever lose that scene which I 
 refer to? I see that you remember ; that you can not forget 
 the burning stamps, the great crowd, the roaring of that 
 thunder, and the dazzling bolt which crashed down in a 
 blaze like the light of the eyes of the Almighty ! But you 
 did not hear my words then, there on that platform, above 
 the roaring fire, for you were lifeless, your mouth full of 
 bloody foam ! Brother ! I received you as you fell back in 
 my arms on my breast ! I clasped your weak form to my 
 heart as a mother clasps her child. Do you know what I 
 said after what you uttered then ? I said, ' The revolution 
 is begun !' and it was ! To-day it only goes on, you see ! 
 and it 's no new acquaintance to us at least !" 
 
 The man in the red cloak had completely lost his care 
 lessness, as he spoke in animated and nervous tones, and 
 his earnest eyes dwelt with proud admiration on tho 
 stranger. 
 
 "There's the hand I gave you ten years ago," he said, 
 " the hand of a loyal man ! I then said to you that the new 
 world dawned ; I now add that the sun mounts, through
 
 228 MISS BONNYBIif. 
 
 clouds and mists, to its zenith. Remember ! to-morrow, in 
 the Raleigh, you know ! The association is already drawn 
 up." 
 
 And, retiring as it were into himself, again the man in 
 the red cloak led the way down the steps, with a careless 
 and shambling gait, which was the perfection of awkward 
 ness. 
 
 St. John gazed after him with thoughtful eyes, and asked 
 himself if this man really could be the thunderbolt of ora- 
 tory, the genius of the rising storm. 
 
 The voice of the stranger recalled him to himself. 
 . " I see what you are thinking of, friend," he said, in his 
 habitual tone of calmness; "you doubt whether this man is 
 equal to the work assigned to him; you question the sublim 
 ity of that strength I have claimed for him. Well let us 
 not further discuss the matter. Let us wait, and perhaps we 
 shall hear his voice. Let us follow the current of events, 
 and see their course. Virginia is every moment now mak 
 ing history !" 
 
 The stranger then descended the steps, followed by St. 
 John, and they both disappeared in the crowd. 
 
 There were two personages present at these stormy 
 scenes whom neither the young man nor the stranger had 
 noticed. 
 
 The first was a child who, mounted upon the pedestal of 
 Lord Botetourt's statue, with one white arm clasped round 
 that worthy nobleman's knee, had followed, with flushed 
 cheeks and fearful eyes, the details of the tumult. 
 
 She was clad in a little pink dress, with scarlet silk stock 
 ings, which ended in resetted shoes, and one of these shoes 
 was firmly planted on the pedestal of the statue. The child 
 kneeled with the other knee on the shoulder of a youthful 
 cavalier, on whose curly head she rested her left hand for 
 further security, and the boy seemed to be proud of hig 
 burden. 
 
 As the stranger and St. John disappeared, the girl slid 
 down from the statue, was caught gallantly in the arms of
 
 1JO5WYBEL. 22 
 
 her escort, and they wandered away '.he boy's arm round 
 the neck of the child, and her own resting innocently on hia 
 shoulder. 
 
 As they were lost in the crowd the girl said, 
 
 " Oh me, Paul! did n't it scare you?" 
 
 " No !" replied Paul ; " no, Blossom ! You see, you are 
 a girl ; I am a man, and I want to fight I" 
 
 He did so, in the Revolution. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 THB "APOLLO" KOOM IN THE RALEIGH TAVERN. 
 
 
 
 Deus nobis haec otia fecit. 
 
 IT was the morning of the 27th of May, 1774, a day which, 
 like the 22d of February, 1732, and the 4th of July, 1776, 
 belongs to history. 
 
 As before, the sun rose, bright and serene, through a 
 cloudless heaven, and at ten o'clock the members of the 
 late House of Burgesses met in the " Apollo" room of the 
 Raleigh tavern. On the same evening, the ball given by 
 the Burgesses, in honor of Lady Dunmore, was to be held 
 at the capitol.* 
 
 Our brethren of other States have carefully collected the 
 dates of revolutionary occurrences, at this period, when so 
 many colonies were jostling each other, as it were, in the 
 noble struggle for precedence in bidding defiance to the 
 oppression of the home government. For this reason we 
 rigidly adhere to history in narrating events at Williams- 
 burg. 
 
 It was at four in the evening, on the 26th of May, 1774, 
 that the Virginia House of Burgesses were dissolved for their 
 action on the bill closing Boston harbor. It was at ten in the 
 
 * Historical Illustrations No. XXIX.
 
 2JJO MISS 
 
 morning, on the 27th of May, the .next day, that they mm 
 in the Raleigh tavern to enter their solemn protest against 
 the act of the Governor, and send their words of cheer to 
 their brethren. It was at nine o'clock at night, on the same 
 evening, that the Burgesses and gentlemen of Virginia met 
 to honor with splendid entertainment the wife and daughters 
 of Lord Dunmore. 
 
 It was an act very characteristic of the men of Virginia 
 those courtly gentlemen whose portraits we now gaze on 
 with so much affection and admiration. They bowed low 
 to Lord Dunmore on that evening; but it was the bow of 
 the swordsman, who salutes his adversary as he places him 
 self on guard. 
 
 The "Apollo" room was a plain apartment, with white 
 washed walls, numerous windows, and a pine wainscotting, 
 painted lead color, running around the whole extent of the 
 room. 
 
 A door at one end afforded entrance, and at the other end 
 an old-fashioned fire-place was flanked by two other doors, 
 leading by winding stair-cases to the dormitories above. 
 
 A long table and a number of benches and chairs, hastily 
 provided, were the sole furniture of the apartment when the 
 Burgesses assembled. 
 
 Our chronicle aims rather to give colors and social pecu 
 liarities than public events, and in preceding pages we have 
 endeavored to trace some of the traits of the period, and to 
 exhibit the effect, in a social point of view, of those events 
 upon the minds especially of men leading that remote coun 
 try life, where the true character of movements and things 
 is caught more vividly and accurately, perhaps, than in other 
 localities. We have shown how the intelligence of the Bos 
 ton Port bill was received at Vanely, and we have just wit 
 nessed the scenes which attended the resolves of the Bur 
 gesses on the same subject. 
 
 We shall, therefore, leave to the imagination of the reader 
 the meeting at the Raleigh of those true and noble patriots 
 leave, also, to imagination, the countenances and words of
 
 Miss tu.,:.v :;:.;.. 231 
 
 those men who did so much for their descendants ; who, in 
 the long galleries of history, will hang the noblest pictures, 
 the heroes, of the dark and stormy days of our Revolution. 
 For him who writes, there seems ever to rest upon those 
 splendid figures and imperial brows a richer splendor than 
 we see to-day the glory and beauty of a purer patriotism, 
 and a more serene and changeless devotion to the cause of 
 truth and the happiness of their species. They were true as 
 8teel amid the fury of the storm, and sent their great voices 
 to their brethren without fear.* 
 
 Tout Seigneur, tout honneur ! 
 
 Of this body of men who threw down the gauntlet to a 
 wicked oppression, pledging life and fortune, and sacred 
 honor in the struggle ; of these men who met at the old 
 Raleigh, Virginia will ever be proud. Not a head but is dear 
 to her still, for there is not a name but is an echo of truth 
 and courage, and devotion to a noble cause. 
 
 The meeting in the " Apollo" room soon terminated. 
 
 Its deliberations had been marked by the utmost calm 
 ness, the most immovable decision, and a dignity and mod 
 eration which gave its action the effect of a decree emanat- 
 .ng from the flower of the patriotism and strength of the 
 colony. 
 
 The convention had agreed upon a proclamation to the 
 people of Virginia, headed, "An Association signed by 
 eighty-nine members of the late House of Burgesses." 
 
 It declared that the Burgesses, "having been deprived, by 
 the sudden interposition of the executive part of the govern 
 inent, from giving their countrymen the advice they wished 
 to convey to them in a legislative capacity, they found 
 themselves under the hard necessity of adopting this, the 
 only method they had left, of pointing out to their country 
 men such measures as in their opinion were best fitted to 
 secure their dear rights and liberty from destruction, by 
 the heavy hand of power now lifted against North Amer 
 fra." 
 
 * historical Illustration, NQ,
 
 Sf32 MISS BONNYBEI.. 
 
 The paper went on to declare that the application of the 
 colonies to Great Britain for justico had been disregarded , 
 that a determined system was being pressed to reduce them 
 to slavery, by taxing them without representation, and that 
 the Boston Harbor bill was unconstitutional and "most vio 
 lent and arbitrary" a " dangerous attempt to destroy th, f : 
 liberties of America." That tea should be used by no per 
 son wishing well to his country, and that no other East In 
 dia Company commodity whatsoever, but absolute necessa 
 ries, should be purchased or used. 
 
 " We are further clearly of opinion," said the paper, " that 
 an attack made on one of our sister colonies, to compel sub 
 mission to arbitrary taxes, is an attack made on all British 
 America, and threatens ruin to the rights of all, unless the 
 united wisdom of the whole be applied. And for this pur 
 pose it is recommended to the committee of correspondence, 
 that they communicate with their several corresponding 
 committees, on the expediency of appointing deputies from 
 the several colonies of British America, to meet in general 
 congress at such place, annually, as shall be thought most 
 convenient ; there to deliberate on those general measures 
 which the united interests of America may, from time tc 
 time, require." 
 
 The paper ended by declaring that a persistence in the 
 designs of Parliament would produce an " end of all com 
 mercial intercourse with Great Britain," and then were af 
 fixed the signatures of the eighty-nine Burgesses. 
 
 Thus, in this paper, the members of the late House of 
 Burgesses : 
 
 I. Protested against their arbitrary dissolution by Lord 
 Dunmore. 
 
 II. Declared the Boston Port bill unconstitutional, and a 
 blow at the liberties of the North American provinces. 
 
 HI. That they and their countrymen would use no tea 
 or other English commodities until the act was repealed. 
 
 IV. That an attack on the sister province of Massachusetts 
 was regarded as an. attack upon Virginia,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 2o3 
 
 V. That persistence in these measures would termiuatu 
 all intercourse with Great Britain. 
 
 VI. That steps should at once be taken for a general 
 congress to meet annually, and deliberate on such measures 
 as the united interests of the country at large might de 
 mand. 
 
 Thus the Burgesses of Virginia accurately and clearly de 
 fined the oppressions of England, and proclaimed the rights 
 of the people of North America. They declared commor 
 cause with the sister colonies, and pointed out the strength 
 to be derived from union. Thus Virginia was at her post, 
 as always, in the van of the great army of resistance. All 
 eyes were directed toward her, and her voice of good cheer 
 was heard through the gathering storm, as her sisters had 
 heard it in the past.* 
 
 In the burning oratory of Patrick Heniy in '65, the 
 gauntlet was thrown down to the originators of the Stamp 
 Act. 
 
 In the protests of the Burgesses in '74, the issue was joined 
 on the Boston Port bill. 
 
 The hot metal, for nine years, growing hotter and hotter 
 in the cauldron, was thus poured into the mould of revolu 
 tion. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 IN WHICH A CHARIOT ARRIVES. 
 
 " WELL friend," said the stranger, issuing forth with St. 
 
 John from the Apollo chamber of the " Raleigh," " you see 
 
 the game 's afoot ! the leashes are loosed, and the dogs of 
 
 war bay on the track !" 
 
 "Your prophecies rush to their fulfillment truly!" 
 
 " They were not such they were mere announcements. 
 
 And now, friend, I must go. My work calls me. Events 
 * historical lUustr^tions, No. XXXI.
 
 234 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 tread on each other's heels, and minutes grow to days. 1 
 have told you where to find me, if you wish, in the capital." 
 
 And saluting his companion, the stranger turned away 
 and was lost in the depths of the crowd. 
 
 St. John returned slowly to his lodgings, and sitting 
 down, remained for a long time buried in thought. In the 
 two days which had just elapsed he had received so many 
 new and vivid impressions that he needed silence and reflec 
 tion. He had heard the moving accents of a mysterious 
 agent of revolution ; he had seen the representatives of the 
 people defy the authority of the government; he felt the 
 ground shake beneath him as it were, with the tramp of a 
 nation slowly advancing toward the gulf of war. 
 
 On that other more painful event of recent hours, he tried 
 not to let his mind dwell. At first he succeeded, but sooq 
 his resolution succumbed, and, with a bitter sigh, he went 
 over every detail of his misfortune. 
 
 " Well, well," he said at length, rising, " let the dead days 
 bury the dead, I '11 not touch the corpse. I '11 not whine 
 and moan, let what will come ! Patience ! 't is all in a life 
 time !" 
 
 And going to the window, he gazed sorrowfully into the 
 street. As he did so, a chariot stopped before the door of 
 the large house opposite, the residence of his friend, Mr. 
 Burwell. He started as he saw Bonnybel issue from it. She 
 was followed by the gouty old colonel and the rest of the 
 family, and the great traveling trunks, containing doubtless 
 the ball costumes of the ladies, having been removed, old 
 Cato whipped up his four long-tailed horses, and the chariot 
 drove to the stables. 
 
 The visitors were received at the door by Mr. Burwell ; 
 a beautiful young lady, with sunny curls, embraced and 
 kissed Bonnybel ; it was she whom the girl called " Belle- 
 bouche" and the door closed upon the party. 
 
 St. John returned to his sofa and his reflections. They 
 busied themselves with the query whether he should attend 
 the assembly. At last he s?ernp<l tQ li;ive mude up his tuuul
 
 MISS BOXNYBJiL. 236 
 
 " Yes, I '11 go," he muttered, " and not act the part of the 
 Knight of the Forlorn Countenance ! I '11 go dance, and 
 laugh, and be as hypocritical as the best of them. What a 
 world it would be if every luckless fellow turned hermit ! 
 if every heavy heart did not mask its anguish with a laugh !" 
 
 And looking with a sardonic smile at a picture resembling 
 Bonnybel, which hung on the wall, he added : 
 
 " The fallen salutes his victor 1" 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE ASSEMBLY AT THE CAPITOL. 
 
 NIGHT had fallen, brilliant with stars. The streets of the 
 capital- resounded ceaselessly with the roll of chariots. A 
 laughing throng rushed, with merriment and confusion, to 
 ward the center of attraction the old capitol, where the 
 ball was held. 
 
 A procession of splendid equipages constantly deposited 
 their burdens before the portico. These burdens were pomp 
 ous old planters in rich dark doublets, powdered heads, knee 
 breeches, and silk stockings ; grand old dames in black silks 
 and diamonds, and laughing little maidens, who flashed'forth 
 like butterflies in their immense hooped dresses of glittering 
 satin, with jewels and laces, and curls and smiles, the latter 
 directed at the gay gallants who received them. 
 
 The youngsters in question did not come in the family 
 chariots. They preferred, to that " slow" mode of convey 
 mice, the saddles of their thorough-breds. On their fine 
 prancing horses they had galloped by the coaches, uttering 
 a hundred jests, and exhibiting their graces to Dulcinea 
 within, and they now stood prepared to lead in the ladies. 
 
 Let us leave the scenes of hubbub at the door, and;enter 
 the assembly room. 
 
 It is filled with the laughter of revelers. A great crowd,
 
 236 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 undulating to and fro beneath the brilliant lamps, is con 
 stantly increased by new arrivals. From end to end of the 
 great room, runs a buzz of voices, which rises at times to a 
 deafening din, and when the sable musicians in the corner 
 scrape their catgut, a thrill of delight runs through the 
 young men and maidens. Silks and satins rustle and M his 
 tie, like the broad leaves of corn when a breeze passes over 
 them ; the bright eyes of the ladies summon their partners 
 for the quadrille and the minuet. 
 
 From his post in a corner, St. John sees Colonel Vane and 
 his family enter. The colonel limps, leaning on his gold- 
 headed cane, erect Aunt- Mabel at his side. Behind comes 
 Miss Seraphina with her friend, Mr. John Hamilton ; Tom 
 Alston escorts Helen ; and lastly Miss Bonnybel appears on 
 the arm of Barry Hunter, the Prince of the Wilderness. St. 
 John does not look at Mr. Burwell's party, he gazes calmly 
 at Bonnybel. 
 
 She is clad in a dress of gauze-like fabric, over a petticoat 
 of azure satin. A mass of lace envelopes her beautiful arms, 
 and she looks as fresh as a rose. Her hair, profusely pow 
 dered and looped with pearls, is carried back from her white 
 forehead ; her violet eyes sparkle with anticipation. 
 
 The dark brunette complexion, black hair, and calm face 
 ,f the gentleman who comes and salutes her, present a de 
 cided contrast to the maiden. 
 
 It is Mr. St. John, who approaches in the most courteous 
 way, and pays his respects to the party. A slight color 
 comes to the girl's cheek as he bows, and she holds out hoi 
 hand and presses his own warmly. The pressure is not re 
 turned, and St. John, bowing low, makes way for the gen 
 tlemen who hasten to pay their respects to the little beauty. 
 
 All at once the brilliant crowd is seen to divide. Lord 
 Dunmore, in a costume of immense splendor, enters. Ilia 
 squat little figure is covered with embroidery and decora 
 tions. His countenance wears an elaborate smile,, but his 
 eyes do not smile at all, they glitter, so to speak, on the as* 
 embly.
 
 iiicS BOJSMVliKL. i>37 
 
 The ladies, however the countess and her daughters 
 seem unaflectedly pleased. Innumerable presentations com 
 mence then, and these are succeeded by a minuet, in 
 which the countess is led forth by Mr. Randolph, of the 
 council. 
 
 The festivities of the evening are thus formally inaugu 
 rated, and thenceforth the assembly commences in earnest 
 Quadrilles, contra-dances, minuets succeed each other ; the 
 joy and mirth of the ball begins to culminate. The apart 
 ment trembles and quakes with the flood of voices, the 
 floors jar with the feet of the dancers as they move, as 
 they move to the loud music, which rejoices and triumph* 
 in its sway over gallants and dames. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE RIVAL LIEUTENANTS OF THE GUARDS. 
 
 " ARK you angry with me, cousin ?" 
 
 St. John, who was talking with his friend, Mr. Hamilton, 
 felt a hand on his arm from behind. He started, and turn 
 ing, saw Bonnybel leaning on the arm of a gentleman. 
 
 There was a color in her cheeks, and something like a 
 pout upon her lips, but the eyes of the young lady were very 
 sad as she gazed at St. John. 
 
 " Angry ?" he said recovering from his momentary sur 
 prise ; " by no means ; why should you think so ?" 
 
 " Because you 've scarce saluted me. and not asked me to 
 dance." 
 
 And Miss Bonnybel pouted again. 
 
 " I am not very gay this evening," replied the young man. 
 " I spare your feelings, for I should doubtless weary you." 
 
 " You are very cold !" she murmured, in a tone which ho 
 alone caught, "you look at me as though I were the m ( >i 
 iu liifereut person in the world to you."
 
 '2.'58 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 And the large sad eyes dwelt ponsively upon his counteb 
 ance. 
 
 His pulse throbbed, but that was all. He did not speak. 
 
 " You forget that long ago, you engnged ray hand for 3 
 minuet," she continued, coloring, " but, doubtless, you hav 
 not thought of me or the engagement." 
 
 " On the contrary, I was coming to claim your iiand fot 
 the next. Will you dance with me ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 The embarrassing conversation was interrupted by the 
 appearance of Mr. Liudon, who, in his splendid uniform of 
 lieutenant of the guards, came and saluted, profoundly, the 
 young lady. 
 
 " May I have the honor of dancing the next minuet with 
 you, madame ?" he said. 
 
 "I have just engaged myself to my cousin, Mr. St. John, 
 sir," she replied, coldly. 
 
 The two men looked at each other with that expression 
 which indicates concealed hostility, and bowed low. 
 
 "Then I trust I may have the pleasure of presenting Miss 
 Vane to the countess and his Excellency," continued Lin- 
 don. 
 
 " Pray excuse me, sir. I propose going up with my fa 
 ther." 
 
 Linden's head rose proudly. 
 
 " I am unfortunate in my requests," he said, " but at least 
 I may hope to secure Miss Vane's hand for the next qua 
 drille." 
 
 " I am engaged, sir." 
 
 " For the next, then." 
 
 " It is very fatiguing." 
 
 Lindon's face colored with anger, and with a haughty toss 
 of the head, he said, 
 
 " I regret that Miss Vane should regard me with personal 
 dislike." 
 
 " I am sorry I nave offended you, sir ; it gives me nc 
 pleasure to wound any one's feelings."
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 2( 8 
 
 " Miss Vane's theory and practice slightly differ." 
 
 St. John had been chafing for some n^oments at Lindon'* 
 tone. He now raised his finger, coldly, and said, 
 
 " You must be aware, sir, that this conversation is dis 
 agreeable to Miss Vane. I insist on its terminating at 
 once." 
 
 The flush of anger deepened upon Lindon's face, and he 
 was about to reply, when the musicians struck up a minuet. 
 Bonnybel hastily took her cousin's arm, and led him to the 
 dance. In all their movements they were followed by the 
 glittering and sinister eyes of Lindon, and the expression of 
 his face indicated profound rage. 
 
 But this rage AVES destined to be further increased. 
 
 As the minuet ended, a sudden burst of laughter, at the 
 door of the apartment, attracted the attention of every one, 
 and all eyes were turned upon Lindon. 
 
 " Pray what 's the jest yonder, Captain Waters ?" said 
 St. John to 'that gentleman who stood near ; " something 
 seems to amuse the company." 
 
 " Ah, farceur /" cried the captain, twirling his huge mus 
 tache, and making a low salute to Bonnybel, " do you deny 
 that you are the originator of this comedy this excellent- 
 admirable comedy ?" 
 
 " Comedy ?" 
 
 " Farce ! harlequinade ! what you please !" cried the cap 
 tain, laughing, " and see if my opinion is not that of all !" 
 
 As he spoke, all eyes were turned upon St. John. The 
 young man's brows contracted, and desiring that Bonnybel 
 might not share this strange publicity, he surrendered her 
 to the protection of the other. 
 
 " Right ! right !" said the captain, shaking with laughter 
 '* search ! investigate ! find out, ny dear fellow !" 
 
 " I certainly shall." 
 
 And pushing through the crowd, St. John gained the 
 door of the apartment. He stopped suddenly. 
 
 In the door of the ball room, with the serene air of one 
 who considers himself worth looking at, stood St. John's?
 
 240 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 bervant, Julius. The negro wore a uniform exactly similiaT 
 to Mr. Linden's. It had been tossed to him scornfully by 
 nis master, after the scene at the palace, and Jnlius now 
 donned it for the purpose of shining in the eyes of his fellow 
 servants. 
 
 Attracted to the door of the ball-room by his natural love 
 for sight-seeing, Julius had been seen by the company, and 
 as neither Mr. Lindon nor the guards were very popular, 
 the sight had been greeted with uproarious laughter. 
 
 St. John could not repress a grim smile at the superb at 
 titude of Julius, but this instantly gave way to displeasure. 
 He advanced with a gathering frown, and the first intima 
 tion which the sable gentleman had of the presence of his 
 master, was the vigorous application of the flat of a dress 
 sword to his shoulders. 
 
 " Go and take off that suit this instant, rascal !" said St, 
 John. " Go !" 
 
 Julius disappeared. He did not utter a word, or walk, or 
 fun, he vanished, amid a peal of laughter. 
 
 St. John immediately sought with his eye for Mr. Lin 
 don ; his intention being to make that gentleman an expla 
 nation and apology. He saw his rival glaring at him with a 
 face pale with rage, but the crowd separated them. St. 
 John was borne to the side of Lord Dunmore. 
 
 "Pray, what was the occasion of that laughter?" bis 
 lordship was saying to a gentleman near at hand. 
 
 " A strange specta^ 1 _, my lord," was the reply ; " 't was 
 a negro clad precisely like the lieutenant of the guards, in a 
 laced uniform, with epaulettes." 
 
 "Are you jesting, sir?" cried Dunmore, with flashing 
 eyes; "the costume of Mr. Lindon ?" 
 
 " Precisely, my lord." 
 
 Dunmore's face flushed with wrath, and the black vein 
 swelled. 
 
 " Whence this impudent outrage ?" he cried ; " answer 
 me, gentlemen ! Who will explain this base insult to my 
 self and my authority ?"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 241 
 
 "I will, my lord," said St. John, approaching and bow 
 ing. " I regret to say that I am the cause of the out 4 
 rage." 
 
 " Ah you ! you, Mr. St. John !" cried the Governor, 
 glaring on the young man, almost speechless with rage ; 
 ''you again cross my path !" 
 
 ' ; My lord, I did not come to be insulted, but to explain, 
 If you permit me, I can do so very briefly." 
 
 And seeing that the Governor's wrath was too great for 
 him to speak, he added : 
 
 " The explanation is simple. Having resigned my com 
 mission in your lordship's service, I had no further use for 
 my uniform, and my servant fell heir to it, in common with 
 all others which I decide to wear no longer. He has donned 
 the suit to-night, from a childish desire, no doubt, to excite 
 admiration. I need scarcely say that his intention was un 
 known to me, and to-morrow I shall punish him. I am sorry 
 that I even seem to have any agency in so stupid and ill- 
 bred a jest, and shah 1 explain to Mr. Lindon, and entreat 
 his pardon." 
 
 The young man bowed low as he ended, and left Lord 
 Dunmore as he uttered a hoarse growl of anger. 
 
 At the same moment, supper was announced, and this im 
 portant event proved a complete diversion to the company 
 from the enjoyment of the farce. But it continued to be 
 food for laughter long afterward. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE SECRETARY. 
 
 FOR a time, nothing was now heard but the rattle of 
 plates and glasses, the crying of toasts, the buzz and laugh 
 ter, which accompanied the process of doing honor to the 
 profuse suoper.
 
 242 MISS JlONNYBEL, 
 
 Then the ladies were conducted back to the ball-room, 
 the music recomnenced, and the assembly, interrupted only 
 for the moment, went on its way again in triumph. In those 
 times, a company did not separate because so slight a cir 
 "umstance as the sounding of midnight occurred, and the 
 dancing began moi'e gayly than ever. 
 
 St. John was standing listlessly looking on, when Captain 
 Waters drew his arm into his own, and suggested the pro 
 priety of a glass or a dozen of Canary. 
 
 "The fact is," said the captain, as they went toward the 
 supper room, " my wife 's not here, and I feel like a jolly 
 bachelor. To let you into a secret, my dear St. John, 
 Madam Henriette 's a terrible personage, and makes me be 
 have myself. But who goes yonder ?" 
 " " Where ? 
 
 "There ! Why it 's Foy ! Good evening, comrade !" 
 
 And the captain made a sign to the secretary, who, pnle 
 and calm as usual, was gliding among the revelers. He 
 stopped, and returned the greeting of the soldier with calm 
 courtesy. 
 
 " Why, I 'm delighted to see you," said the captain ; 
 "labors over for the day?" 
 
 " My labors, captair. ? Good evening, Mr. St. John." 
 
 St. John bowed courteously. 
 
 " Yes, your writing," said the soldier ; " it must be terri 
 bly trying, this thing of copying all the Governor's procla 
 oaations." 
 
 The secretary's keen eye rested steadily for a moment 
 upon the face of his interlocutor, and then was withdrawn. 
 
 " My work is indeed sometimes very exhausting, sir," he 
 said. 
 
 '* See there !" cried the captain, with an innocent air ; "I 
 said so !" 
 
 " You said, captain ?" 
 
 " Why, that this civil life was terribly wearisome ! M 
 
 The secretary inclined his head. 
 
 " And to think that you would n't believe me, my deai
 
 vrs3 BOXNYfcEL. 243 
 
 Foy, when I told you that our old adventures were far more 
 attractive and amusing !" 
 
 O 
 
 " They were truly very enticing to young men, ag we then 
 were." 
 
 " Reinfels and all, comrade !" 
 
 " Ah ! that was a misfortune, sir," said Foy, courteously 
 
 " A misfortune ! morbleu, comrade, 't was no such thing. 
 It was a splendid adventure, and you rose, in my opinion, 
 immensely after that scene. I repeat, my dear Foy, that I 
 positively adored you for that blow !" 
 
 The secretary again made his deprecating wave of the 
 hand. 
 
 " Come ! no disclaimers ! no modest expression, as of a 
 young lady, who says, sweetly, ' You take me very much by 
 surprise, sir really la !' I say, comrade, 't was a great 
 blow, this coup of Reinfels, as I call it ! Do n't deny it !" 
 
 " You are very flattering, captain." 
 
 " Not at all, comrade ; I 'in merely just. And now mark 
 my words are you listening ?" 
 
 " Yes, Captain Waters." 
 
 " Well, my dear Foy, in future treatises upon swordsman 
 ship, after the author has described every imaginable lunge, 
 in carte, in tierce, in guard, semicircle, octave, and flango- 
 net after all this, he will write, 'To these must be added 
 the coup used by Captain Foy, in his duel with Captain 
 Waters at Reinfels, and known as the Coup de Reinfels!'' 
 You see, comrade, 't is really indescribable." 
 
 " Upon my word, Captain Waters, you overwhelm me." 
 
 "No, 't is the truth, and now confess that 't was better to 
 be fighting over there, with the jolliest comrades to look 
 on, morbleu, than to be driving a quill here, under the nose 
 of his Excellency, with such rascally spectators as this 
 Conolly and others!" 
 
 The secretary's eye flashed, and his piercing look tried to 
 plunge beneath the captain's laughing face and divine his 
 thoughts. But the soldier preserved the most innocent air, 
 gazing at Foy with tire utino.it simplicity and good humor
 
 244 MISS BONNYBEt. 
 
 The secretary suddenly turned away, and etired as it 
 were, inlo himself. 
 
 "I have seen Major Conolly at the palace, it is true. Cap 
 tain Waters," he said, calmly, " but I have not the honor 
 of his friendship." 
 
 "A back-woodsman, is he not ?" 
 
 " I do not know, sir." 
 
 " From Pennsylvania ?" 
 
 4< I really regret my inability to deliver any thing, with 
 certainty, upon the subject, Captain Waters ; and now, with 
 your permission, I will first see his Excellency a moment, 
 and then retire, as I need rest." 
 
 " A moment !" said the captain ; " did you deliver my 
 message ?" 
 
 " Your message, sir ?" 
 
 "To his Excellency, my dear Foy, about the Burgesses, 
 you know. I experienced a sentiment of real pride, yes 
 terday, when they were turned out of the capitol, for you 
 will remember that I requested you to suggest that idea to 
 his Excellency !" 
 
 Under this persevering banter, the calm secretary's pale 
 countenance did not move. 
 
 " Your suggestion escaped my memory, sir," he said. 
 
 " Ah ! then 't was not on my account his Excellency dis 
 missed the youngsters ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Well, my dear Foy, you are not my friend, and as I 
 have not had even the least adventure or fight with his Ex 
 cellency's handsome guards, commanded by that broad- 
 ghouldered Mr. Lindon, I 'm in a furious bad humor. A 
 soldier, though, should not be discouraged. We may yet 
 have a little encounter who knows ?" 
 
 " All things are possible, Captain Waters," said the secre 
 tary, calmly ; " now I must leave you, sir." 
 
 And with the same impassive air, the pale gentleman in 
 clined his head, and disappeared in the crowd. 
 
 " Go on, snake ! go on, conspirator !" said the captain,
 
 3VIISS 
 
 looking after him as he was lost in the brilliant undulation? 
 of the excited and uproarious crowd ; *' I '11 yet cross youi 
 sword, and show you something better than the coup dt 
 Rein f els ! Come, my dear St. John, let 's get a cnp of 
 Canary. Talking with that fellow makes me choke, mor- 
 bleu /" 
 
 And they entered the supper room. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIL 
 
 BT. JOHN AND LINDON. 
 
 ST. JOHN had not advanced five steps beyond the thresh 
 old of the door, when he met Lindon face to face. 
 
 The eyes of that gentleman were fixed upon him with aa 
 expression of rage and menace which fairly made them 
 blaze. 
 
 Lindon seemed to hesitate between two courses to throw 
 into Mr. St. John's face the glass of wine which he held in 
 his hand, or publicly strike and outrage him. 
 
 A glance at the cold and resolute countenance of the 
 young man, however, seemed to deter him from pursuing 
 either of these courses, and instead, he advanced two steps, 
 and made a low and exaggerated bow. 
 
 " I have been looking for you, sir," he said, " I am glad 
 that at last I have found you." 
 
 " Looking for me ?" said St. John, with cold politeness. 
 
 "Yes, sirl" 
 
 " Pray for what purpose, if I may venture to ask ?" 
 
 Lindon looked around, and seeing that the crowd were 
 completely absorbed in drinking healths and dispatching 
 the viands, advanced another pace toward St. John, and 
 said, 
 
 "I was looking for you in order to join me in making 
 iome arrangements, sir."
 
 246 MISS HONNYBEL, 
 
 " Arrangements V" said St. John ; " pray expiain yourself, 
 Mr. Lindon " 
 
 " You do not understand?" 
 " I am very stupid this evening, and must beg you to ex 
 
 Lindon raised his head with haughty anger, and said, 
 
 " The arrangements I desire, sir, are those to be made be 
 tween my friend, Captain Foy, his Excellency's private secre 
 tary, and a gentleman designated by yourself." 
 
 "Oh! a duel!" said St. John, coldly, "you mean a 
 duel?" 
 
 "Precisely," said Lindon, bowing ceremoniously, and bit 
 ing his lip to hide his wrath, " you have understood me at 
 last, sir." 
 
 St. John returned the cold gaze with a look as cold, and 
 said, 
 
 "May I ask, Mr. Lindon, why you consider it necessary 
 to take my life, or for me to take yours ?" 
 
 " That is wholly unnecessary !" 
 
 " Pardon me, I think it is." 
 
 " Mr. St. John, do you refuse my defiance ? Do you 
 first hide yourself, and when you are found, retreat ! I 
 say retreat, sir! I have been looking for you, and I 
 thought it was only necessary to find you. Am I mis 
 taken, sir?" 
 
 A flash darted from the young man's eyes, and he raised 
 his head with an air so proud, that it far exceeded the state- 
 liness of his adversary. For a moment he made no reply 
 to these words, but controlling himself at length, said, 
 calmly, 
 
 " I also have been looking for you, sir." 
 
 " Good ! then we understand each other perfectly l w 
 
 " N/3, sir, I think not." 
 
 " Sir ? 
 
 "You sought me to deliver a defiance n 
 
 Yes, sir." 
 
 "While I sought you to make you an apology."
 
 HISS BONKYBEL. 24 1 
 
 An expression of profound incredulity came to Linden'* 
 face, and then this look gave way to one of the deepest con 
 tempt. 
 
 " I am glad I spoke,' 1 he snid, with a curling lip, " before 
 you had an opportunity of addressing me. I will accept no 
 apologies! I reject them in advance ! I have delivered my 
 defiance, and I will not withdraw it !" 
 
 St. John listened to these insulting words with an air of 
 stupefaction almost. He seemed scarcely to realize that fa 
 tuity could proceed so far. 
 
 " Mr. Lindon," he said, at length, with eyes which seemed 
 to blaze, " are you demented, out of your senses, lunatic, or 
 is it your intention to act a comedy ?" 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " I said simply that I sought you to make you that apolo 
 gy which is due from one gentleman to another whose feel 
 ings he has unintentionally been the cause of wounding. 
 Stop, sir ! Before this interview proceeds further I will make 
 that apology in spite of your insults. Another word such 
 as you have just uttered will seal my lips. I have therefore 
 the honor to say, sir, that I had no part in the stupid jest of 
 that servant this evening, whose presumption it is my inten 
 tion to punish. I persist in making the explanation, that 
 the use of that uniform by my servant was wholly without 
 my knowledge or consent an explanation due to myself, 
 inasmuch as I will not suffer you or any one to think that 
 I was guilty of so ill-bred and puei'ile an action. Now, 
 sir, I am not accustomed to make apologies; I would 
 much rather decide differences otherwise. If, after this 
 full and complete explanation, you still persist in your de 
 fiance " 
 
 " I ,do !" said Lindon, trembling with anger ; " your state 
 ment may be true, or it may be untrue ; in either event I 
 hold you responsible at the sword's point !" 
 
 St. John stood for a moment pale and silent, confronting 
 his insulting opponent. He scarcely seemed to reahVe that 
 hatred could go so far upon a basis so trifling.
 
 248 MISS BONJSYBIII,. 
 
 " Well, sir !" said Lindon, " do you intend to show tb 
 white feather ?* 
 
 St. John turned paler than ever, and his eyes filled wdth 
 blood. 
 
 " Mr. Lindon," he said, sternly, " I will first ask you a ques 
 tion." 
 
 " Well, sir ?" 
 
 " Are you mad, or intoxicated ?" 
 
 " No, sir ! I am neither ! I am thirsty, sir, however, for 
 your blood !" 
 
 " For my blood ? Then you take advantage of this trifle 
 to insult me and break down my patience." 
 
 "I do!" 
 
 " You do not fight for the cause you have specified ?" 
 
 "No, sir!" 
 
 " Pray, why, then ?" 
 
 " Ask yourself, sir !" 
 
 " Mr. Lindon, you will pardon me, but your conversation 
 is either stupid, or you are fond of enigmas your real 
 reason, sir I" 
 
 " Ask yourself, I repeat !" said Lindon, pale with rage ; 
 " I suppose you have not humiliated, laughed at, triumphed 
 over me yonder sufliciently !" 
 
 "I sir? I humiliated you, triumphed over you!" said St. 
 John, in profound astonishment. 
 
 "Yes, sir! your air of innocence and surprise does not 
 dupe me ! I am not to be tricked by so shallow a device !" 
 
 The profound and violent passion of the young man's na 
 ture, upon which he had heretofore placed a resolute curb, 
 began to rise and foam, as he listened to these repeated in 
 sults. 
 
 " You then design to force me to fight you about noth- 
 ing!" he said, with increasing anger. 
 
 " Yes 1" was the reply. 
 
 "You refuse to tell me any rational grounds for youi 
 quarrel." 
 
 u I do, sir I If you choose to ignore the fact that you hav
 
 MISS BON >r BEL. 248 
 
 supplanted me, laughed at ~ne, made me a jest in your con 
 versation with a young lady to whom I have paid my ad 
 dresses, then I give no reason ! If you choose to put on ;t 
 mask, and act your part, and puetend ignorance," he con 
 tinued, white with rage, " then I will not explain myself! If 
 you refuse to regard the words which I now utter in yoiu 
 hearing as sufficiently insulting, I will make them, more dis 
 tinct and unmistakeable ! If no word of insult will move 
 you, and induce you to give me that satisfaction which 
 you rightfully owe me, then I '11 throw this glass of wine 
 in your face, sir ! and we '11 see if that outrage will arouse 
 you !" 
 
 St. John advanced a step, with a countenance as pale as 
 death, in which his dark eyes burned like coals of fire. 
 
 " Enough, sir !" he said, in a voice low and distinct ; " you 
 have accomplished your purpose, which was doubtless to 
 drive me beyond all patience. We had better pause at the 
 words, sir. Were you to move your arm to throw that 
 wine-glass in my face, I should kill you where you stand. 
 I have the honor, sir, to place myself entirely at your 
 orders. My friend, Captain Waters, will doubtless act for 
 me." 
 
 And taking a step backward, the young man bowed with 
 cold ceremony, and was silent. An expression of fierce 
 satisfaction diffused itself over his adversary's face and he 
 also bowed low. 
 
 "Really," said Captain Waters in the most cheerful voice, 
 ' 't is delightful to see an affair conducted in this elegant 
 \vay ! Will I act for you, my dear St. John ? Why cer 
 tainly I will ; and now I have the honor to inform Mr. Lin- 
 don, that my dear friend, Captain Foy, or other gentleman 
 representing him, will find me all day to-morrow at tho 
 Raleigh tavern. Eh ? Is that satisfactory ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said Lindon, haughtily ; " you shall hear from 
 Captain Foy." 
 
 " Good !" said the soldier in a friendly tone ; " that is efc 
 cellent! Morbleu! 'twill give mo absolute ilelight to ucfc 
 
 11*
 
 250 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 with Foy. Who knows but he'll take a hand himself i* And 
 then hurrah for the coup of Reinfeh /" 
 
 The captain's spirits seemed to have risen immensely, and 
 he curled his moustache with an air of the proudest satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 " Come, my dear St. John," he said, " as this little affair 'a 
 arranged, let us get our Canary and " 
 
 " No, I believe I '11 return, captain, but I won't take you. 
 I may count on you ?" 
 
 " To the death ! 
 
 " Then I will see you to-morrow." 
 
 "I '11 arrange all duly. Come dine at ' Flodden' and I'll 
 report to you. Is it understood ?" 
 
 St. John nodded, and they parted. His interview with 
 Lindon had passed unnoticed almost. 
 
 The crowd, in the midst of their uproar and revelry, had 
 only seen two men holding an animated conversation, ter 
 minating in a ceremonious bow. So sees the world. 
 
 As St. John left his side, the captain muttered, with a 
 smile, 
 
 " Lieutenant St. John and Lieutenant Lindon ! Captain 
 Waters and Captain Foy ! Why the affair arranges itself 
 morbleu!" 
 
 And he twirled his long black moustache with joyous ar 
 dor. 
 
 As St. John appeared in the dancing room, the assembly 
 was coming to an end. It terminated with a reel, as usual, 
 and the manner in which the ladies whirled round in their 
 great hooped skirts, or darted from end to end of the apart 
 ment, was marvelous to behold. More than one pile of 
 curls lost the pearl loops and comb which held them, and 
 fell in raven or golden showers on snowy shoulders, sending 
 on the air a storm of perfumed powder. But the accident 
 was unheeded the reel overthrows the influence of cere 
 mony, and they danced on carelessly until the long scrape 
 of the musician's bow gave the signal that the assembl) waa 
 at an <>:id.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 251 
 
 It was the expiring compliment to royalty in Virginia, 
 It was sent upon its way that evening with a "Joy go with 
 you !" and the most stately bows and curteseys ; the next 
 ball in which the representatives of England were concerned, 
 was opened on the battle-field. 
 
 It was a singular celebration, coming as it did between 
 the seditious assemblage of Burgesses, in the Raleigh, in 
 the morning, and the fasting, humiliation, and prayer of 
 the first of June. This last recommendation of the Bur 
 gesses was widely responded to, and the gentlemen and la 
 dies of the colony went into mourning on that day, and heard 
 a sermon, and fasted, and prayed for the liberties of the 
 land, threatened by the Boston Port bill.* In the old church 
 of Williamsburg, the patriotic clergyman did not mind the 
 presence of the frowning Governor, and spoke without minc 
 ing his words. 
 
 Two hours after the breaking up of the assembly, St. 
 John was looking pensively through his window, when he 
 saw a light glimmer in a window opposite, and in an instant 
 Bonnybel appeared in the luminous circle of rays. 
 
 The figure of the young lady, clad in her night dress of 
 snowy white, was visible for an instant only. A white arm 
 was raised, the falling sleeve of the robe leaving it bare, and 
 the extinguisher plunged the whole into darkness. 
 
 " I am fond of emblematics," muttered the young man, 
 with his sardonic smile, beneath which was, however, con 
 cealed bitter pain and melancholy, " and here I have one 
 that suits my case admirably! I beam my brightest for her, 
 and think that she values me somewhat, when down comes 
 the extinguisher ! I am put out at a word 1 Well, so let 
 it be ! I have something else on my hands now. I need 
 rest for to-morrow." 
 
 And without further words, he retired to bed. 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXXI J .
 
 252 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVm. 
 
 ST. JOHW GOES TO "PLODDEN." 
 
 Ow the next morning, St. John made the Vanes a visit, al 
 Mr. Harwell's, and found them all ready to depart. Tho 
 chariot was at the door. 
 
 To the cordial invitation of the colonel to return with 
 them, the young man responded by saying that he had 
 " important business," which might detain him some days ; 
 he would come as soon as was possible. Few words passed 
 between himself and Bonnybel, and these were very formal 
 and constrained. So they departed. 
 
 The young man then turned his thoughts to another sub 
 ject. We have seen that he had appointed with Captain 
 Waters to come and dine with that worthy, and hear the 
 result of the negotiations with Foy, and toward the cap 
 tain's, which was up the river, he now directed his way. 
 mounted on " Tallyho," who cantered on gayly, and soon 
 left Williamsburg in the far distance. 
 
 A ride of an hour brought St. John in front of a fine old 
 building crowning a bluff of the James, and surveying, from 
 its lofty position, the wide expanse of field, and stream, and 
 forest. 
 
 This was " Flodden," the residence of Captain Ralph 
 Waters, and, far off, across the river, on a lofty hill toward 
 the west, the young man discerned the walls of his own 
 house, " Flower c Hundreds," embowered in the spring 
 foliage, and glittering in the fresh light of morning. 
 
 St. John had scarcely drawn rein at the door of " Flod 
 den," when the voice of Captain Waters, from within the 
 hall, greeted him jovinlly, and the next moment saw the 
 figure of the soldier advance, with a smile of welcome on 
 the bold features. 
 
 St. John's horse was led away, and they entered. 
 
 " Why, here you are as punctual as a clock, morbku I*
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 258 
 
 I 
 
 cried the captain ; " delighted to see you on this glori 
 ous morning. Faith ! it makes a man laugh in spite of 
 him ! 
 
 And the captain performed that ceremony with great 
 gusto. When the worthy soldier laughed he seemed sim 
 ply to carry out the design for which his features were 
 moulded, as we have said elsewhere in speaking of him. 
 
 His bold and vigorous nature appeared to find food for 
 laughter in every thing, and his clear eyes looked the whole 
 world in the face with careless good humor. 
 
 "A fine animal that?" said the captain, gazing at "Tal- 
 lyho," as he was led away, " and I see Selim's blood plain in 
 him." 
 
 " You are right, captain." 
 
 " Well, you see, I seldom am any thing else in regard to 
 horses." 
 
 " And as to men ?" 
 
 " Well !" said Captain Waters, curling his moustache, " I 
 judge them tolerably too. There 's Foy, now, thinks he 's 
 duping your humble servant, and preserves the most mys 
 terious air about things I 'm perfectly acquainted with. 
 Really, a perfect snake in the grass is that Foy !" 
 
 And the captain curled his moustache downward, a sign 
 of disdain with him always. 
 
 " You have seen him of course," said St. John, " as he 
 acts for Mr. Lindon?" 
 
 " Why, certainly, my dear fellow," returned the captain, 
 " and we had the most charming little interview you ever 
 heard of. Wait till we 're alone, after dinner, comrade, and 
 I '11 tell you how it was." 
 
 " Good ! I'll listen with pleasure, and I'm not curious at 
 present. Tell me when we 've dined." 
 
 " Count on that, mon ami, and now let 's go see madau? 
 and the bonpere" 
 
 " With pleasure ! 
 
 Madam, whom the captain addressed also, from time to 
 time, as Henriette, was an extremely handsome dame of
 
 254 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 about thirty, perhaps a year or two more, and carried hex 
 self with an air of the most aristocratic ease. Two little 
 girls played on the carpet at her side, and a little boy waa 
 busy on a wooden horse in the distance. 
 
 Opposite this domestic group sat old John Waters, the 
 captain's father, in his wide, softly-cushioned chair, with his 
 benignant smile, his gray, thin locks, and his empty pipe 
 carelessly resting against his knee. 
 
 Mrs. Waters advanced, with her courtly and graceful 
 case, to press St. John's hand, the old man rose erect in hia 
 chair, and smiled more benignantly than ever, and even the 
 little girls rose too, and came, bashfully peering from their 
 showers of golden curls, to receive their share of the young 
 man's attention. 
 
 It was only Captain Ralph Waters, jr., that, somewhat 
 petted and spoiled young gentleman, who paid no attention 
 to the visitor. 
 
 " See the domestic and touching group !" said the captain ; 
 "the hen in the midst of her chickens; the dame partlet 
 scratching and clucking.** 
 
 Madam Henriette shook her handsome head, threatening 
 ly, at this address, and said, 
 
 "Well, sir, and pray what are you?" 
 
 "I *m a rooster," observed the captain with great candor ; 
 w you see, my dear partlet, I fought the Fran$ais so long, 
 and heard the crowing of the Gallic cock so often, that mor- 
 blcul I 've turned to a rooster completely." 
 
 " And I suppose you like to crow over us poor women ?" 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 "Is he not a shameful man, Mr. St. John?" said the lady, 
 laughing ; "he has not the least regard for our feelings." 
 
 " Your feelings, madam ?" 
 
 "Yes ; only the other day I requested him to buy me a 
 set of pea: is at Rowsay's, in town, and he absolutely re 
 (used." 
 
 "Is it possible, captaip?" said St. Johnj "could you r0- 
 
 artf
 
 MISS 
 
 "Yes, ray dear boy," said the captain, heaving a sigh, " I 
 was hard-hearted to that extent." 
 
 " You acknowledge it then ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "Is that not dreadful, Mr. St. John?" said the .ady, 
 " there is only one excuse that he gives ; can you divine 
 it?" 
 
 " No indeed." 
 
 "This excuse is, that he bought me some diamonds! It 
 is true that the diamonds cost ten times as much as the 
 pearls, and I greatly preferred them, and said so. But he 
 knew that I did not wish to be so extravagant, and like an 
 unfeeling man, he went and bought the diamonds !" 
 
 The captain looked guilty and conscience-stricken his 
 expression of remorse was affecting. 
 
 " Well, well, my dear," he said, " do not thus expose my 
 failings to the public. Ventrebleu / I 'm ashamed, but you 
 ?e3 diamonds have always attracted me since " 
 
 The captain paused. 
 
 "Since when, sir?" 
 
 " Since I won your heart with that diamond necklace, my 
 dear Henriette !" replied Captain Waters, with simplicity, 
 * some time in the good year '65, I think." 
 
 At this charge, madame seemed to be actually over 
 come by indignation. Her work dropped upon her knee, 
 she gazed steadily at her enemy, and then burst into 
 laughter. 
 
 "Mr. St. John I hope you will pardon me," she said, 
 struggling with her mirth, "but this gentleman, Captain 
 Waters, always sets me off! Look at him there, everlast 
 ingly playing with that horrid moustache, stooping in his 
 shoulders, and pretending to be dreaming, as he thrums on 
 his chair. Just look !" 
 
 " Dreaming ?" said the captain ; " was I dreaming ma 
 chere ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, you were !" cried Mrs. Henriette, laughing. 
 
 "I believe I was," said the captain, whose bold face grew
 
 2o6 MISS LONNYBEL. 
 
 suddenly very sad, " I was thinking of those good old times, 
 and our Beatrice." 
 
 The martial head drc oped, and for a moment there was 
 silence. 
 
 The lady's face, too, had passed from smiles to sadness 
 from mirth to pensiveness. 
 
 " Eh bien /" said the captain, heaving a sigh ; "let us r;ot 
 rake in the ashes for those buried memories. I '11 dream no 
 more, but rather light the ban per&s pipe. Eh ? Shall I, 
 mon pere /" 
 
 The old man assented with a smile and a nod, and the lady 
 laid down her work and went and arranged the cricket for 
 his feet in the kindest and most attentive way. 
 
 The little girls then leaned on grandpa's knee to see the 
 brilliant glow in the bowl of the pipe, and then the old man 
 was left alone to his dreams, and Captain Waters and his 
 friend strolled out through the grounds, talking of every 
 thing but the real subject, which, by general consent, had 
 been deferred. 
 
 Thus passed the morning at Flodden. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 HOW CAPTAIN RALPH WATERS FULFILLED HIS MISSION. 
 
 "Now, my dear comrade," said the captain, when he and 
 St. John were alone over their wine, " now we can come to 
 our little arrangements, and I can report progress." 
 
 " Thanks, my dear captain," replied St. John, " and first^ 
 what time is fixed on ?" 
 
 "To-morrow morning.' 
 
 ft The place ?" 
 
 " Jamestown island. Have you any objection ? w 
 
 " None captain, though I was there lately upon a more 
 agreeable errand."
 
 MISS BONNYHEL. 257 
 
 " Well, that 's settled then ; but I '11 proceed more in order 
 and tell you how I set to work shall I ?" 
 
 " It will interest me." 
 
 " Well," said the captain, filling his glass and pushing 
 the bottle, " I was at the Raleigh tavern duly as I informed 
 Monseigneur Lindon, and I duly received a visit from 
 Foy 
 
 " A strange second, is he not ?" 
 
 " Why no how ?" 
 
 " He looks so peaceful ?" 
 
 " You do n't know him, mon ami ; he 's a perfect take* 
 in, that Foy is a real sword blade, ventrebleu ! Well Foy 
 came and we made each other the lowest and most courte 
 ous bow. You see we are both of us old hands at this 
 business, and we went at it like ducks to water. * My dear 
 Foy, is it so and so ?' * Yes, my dear captain,' bowing, 
 smiling, as amicable as two ganders hissing and wagging 
 their beaks at each other." 
 
 St. John smiled. 
 
 "Then every thing was easily arranged ? n 
 
 " By no means." 
 
 "Explain yourself." 
 
 " With pleasure. Foy, you see, was in favor of going out 
 of the province to fight " 
 
 " Out of the province !" 
 
 " Yes, he was a little touchy about Dunmore, and so the 
 conversation was something like the following. I listen to 
 his proposition, smiling politely, and the first remark I make 
 is, ' My dear Foy, are you afraid ?' 
 
 " ' Afraid, sir ?' he says, coldly ; * I am not accustomed to 
 feel afraid!' 
 
 " ' Oh well, my dear comrade, do n't be offended,' I re 
 plied, ' it really did seem to me that this looked something 
 like fear of his Excellency.' 
 
 " ' His Excellency is not my master, Captain Waters.' 
 
 " ' Really, now, is he not ?'
 
 .258 .- MISS IIOXNYBEL. 
 
 " ' No, sir !' this observation being uttered with a sort of 
 flash out of the eyes, you see. 
 
 " ' Oh, my dear comrade,' I say, 'just see now how you 
 are deprived of that praise which is justly your due ! 'T is 
 whispered everywhere that it is his Excellency who really 
 employs Conolly in his rascally mission to embroil the bor 
 derers, and that you are only the instrument he uses, when 
 in fact you are all the while head man.' " 
 
 "Why, captain," said St. John, smiling, "that seems to 
 me nothing more nor less than an insult 1" 
 
 " Precisely, mon ami," said the captain, cheerfully, "just 
 so." 
 
 ' You wished to insult Captain Foy ? w 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " For what purpose ?" 
 
 " In order that a little affair might be hatched between 
 L\m and myself.'* 
 
 "Ah! indeed!" 
 
 " Exactly, my dear fellow. Ventrebleu ! you have no 
 idea how many overtures I have made to Foy in order to 
 draw him into a quarrel. But he won't take offense." 
 
 " Your object ? Do yon hate him ?" 
 ;,. "Not at all." 
 
 " Why then" 
 
 " Wish to fight him ? Simply because I wish to put an 
 end to his maneuvers ! I do hate Dunmore, and by run 
 ning Foy through the gizzard, you see, I disable his Excel 
 lency's right arm to the shoulder blade." 
 
 The cheerful way in which Captain Waters unfolded these 
 views was admirable to behold. 
 
 " I 'm merely a rude soldier, you see, mon ami," he con 
 tinued, " but having learned diplomacy on the continent, I 
 practice it here. That was my object then in drawing Foy 
 out, and I thought I had him that time !" 
 
 "What did he reply?" 
 
 " Well, for a moment he said nothing. You see, I had 
 said that he ought to have the praise of employing Conolly
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 251 
 
 Ti that rcscally mission, and I waited, smiling, for him to 
 insult me again." 
 
 u Did he fail to ? 
 
 " Point blank. I was all ready getting my hand ready 
 to take off my hat and bow, and say, ' Well, when shall we 
 settle our little difference, comrade ?' In a word, I looked 
 for an explosion. It never came. Foy only looks at me 
 with those wicked eyes, and says, ' I have already disclaimed 
 more than a passing acquaintance with Major Conolly, Cap 
 tain Waters let us return to our affair.' 
 
 " ' In an instant, directly, my dear comrade,' I say polite 
 ly, 'but first tell me one tiring.' 
 
 " ' What is that, sir ?' 
 
 "'Is it really true,' I continued, smiling, 'that Conolly 
 has orders from Dunmore, or his tools in Williamsburg, to 
 promise the Indians assistance from his Excellency, if they 
 make an inroad and massacre the people on the Virginia 
 borders ?' 
 
 " As I say this, Foy's eye flashes worse than ever, and 
 his thin lips contract. He advances a step, frowning. 
 
 " ' Captain Waters,' he says, ' do I look like a man who 
 is fond of being insulted ?' 
 
 " ' Why no, comrade.' 
 
 '"Do I look like a man,' he continues, does this red-hot 
 Foy ! ' who would leave his sword in its scabbard if it was 
 possible to draw it ?' 
 
 " ' No,' I reply, ' and whether you look so or not, I know 
 you can use it, and have the will, companion.' 
 
 " ' Well, sir,' he says, with real dignity, hang him ! ' well, 
 sir, if I do not cram down your throat the insults you have 
 addressed to me, you may understand that I refrain simply 
 because my hands are bound for the present by the office 1 
 hold, otherwise, Captain Waters,' he adds, bowing, ' it would 
 give me immense pleasure to cut your throat !' Those were 
 his very words." 
 
 And the soldier burst out laughing, in which laughter St. 
 John united. 
 
 \
 
 260 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 "You see, after that, my dear fellow," said the cjptam, "I 
 could not add another insult." 
 
 " CV. tainlv not." 
 
 "la feet I positively adored Foy after that reply! He 
 looked so gallant, when he said it ! he touched his left side, 
 where a sword ought to have been, with such an air! he 
 was so cool, and elegant, and ferocious, when he mentioned 
 his desire to cut my throat, that I could have embraced him 
 as a brother !" 
 
 The captain twirled his moustache with admiration to his 
 very eyes as he spoke, and seemed lost in delighted contem 
 plation. 
 
 " Well," said St. John, laughing, " after that the interview 
 was more friendly ?" 
 
 " Friendly ! I believe you ! After that it was positively 
 fraternal ! Then it was that we came to resemble two high 
 bred geese, nodding our heads, and uttering ' Ah's !' and 
 ' Oh's !' and ' By no means !' and 'Really captain's !' You 
 ought to have seen us ! We would not overcome each other 
 we could not force each other to accept what each, wanted. 
 It was, 
 
 " ' Really, my dear Captain Waters, it must be Jamestown 
 island, as you wish !' 
 
 " ' No, upon my honor, my dear Foy, it shall be out oi 
 the province, as you desire !' 
 
 "'I never can consent to inconvenience such a gallant 
 man !' 
 
 " ' I never should hold up my head again if I forced such 
 a noble gentleman as you, my dear Foy, to quarrel with his 
 Excellency !' It was this, that, the other, no, yes, really, 
 truly ! At last I yielded, and to see how Foy pressed my 
 hand you would have thought I had done him the greatest 
 favor in the world. 
 
 ** * I shall not quarrel with his Excellency, captain,' he 
 says, smiling, 'and I have already said he is not my mas 
 ter.' 
 
 " * Do n't all ide to my miserable rudeness, comrade" I
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 201 
 
 reply ; ' it wounds me to the heart, and I shall shed 
 tears.' 
 
 " ' That is all forgotten, captain,' says Foy ; ' a mere jest. 
 Do not think that I shall suffer from engaging as second in 
 a combat to take place at Jamestown island. His Excel 
 lency will not inquire very closely, for you know, my deai 
 Captain Waters,' adds Foy, with a tiger smile, * you know my 
 principal, Mr. Lindon, is a perfect master of every weapon, 
 and he '11 be sure to kill Mr. St. John ! You will under 
 stand, in the present state of affairs between Mr. St. John 
 and his Excellency,' adds Foy, smiling, ' that Mr. Lindon or 
 myself will not be very severely scolded !' " 
 
 " Pshaw, captain !" said St. John, " your hero turns out 
 a boaster, and a mere bloodthirsty calculator of chances !" 
 
 " Certainly ! Do n't you comprehend that all his bowing 
 and smiling was acted ?" 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Nothing less," returned the captain. " Foy, mon ami 1 
 is, by nature, as great a comedian as that celebrated little 
 Garrick I saw in London. I know him well but, to finish." 
 
 " Yes, let us hear the rest." 
 
 " I will be more brief. The weapons then came up, and 
 we had some discussion as to the length and other points. 
 There was no real difficulty, because both you and Mr. Lin 
 don prefer swords. So that was arranged, and I engaged to 
 provide them of exactly the same length. It is the ordinary 
 length, and I '11 show them to you directly. Then the hour 
 of seven, to-morrow morning, was fixed on, and we parted, 
 mutually pleased with each other. My only hope with Foy 
 now is to drive him into insulting me, and then of course he 
 can't refuse my challenge. I would cheerfully pay five 
 hundred pounds to have him, for ten minutes, at arm's 
 length !" 
 
 Having expressed himself cheerfully to this effect, Cap 
 tain Waters emptied his glass, and suggested a stroll on 
 the lawn. 
 
 The young man rose, and the captain led the way out,
 
 262 Miss BONNY ::::r.. 
 
 It had been arranged that St. John should remain at Flod 
 den for convenience, and accompany his host in his own 
 carriage, and every detail being thus determined on, even 
 down to the hour to awake, the subject was for the moment 
 dismissed. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE FUGITIVE. 
 
 TUB two friends made the circuit of the lawn, and had 
 reached the broad gate, when a man, riding at full speed, 
 drew up suddenly before them and inclined his head. 
 
 " Will you be good enough to inform me, sir," he said, 
 addressing the captain who was foremost, " whether this is 
 the road to the town of Richmond V" 
 
 " It is, sir," replied the soldier ; " and you have only to 
 follow it and you '11 soon arrive at that place." 
 
 " And that other road branching oif ?" asked the horse 
 man, extending his hand, and at the same moment looking 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 " That leads to New Kent Court House, to Hanover, or 
 Bang William, and so, west." 
 
 " Thanks, sir," said the stranger, hurriedly, and with an 
 other glance over his shoulder, he struck spurs into his 
 horse, and departed at a rapid gallop. . 
 
 The eyes of the two men followed him, and they saw him 
 turn into the road to New Kent, disappearing in an instant 
 in the pines. 
 
 The captain shook his head.. 
 
 " There 's something wrong about this gentleman, mon 
 ami? he said ; " something lies beneath this, take my word 
 for it ! But I could n't refuse to reply to a civil question." 
 
 " Uxo and I agree with you. Who could it be, captain ?" 
 
 " Faith, I can't imagine ! If, now, it had occurred on th 
 continent-*-**
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 26? 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Why, I should nave set our rapid cavalier down for a 
 king's messenger. But, you know, we do n't have kings on 
 the western continent, a circumstance for which I do n't 
 mind saying I 'm grateful, comrade. 
 
 " They 're a poor set of fellows," added the soldier ; " I 've 
 seen many and never admired one. You see, my dear fel 
 low, they are shams, and they know it ; from his gracious 
 Majesty George HI., defender of the faith, et cetera, down 
 to his royal highness of Poland, a post which my friends, 
 General Littlepage, and Captain Charles Lee, very nearly 
 occupied. I 'm glad they did n't lower themselves ; and 
 these are my views 1 Who the devil could this horseman 
 have been ?" 
 
 " I can't tell you." 
 
 " Well, well, let him go on ; I care nothing, morbleu I 
 As Effingham says, my friend Champ, you know, * 't is all in 
 the game,' and so he may go on !" 
 
 Having reached this extremely philosophical conclusion, 
 the captain twirled his moustache, and led the way back to 
 the mansion, which he and his companion entered. 
 
 They had scarcely disappeared when three horsemen, rid 
 ing at full speed, shot by the gate on the track of the fugi 
 tive. 
 
 They bent in their saddles as they rode, and evidently 
 examined the highway for the marks of hoofs, by which they 
 seemed to follow and track their game. 
 
 Coming, in a moment, to the cross road leading to New 
 Kent, which the fugitive had taken, they suddenly drew up, 
 and one of them dismounted. 
 
 It was the stranger, the friend of St. John. 
 
 " Friends," he said, in his calm, deep voice, " ha has not 
 followed the high road further. Here are his footprints ; 
 he has turned off toward the court house. Come !" 
 
 And getting into his saddle again, he took the lead, and 
 the whole troop disappeared in the foliage, 
 
 J^et u follow them.
 
 264 HISS BOJS'NYBEL. 
 
 They darted on, at full speed, for more than a mile, and 
 then, reaching the summit of a hill, distinctly perceived the 
 fugitive ascending another hill, at full gallop, half a mile in 
 fldvance of them. 
 
 " Look !" cried the stranger ; " there ! see ! we shall ar 
 rest him !" 
 
 And digging the spur into his horse's side, he darted on 
 ward, taking the lead of his companions. 
 
 The solitary horseman had turned in his saddle and seen 
 them, and a gesture of rage and despair, visible even at the 
 great distance, showed how much he feared the encounter. 
 
 The pursuers rode furiously for another mile, and entered 
 the somber woodland of pines, whose summits were now 
 gilded by the last rays of the setting sun. 
 
 With bent heads, as they rode at full gallop, the stranger 
 and his companions scanned the road, to convincfe them 
 selves that the fugitive had not turned aside into the wood 
 land. 
 
 The tracks continued in the center of the road, and they 
 pushed on at, full speed. 
 
 Nearly five miles thus ran from beneath the rapid feet of 
 their horses, and still the tracks held the center of the high 
 way. 
 
 Suddenly one of the riders stretched out his hand, and 
 said, " Look !" 
 
 Two hundred yards before them, a horse without a rider 
 was flying onward, and panting heavily as he ran. 
 
 The stranger uttered a growl, as it were, of disappoint 
 ment, and drew rein suddenly. 
 
 " He has dismounted and escaped into the woods !" he 
 said, calmly ; " we need not further follow the highway." 
 
 The three horsemen drew up, and with the heads of '.heir 
 animals thus touching, held a rapid consultation with the 
 stranger. 
 
 It was quickly decided that each should take different 
 directions, and beat the whole country for traces of the 
 fugitive.
 
 MISS BONHYBEL. L'OO 
 
 "Be alert, friends! do not stop! do not sleep!" said tlie 
 stranger, whose fiery eyes plunged into the woodland, upon 
 which the shades of night were rapidly descending ; " it is 
 of the first importance, as you know, that this man's dis 
 patches shall be secured ! It will be for us a powerful en 
 gine ! Come! to work! forward! We may still arrot, 
 him on his way." 
 
 And the three horsemen separated, each taking different 
 ways. 
 
 The dark pines received them, and they disappeared like 
 shadows, the sound of their hoofs dying away in the somber 
 depths, from which nothing was heard but the cries of night 
 birds, and the harsh murmur of frogs in the swampy, lov 
 grounds. 
 
 As they disappeared, a pile of brushwood, deep in the 
 woodland, stirred slightly, a man's head rose, and seeing 
 that the coast was clear, the man emerged from the brush, 
 and listened. 
 
 " Well gentlemen," he said, with a sinister smile which 
 made his eyes glitter in the starlight, " I have escaped your 
 toils, I think, and you will probably have an agreeable time 
 of it beating the bushes of the country-side here. I have 
 my papers all safe here in my breast, most worthy patriots, 
 and there they will remain for the present. I shall only ar 
 rive at Fort Pitt a little later, and our affairs will not suffer. 
 It 's odds if I do not pay you, and the people of Virginia 
 generally, for this little night ride !'' 
 
 He paused a moment and listened. 
 
 " All is still," he said, " and now it only remains to 
 get another horse. That 's easy, as my pockets are well 
 lined by his lordship ! Come ! let us not despair ; I trust 
 in the doctrine of chances, and they 've seldom failed 
 me!" 
 
 Having thus spoken, the fugitive turned, resolutely, 
 deeper into the woodland, ^nd was soon lost in the dark- 
 pess, 
 
 W
 
 266 MISS BONNY BEL. 
 
 The mnn who thus escaped with his papers of such great 
 importance, was Major Conolly, secret agent of Lord Dun- 
 more in embroiling the border and arousing the Indian tribea 
 against the people of the Virginia frontier.* 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 HBB ONLY FAILING. 
 
 ON the next morning, after a sound night's rest on the 
 captain's part, and much tossing to and fro, in his dreams, 
 on St. John's, the friends met and greeted each other. 
 
 Madam Henriette met them with a smile. 
 
 " Where in the world are you going so early ?" she said 
 to her husband ; " breakfast is ready but why set out so 
 soon ?" 
 
 The captain saw that his wife was dying with curiosity, but 
 he only smiled ; he did not reply. 
 
 '" This is not court day, I believe, Mr. St. John ?" 
 
 " No, madam, I think not." 
 
 " Does any thing of interest take place in town this morn 
 ing ? 
 
 " I have not heard, madam." 
 
 " Then where in the world are you going, Captain Waters ? 
 You. really are the most provoking " 
 
 " My clear Henriette " 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 " I think you said that breakfast was ready ?" 
 
 The lady pouted, and said that it was. 
 
 " Then, with your leave, we will proceed to eat it. Ven? 
 tre bleu ! I 'm as hungry as a hawk after all that sleep 1" 
 
 And the captain led the way into the breakfast room, and 
 cUd the honors of his board. 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXXITT,
 
 MISS BON NV ;;:::.. 267 
 
 Thereafter, his carriage was ordered at once, and he and 
 St. John put on their hats. 
 
 " What in the world is that bundle they are putting in the 
 carriage ?" said Mrs. Henriette. 
 
 " Are they putting a bundle in the carriage ?" said the 
 captain, with interest. 
 
 " Yes, you see they are 1" 
 
 "Well, so they are." 
 
 And the captain put on his gloves. 
 
 " When will you be back ?" asked the lady thus constant 
 ly foiled. 
 
 " Do n't know," said the captain. 
 
 " Where can you be going ?" 
 
 " Did you say it was a fine morning, my dear St. John f 
 Why glorious !" 
 
 " Captain Waters I" said the lady, with an imperious little 
 gtamp of the foot. 
 
 " Did you speak, my dear ?" said the soldier. 
 
 " Yes, sir ! I asked you to be so good as to tell me where 
 you and Mr. St. John are going ?" 
 
 " Why yes !" said tiie captain, " certainly, my dear." 
 
 " Yes, what, sir ? 
 
 " The moon w, most probably, green cheese." 
 
 The captain uttered these words with a cheerful and 
 smiling air, which caused Mrs. Henriette to pat her little 
 foot with impatience and vexation. 
 
 " I think it 's very cruel in you !" she said, pouting. 
 
 The captain twirled his moustache absently. 
 
 " Won't you please tell me ?" 
 
 The captain smiled. 
 
 " Won't you tell your Henriette, Ralph ?" said the lady 
 with an entreating air, and leaning on his shoulder. 
 
 The captain's lip curled with smiles. 
 
 " You know it 's so simple just a word," she said, coax 
 ingly ; " won't Ralph tell his Henriette?" 
 
 The captain smiled again and ended by laughing. 
 
 U I think I can!" he said, absently.
 
 268 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Tell me, ruy dear ! I thought you would !" 
 
 " I *m sure I can !" continued the soldier, with his syea 
 fixed upon vacancy. 
 
 " Certainly nothing is more proper, Ralph, to your ow 
 loving wife 1" 
 
 The captain woke, as it were, from his dream. 
 
 " What is that, my love ?" he said ; " do you agree with 
 me that it 's proper ? But what do you know about such 
 things ? You can't tell whether Foy will resign his secre 
 taryship." 
 
 " You were not listening to me then, sir 1" said Mrs. Hen- 
 riette, imperiously. 
 
 " No, my love." 
 
 " You did not hear me ?" 
 
 " Have you been speaking ?" 
 
 "You are a disgraceful husband, sir !" 
 
 " Why ?" asked the captain, cheerfully. 
 
 " Because you will not tell me, or even listen. But you 
 haH tell me where you 're going with Mr. St. John, sir 1" 
 
 " Well, my love." 
 
 " You are outrageous !" 
 
 " So I am, ma chere /" 
 
 " Where are you going ?" 
 
 "To Jericho." 
 
 "Captain Waters!" 
 
 " Madam !" 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" 
 
 "Take the air l' 
 
 The lady, flushed with vexation, and half-threatening, 
 half-laughing, caught away the captain's hat. 
 
 " You shall tell me ?" she said, laughing. 
 
 The captain recovered his hat, and bursting into respon 
 sive laughter, cried, 
 
 " Away, partlet I silence, hen ! Go make the bibs and 
 tuckers for the chickens, and do n't meddle with the roost 
 er's private matters !" 
 
 The captain then squeezed Mrs. Henriette's cheeks with
 
 Miss UONNV;;::^. 269 
 
 his fingers, gallautly ravished a kiss, and followed oy his 
 friend, got into the carriage. 
 
 " That 's a charming wife of mine, my dear boy," be said, 
 as they rolled rapidly on their way ; " though slightly sub 
 ject to curiosity, her only failing. Well, well, let's be 
 charitable ! And now, mon ami, I will give you my views 
 upon the subject of Linden's style of fencing. Let us com 
 pare views." 
 
 The captain then proceeded to enter at length upon his 
 favorite topic, and he was still speaking when they reached 
 the low peninsula of Jamestown. 
 
 The soldier referred to his timepiece. 
 
 "Just seven," he said, "and here come Foy and Lin- 
 don." 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 THE COMBAT: BED AND WHITE BOSKS. 
 
 TUB two carriages arrived almost at the same moment, 
 and the hostile parties, as they issued forth, made each othei 
 a low bow. 
 
 Lindon was superbly dressed, but Captain Foy wore hi* 
 customary suit of black, fitting closely to his slender and 
 nervous figure. 
 
 Around his waist was buckled a plain sword, with yellow 
 leather accoutrements, the whole very much worn. 
 
 Captain Waters had no sooner accomplished his bow, 
 than, assuming a most engaging smile, he pointed to the 
 weapon of the secretary, and said, 
 
 " Do n't I recognize an old friend there, comrade ? It 
 seems to me that sword is not new to me, and I even think 
 it once ran into my body, did it not ?" 
 
 Captain Foy made a modest gesture, and said, 
 
 " Let us forget our youthful contentions, Captain Waters j 
 they are of no importance nowt"
 
 270 MTSS KONNYBEu 
 
 " But really, I 'm curious," said the captain ; " did you 
 not wear that sword " 
 
 " At Reinfels ? Yes, sir. 'T is an old companion, with 
 whom I 'm loth to part. Shall we now proceed to make 
 our arrangements ?" 
 
 " With pleasure ; here are the swords." 
 
 The bundle was unwrapped, and the weapons were mea 
 sured. 
 
 *' Exact to an inch, these two," said Captain Waters, " and 
 you may take either." 
 
 u Thanks, captain, I accept this." 
 
 And Foy took one of the swords, and critically examined 
 its point. 
 
 He then made it whistle to and fro in his vigorous and 
 nervous grasp, listening if the blade clicked in the hilt. 
 
 The examination seemed to satisfy him perfectly, and 
 making his opponent another bow, he said, 
 
 " I find this weapon perfect, Captain Waters, and we may 
 now proceed to business, as the position of these gentlemen 
 is already determined upon, north and south with the sun." 
 
 " Yes, my dear comrade ; you really fill me with admira 
 tion, and make me remember old times. Could n't we have 
 a little bout now, after this event is through ; a mere friendly 
 pass or two ?" 
 
 " I would rather not, captain ; you might wound me, and 
 I can not afford to lose my time now, having much to attend 
 to." 
 
 " You retain your post of secretary ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The captain sighed. 
 
 *' My dear Foy," he said, " I Ml give you five hundred 
 pounds if you '11 resign." 
 
 " I regret to say that 't is impossible for me to accept 
 your offer, Captain Waters. Shall we proceed ?" 
 
 " Of course, of course !" 
 
 And the captain examined St. John's sword as carefully 
 *e his opponent had tested Linden's,
 
 I.IIS3 BONNYBEL. 27l 
 
 He then raised his head, and making a notion dth his 
 hand, 
 
 '* Foy," he said, " a moment yet before we commence." 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Is your secretaryship the obstacle in the way of that 
 friendly little affair I proposed ?" 
 
 " Yes sir." 
 
 " I offered you five hundred pounds to resign, did I not ? M 
 
 " I believe so, sir." 
 
 " And you refused ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir.' 
 
 " You still refuse ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, I offer you a thousand !* 
 
 " Captahi Waters," said the secretary, smiling grimly, 
 "if you proceed any further you will make me laugh, and 
 as laughter, upon an occasion like the present, is not becom 
 ing, I must beg you to desist. I regret extremely that 't is 
 not in my power to resign my commission in his Excel 
 lency's service at the present time. If, however, that event 
 occurs, I shall most assuredly inform you, and willingly 
 permit you to take advantage of it in the way you pro 
 pose." 
 
 Captain Foy bowed as he spoke, and indicated that he 
 was ready. 
 
 Waters shook his head. 
 
 " My dear comrade," he said, sighing, " that was always 
 your way. You talk so eloquently, and turn your periods 
 with such melodious art, that a poor camp devil like myself, 
 morbleu, can't answer you, and 's obliged to yield. I will, 
 therefore, say no more, except that I most thankfully accept 
 your offer, and will, on the proper occasion, gladly avail 
 myself of it." 
 
 And turning to hand Mr. St. John his sword, Captain 
 Waters muttered to himself, 
 
 *' Ah, rascal ! ah, rascally second of a rascally principal, 
 if faces do n't deceive me ! I '11 yet split your forked tonga?
 
 272 . MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 still wider, and pull your fangs, ;mil stop you forefinger and 
 thumb from writing instructions for Conolly !" 
 
 " What did you say, my dear captain ?" asked Foy. 
 
 "I observed, my dear friend, that it was a charming 
 morning, and that I was filled with happiness at meeting 
 again, on this congenial occasion, with a comrade for whom 
 I have so great an affection as yourself. I foresee, if we 
 ever kill each other 't will be from a pure love of art, not 
 from bad blood, and so, if you choose, we '11 proceed." 
 
 With these words, accompanied by the most agreeable 
 smiles, Captain Waters went to the side of his friend, who 
 was calmly looking forth upon the beautiful river, and signi 
 fied to him that every preliminary of the combat was now 
 arranged. 
 
 The young man coolly took his weapon, and leaned the 
 point upon his boot. 
 
 " All 's ready, my dear St. John," the captain said, " and I 
 have only to add a word. Lindon is as fresh as a lark ; he 's 
 taken perfect care of himself, and, therefore, I advise you 
 not to stand on the defensive with a view to weary him. 
 Better lunge from the first, and I think, from the way he 
 carries his elbow, your best lunge will be in carte." 
 
 "Thanks, captain," said St. John; "I shall simply en 
 deavor to protect myself, having not the least desire to shed 
 this gentleman's blood. If that is necessary, however, I 
 shall not hesitate, having been forced into the whole affair, 
 and being quite at my ease." 
 
 The captain's countenance filled with pleasure. 
 
 "My dear St. John," he said, "you will kill him! 1 
 know you will ! I compliment you !" 
 
 " Why, captain ?" 
 
 ** You are cool as ice, and now let us get to business." 
 
 Captain Foy signified at the same moment that Mr. 
 Lindon was ready, and the opponents confronted each 
 other. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Captain Waters, " we now permit you 
 to proceed, unless the party from whom the insult, on this
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 273 
 
 occasion, has issued, shall make full and ample apology foi 
 the same, retracting the said insult, and entreating pardoi 
 of his opponent." 
 
 Lindon made a haughty movement, but Captain Foy 
 answered for him. 
 
 "It is with great regret that we must decline such apol 
 ogy," said the secretary ; " unfortunately there is no possi 
 bility of any such thing." 
 
 " You persist ?" said Captain Waters. 
 
 " We have the honor," said Captain Foy. 
 
 " Well then the affair will, of course, proceed. There is 
 absolutely no alternative. This affair, gentlemen, as I need 
 scarcely say, has arisen from a difference of opinion upon the 
 quality of the Canary supplied to the late assembly, Mr. St. 
 John having declared the said Canaiy wretched, and un 
 worthy to be drunk by a gentleman, Mr. Lindon having 
 taken the opposite view, and offered Mr. St. John a glass, 
 which that gentleman declined. I confess I see no means of 
 bringing about a community of sentiment but the sword, and 
 so, Captain Foy, we are ready 1" 
 
 " And we, sir proceed, gentlemen !" 
 
 The two men raised their swords quickly, and the weapons 
 crossed. 
 
 The seconds retired ten paces and looked on. 
 
 Lindon was perfectly fresh, and, as his sword touched his 
 opponent's, his eyes flashed with gratified hatred. 
 
 St. John was perfectly calm and cool. 
 
 Lindon advanced furiously and made a mortal thrust at 
 his opponent, which was parried perfectly. 
 
 The next moment they closed in a violent, deadly, breast 
 to-breast struggle, the swords glittering in what seemed in 
 extricable confusion, bat really the perfection of skill and 
 method. 
 
 Both the seconds advanced at once, crying " Gentlemen ' 
 gentlemen !" 
 
 The combatants stopped and drew back Lindon pale 
 with rnge, St. John growing gradually hot.
 
 274 MIS8 BONKYBKU 
 
 '* Gentlemen !" said Captain Waters, with affecting earn 
 estness, " you really move me to the heart, and wound my 
 sense of propriety cruelly, in which I am sure I also utter 
 the sentiments of my friend, Captain Foy ! In Heaven's 
 name do n't make a dagger fight of an honorable encounter 
 with swords before seconds ! Let us commence again, gen 
 tlemen, and spare our feelings, I beseech you." 
 
 The captain was evidently greatly affected as he spoke, 
 and Foy said, 
 
 "I beg, gentlemen, that you will observe the sugges 
 tion of Captain Waters. It is no less just than feelingly 
 expressed." 
 
 The two men, whose blood was completely aroused, waited 
 with impatience for the signal to proceed. 
 
 The word was given, and they threw themselves upon 
 each other with the ferocity of tigers. 
 
 Lindon made his former lunge with a fury which indi 
 cated the height of his rage. St. John again parried it per 
 fectly. 
 
 For ten minutes then they fought, not like two civilized 
 men opposed to each other, but like blood-thirsty gladia 
 tors on the arena, in a mortal combat. 
 
 The two men were as nearly matched as possible, and the 
 incessant clash of the weapons, from which darted flashes 
 like lightning, proved the immense skill and strength of the 
 enemies. 
 
 Suddenly St. John struck his foot against a stone, and 
 thrown off his guard for an instant, could not parry the fu 
 rious lunge of his opponent. 
 
 The point of Linden's sword appeared streaming with 
 blood behind the young man's back, and at the same instant 
 his own weapon was buried in his enemy's shoulder. 
 
 Lindon's weapon broke at the hilt, and the two combat- 
 tants fell, dragging each other to the ground. 
 
 The seconds ran and pulled them asunder, and raised them 
 to their feet. 
 
 Leaning on the shoulders of Captain Waters and Captain
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 276 
 
 Foy, the two men gazed at each other with flash .ng eyes and 
 crimson cheeks, breathing heavily, and clutching at their 
 weapons. 
 
 " Your sword ! Give me your sword, Captain Foy," cried 
 Lindon, faintly, *' I '11 finish him !" 
 
 Foy's hand moved to his weapon. 
 
 " Captain Foy," said Waters, " if you hand that weapon 
 to your principal I '11 run you through the body, and him 
 too, upon my honor !" 
 
 " Let him have it !" said St. John, hoarsely, his breast 
 streaming with blood. " Your sword, sir !" 
 
 " He shall not !" cried Captain Waters, " 't is three inches 
 longer than yours." 
 
 Foy moved to draw the weapon. 
 
 " Well comrade !" said Waters, " if that 's the use you 're 
 going to make of it, nothing could delight me more! I 
 have been pleading for the favor. Captain Foy, I have the 
 honor to salute you and to place myself entirely at your 
 orders !" 
 
 With these cold words, Captain Waters drew his sword 
 and confronted his opponent. 
 
 Foy's hand left the hilt of the weapon, and a keen flash 
 of his proud eye showed how reluctantly he yielded. 
 
 " No sir," he said, coldly, " there shall be no need of the 
 encounter you propose. I recognize the propriety of your 
 objection to the further progress of this affair, and I agree 
 with you that it is, for the present, at an end." 
 
 As he spoke, Captain Foy turned to Lindon, who was 
 deadly pale, and staunched the deep wound in his shoulder 
 with his white handkerchief, which he bound round it. 
 
 He then assisted Lindon, who could scarcely stand alone, 
 to his carriage, and turning to bow to Captain Waters, or 
 dered the driver to drive to Williamsburg. 
 
 Captain Waters then gave his whole attention to St. 
 John. 
 
 The young man had stretched out his hand and plucked 
 a little white rose from a sweet briar, rustling in the river
 
 276 MISS BONNYfeEt. 
 
 ' just such an one as Bonnybei had pulled to pieces 
 on that morning and looking now at the flower, he seemed 
 to think of the girl. 
 
 " What are you doing there, comrade ?" said the soldier, 
 " what is that ?" 
 
 "Only a flower, captain," he said faintly. 
 
 " A flower 1" 
 
 " Yes, a rose, and here is another a red one." 
 
 With which St. John endeavored to point to the circular 
 blood-stain, gradually extending upon his white linen bos 
 om. 
 
 As he spoke, the captain felt the young man's form weigh 
 heavily upon his arm; and the head fell like a wounded 
 bird's. 
 
 He had fainted. 
 
 Captain Waters was one of those men who act promptly. 
 He took the young man in his arms, and carrying him 
 like a child, to the edge of the stream, deluged his fore 
 head with the cool water. 
 
 He then laid the pale form upon the green sward, and 
 tearing violently away the frill at bis own breast, proceeded 
 to bare the bosom of the wounded man, and probe the 
 wound. 
 
 Linden's sword had struck upon a letter, written on thick 
 Bath post, and thus diverted from its point blank direction 
 toward the heart, had traversed the flesh and muscles com 
 pletely through to the back. 
 
 The wound was more painful than dangerous, except from 
 the profuse flow of blood. 
 
 Captain Waters bound it up with the rapidity and skill 
 of an experienced hand, and St. John opened his eyes. 
 
 "How do you feel now, comrade ?" said the soldier, kneel 
 ing, and holding up the young man's head. 
 
 " A little faint," was the reply " Where am I, cap 
 tain ? 
 
 "You are on the grass, companion, with a bad flesh 
 wound, which talking make* worse ; and the motion of the
 
 MISS 
 
 carriage will be worse still for it, morbleu ! Miserable day 
 that it is ! 
 
 And the soldier groaned. 
 
 The young man pointed with his finger to the stream. 
 
 The captain looked, and saw a sail-boat passing. 
 
 " I will go to Flower of Hundreds captain," said St. 
 John, faintly. 
 
 The soldier gently deposited his burden upon the sward 
 again, and hastening to the point of the island running out 
 into the stream, hailed the boatman. 
 
 In fifteen minutes the young man was being borne in the 
 tittle bark toward Flower of Hundreds, his head supported 
 upon the breast of Captain Waters. 
 
 He still held the small, white flower in his band, and Bon- 
 nybel's letter had not left his breast. 
 
 CHAPTER LIU 
 
 THE NEWS BEACHES VANELY. 
 
 IN the old drawing-room at Vanely, through whose open 
 windows a fresh breeze wafts in an odor of green leaves, 
 and flowers, and fruit trees, full of perfumed blossoms, sit 
 the young ladies of the family, busily engaged on some or 
 namental work, and in entertaining Mr. Alston and a certain 
 Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton is a rubicund widower who has come- he 
 says to see Colonel Vane on business ; but not finding that 
 gentleman at home, is disconsolate, and is compelled to talk 
 with Miss Seraphina. He calls frequently " on business with 
 Colonel Vane." 
 
 Mr. Alston does not mask his designs with any such plea 
 he does not conceal the fact that he has come "to shake 
 the tree," or in other words, to pay his addresses to Miss 
 Helen, who seems far from being offended by it.
 
 178 MI86 BONNYBEL. 
 
 For the moment, however, honest Tom is talking with 
 Miss Bonnybel. He leans over her, a,;d says, with a gentle 
 smile, 
 
 " Pray what enchanting little affair is that, Miss Bonny 
 bel ? The wedding dress of a fairy princess ?" 
 
 Bonnybel appears, of late, to have lost much of her old 
 vivacity. She scarcely smiles as she replies: 
 
 " It is only a cuff. I thought I would make them myself 
 instead of giving them to Miss Carne." 
 
 " Miss Carne ? pray who is that ?" 
 
 " I forgot you 've not seen her. She 's a seamstress 
 whom we brought from town with us. There she is at the 
 door." 
 
 Mr. Alston turns his head and makes a slight movement, 
 as he sees before him the remarkable head. Miss Carne is 
 an Italian-looking woman, with a brunette complexion, black 
 hair, and deep, penetrating eyes. She is undeniably hand 
 some, standing in her submissive attitude with folded hands; 
 but there is something repelling in her air and appearance 
 
 "Have you laid out the pieces, Miss?" she said, with a 
 slight Italian accent ; " I am ready to go on with the 
 dress." 
 
 Bonnybel gave her some directions, and she disappeared 
 as she came, without noise. 
 
 "A singular face," said Mr. Alston, " but I do not like it 
 She is undoubtedly beautiful, but not prepossessing. Well, 
 that is scarcely a matter of importance. Pray whose is this 
 delightfully perfumed epistle?" adds Mr. Alston, smiling, 
 and raising, as he does so, from the table an embossed 
 paper. 
 
 " T is Aunt Seraphina's verses," says Helen, smiling de 
 murely ; '* ask her to let you read them." 
 
 " Coming from such a source, they must be indeed per 
 fect," says the gallant Jack Hamilton, with an ogle. 
 
 In spite of Miss Seraphina's objections, Mr. Alston reads 
 aloud,
 
 MISS BOXNYBEL. 271 
 
 A LADY'S ADIEU TO HER TEA TABLE. 
 
 * Farewell to the Tea Board, with its gaudy equipage 
 Of Cups and Saucers, Cream Bucket, Sugar Tongs, 
 The pretty Tea Chest, also, lately stored 
 With Hyson, Congo, and best Double Fine. 
 Pull many a joyous moment have I sat by ye, 
 Hearing the Girls Tattle, the Old Maids talk Scandal, 
 And the spruce Coxcomb laugh at, may be, nothing. 
 No more shall I dish out the once loved Liquor, 
 Though now detestable to all at Vanely, 
 Because I 'm taught (and I believe it true), 
 Its Use will fasten slavish Chains upon my Country, 
 And LIBERTY 's the Goddess 1 would choose 
 To reign triumphant in AMERICA I" 
 
 "Bravo!" cried honest Jack; "I have rarely heard such 
 rerses ! Permit me, my dear Miss Seraphina, to have them 
 put in the ' Gazette.' " 
 
 " O, I never could consent," murmurs Miss Seraphina, in 
 confusion. 
 
 " Genius must be treated with gentle force, my dear 
 madam," says Mr. Hamilton ; " I '11 strike out the word* 
 ' to all at Vanely," and all the colony shall admire you.' 
 
 That the gentleman carried out his threat is proved from 
 the fact that we have taken the verses from the old " Vir 
 ginia Gazette." 
 
 The conversation then turns on a number of things, and 
 finally, at the request of Tom Alston, Bonnybel goes reluc 
 tantly to the harpsichord and sings. The song is " Kathe- 
 rine Ogie," and the young lady sings it with deep sad 
 ness. It sighs itself away, and she returns listlessly to her 
 seat. 
 
 " An exquisite tune," says Mr. Alston, " and *t is Harry's 
 great favorite. By the bye, Miss Bonnybel, where is Har 
 ry?" 
 
 " I really do not know, sir," is the reply ; " in town, I 
 
 ppose, where we left him, or rather he left us." 
 
 And Bonnybel's sadness changes to :i pout. 
 
 ** Harry 's not in town, my child," says the voice of ColonoJ
 
 280 MISS BO-XNYBKI* 
 
 Vane, behind them, " and I 'm sorry to say that his life is in 
 danger." 
 
 Bonnybel rose to her feet with a start,, turning pale as 
 death, but instantly fell again in the chair. 
 
 *' He is at 'Flower of Hundreds,' " continued the colonel, 
 sorrowfully, "and he was brought thither yesterday, by 
 Captain Waters, in one of the sail-boats. The acco'int is, 
 that the boatman was hailed by Captain Waters, at James 
 town, and going ashore found Harry lying on the grass, 
 bleeding from a wound in the breast. I know who 's tc 
 blame for it !" added the colonel, flushing, " and if the boy 
 dies, I'll pursue him to the end of the earth !" 
 
 He was diverted from his wrath by a, sudden exclamation 
 from Helen. Bonnybel had caught her sister's arm, to pre 
 vent herself from fainting. In a few minutes she was weep 
 ing in her chamber, in the arms of Helen, who cried with 
 her. 
 
 She heard the two gentlemen mount their horses hastily, 
 and ride away at full gallop, and then the chariot rolled up 
 to the door. 
 
 " O, I '11 go too !" cried Bonnybel, starting up. " I would 
 die of suspense here ! Come, sister !" 
 
 And breaking away from Helen, she hastily descended, 
 just as the colonel and Aunt Mabel were entering the coach. 
 Helen followed, and they soon reached " Flower of Hun 
 dreds." 
 
 The colonel and Aunt Mabel went to St. John's chamber, 
 the young ladies remaining in the sitting-room. Bonnybel 
 resemWed a statue ; she did not move or speak, but, from 
 time to time, her vacant eyes were raised to the pictures 
 they had looked upon together. 
 
 As the slow step of the colonel was heard descending 
 the stairs, she started, her cheeks flushed she rose, and 
 hastened to the door. 
 
 " How is he ?" she said, in a low tone. 
 
 "Badly hurt, but not dangerously," returned the colonel 
 " the wound was got in a duel with that man Lin don, at
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 281 
 
 Jamestown island ; the letter which you wrote, ray child, 
 before the assembly, turned the weapon, and, in all proba 
 bility, saved his life. The doctor and his friends are now 
 with him, and they think that a month's confinement will 
 be all." 
 
 Bonnybel drew along, labored breath, went slowly to the 
 window, looking forth on the river, and there she remained 
 without turning her head. ' 
 
 She was crying like a child, but they were tears of joy. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 TWO HEAETS. 
 
 ST. JOHN had a vigorous constitution, and his wound soon 
 ceased to make him suffer acutely. The doctor directed 
 entire quiescence for some time, however, and thus the young 
 man was confined to his room and his bed still. 
 
 It was a great favor, which he at last obtained, to be per 
 mitted to rise, and lie, in his dressing gown, on a couch 
 in the drawing-room, and while Lindon was still turning 
 and tossing with fever, in his close quarters in town, St. 
 John was inhaling the breath of leaves and flowers. 
 
 Many friends flocked to cheer his hours of weariness, and 
 we need not say that the Vanely family were not remiss. 
 
 Tom Alston assumed his most foppish air to make him 
 laugh ; Jack Hamilton told a hundred stories of fox hunt 
 ing and frolicking ; Captain Waters related endless anec 
 dotes of his campaigns. With shoulders drooping, and 
 dreamy looking eyes, as he thrummed on his chair, the wor 
 thy soldier recalled, for his companion's amusement, a thou* 
 sand tales and remembrances. He made his brilliant and 
 joyous youth rise again ; he beat, or was beaten again by 
 the French ; he fought all his battles over with sighs or 
 careless laughter*
 
 282 MH 
 
 But of all the friendly and sympathizing faces which gath 
 ered round him, during those long hours of suffering and 
 weakness, there was one which contributed more powerfully 
 to the young man's recovery than all the rest. 
 
 We need scarcely say that this was the face of Bonnybel. 
 
 Claiming her privilege of cousin and old playmate, tho 
 young lady, throwing aside all ceremony, came almost daily, 
 with her mother and sisters, to see the invalid, and St. John 
 experienced in her society a charm which seemed to make 
 him stronger day by day, as though by the influence of 
 magic. 
 
 Bonnybel was no longer the coquettish and mischievous 
 little fairy, such as we have seen her in former pages of this 
 history. She appeared suddenly to have changed her entire 
 character. She no longer laughed and jested at every thing 
 and nothing. All the little pouts, and " spites," and ironies, 
 and angers, which had made her society so piquante, dis 
 appeared. She became suddenly an earnest woman, full of 
 pity and sympathizing tenderness, arid very soon a criti 
 cal observer might have seen, dawning in her eyes, and on 
 her tell-tale cheeks, the evidences of a warmer and more 
 profound emotion the imperceptible light, and rosy dawn, 
 of a true woman's faithful love. 
 
 They spent hours and hours together, beneath the open 
 window, through which came the breath of vernal fields and 
 summer flowers, and Bonnybel seemed never weary gazing 
 at the fine landscape. From the lofty hill, the wooded banks 
 of the great river, studded with white mansions, embowered 
 in green foliage, stretched far away, and disappeared in the 
 mists of the horizon ; the broad current glittered with the 
 snowy sails of sea-bound barks or those returning home from 
 distant lands ; the forests, day by day, assumed a deeper 
 nnd more beautiful emerald ; the summer came apace, com 
 pleting with its warmth and fuller radiance, the influence of 
 the fresh spring, and in the heart of the young lady, also, all 
 those vague emotions of the past cnme gradually to combing 
 arnl r:-vM into the warm summer of love.
 
 MTSS BONNYBEL. . 28>, 
 
 It is ont of our power to trace, with greater distinctness, 
 the successive steps by which the girl approached this su 
 preme point in the life of a woman. We would not, if we 
 could. Such topics should not be lightly handled. A poet 
 says: 
 
 "Two happier lovers never met 
 In dear and talk-charmed privacy. 
 The memories of happier hours 
 Are like the cordials pressed from flowers 
 And madden sweetly. I impart 
 Nought of the love talk I remember, 
 For May's young pleasures are best hid 
 From the cold prudence of December, 
 Which clips and chills all vernal wings ; 
 And love's own sanctities forbid, 
 Now, as of old, such gossippings 
 In halls, of what befalls in bowers." 
 
 ''->-', ..:.',: 
 
 We prefer to simply state the fact that the result "of those 
 hours of quiet talk, or more expressive silence, was an affec 
 tion, on the part of the young lady, as warm and true as 
 that of her lover. Doubtless it commenced in her woman's 
 pity for suffering, and tender sympathy for him who suf 
 fered, but ere long this sympathy was needless, for he grew 
 stronger day by day; still the feeling of the yonrig lady 
 deepened. 
 
 No word had been spoken by either, but the language of 
 the eyes is superior to all words. All around them soon 
 perceived what they thought so wholly concealed, and by a 
 series of accidents, Mr. St. John's visitors were all called 
 away when Bonnybel came to see him. They would talk 
 alone for hours, the fresh breeze moving her bright curls, 
 or bringing back the color to his pale thin cheeks, and then 
 they would part with a long look, which needed no words 
 to express its meaning. 
 
 Tt was one evening when, having arisen from his sick 
 conch, and received permission to ride out, St. John went 
 with Bonnybel to Vanely, that he found the moment,
 
 284 MISS KONNYBEL. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, and the sun was just setting, as 
 they drew near the old hall. In the east, a luminous halo 
 preceded the rising of the moon, and a single star, suspended, 
 like a lamp of fire, in the rosy atmosphere, delicately scintil 
 lated, gathering clearer radiance as the purple margin of the 
 sunset grew more pale. 
 
 In a moment, the two hearts beat together ; he under 
 stood what had angered and pained him so much ; she had 
 loved him and expected him to return ; her suffering had 
 been greater than his own. 
 
 They reached the old hall, and now, when the pale, weak 
 young man assisted her from the saddle, she did not pout or 
 reprimand him. 
 
 The curious moon, looking down, saw a man holding 
 closely to his breast a woman a woman who smiled through 
 her tears that was all. 
 
 They had plighted their troth. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 WHICH COMMENCES THE SECOND PORTION OF THE HISTORY, 
 
 WITH the words which we have just written, we should 
 be glad to conclude our history. The young and kind- 
 hearted, everywhere, would thank us, for, to this class, noth 
 ing is so pleasant as happiness and sunshine. St. John would 
 be remembered as one happy in the possession of a true- 
 hearted woman ; Bonnybel, as the bride of the man whom 
 she preferred, above all the world, for her husband. 
 
 But, alas! human life is not made up entirely of sunshine. 
 It is often when the day is brightest, that the dark folds of 
 the thunder cloud sweep from the horizon, and blacken the 
 most brilliant landscape. It was so in the lives of thesa 
 lovers, and the duty of their historian is to tell all he knows. 
 
 in some points of view, perhaps, this duty is of advantage
 
 MI8S BONNTBEL. 28ft 
 
 to the history. For this volume has two themes, two aims . 
 the story of a man and a woman ; the history, also, of a 
 period in the annals of a nation. 
 
 We have followed the steps of these two persons toward 
 the point where their hands clasped ; we have witnessed 
 the gradual narrowing of the space which separated two 
 lands from the battle-field, where hearts, long united, would 
 be torn asunder, where squadrons would clash, and blood 
 flow like water. Let us now look again on the columns 
 marching to the conflict, from which a new world was to 
 rise, like a colossal form of Victory, its face to the morning 
 and the stars of glory on its brow. Let us also see what 
 befell the two main personages of the history. There are 
 clouds and sunshine in both pictures. 
 
 For a month, St. John was wholly and completely happy. 
 If, before, the whole world appeared brighter and lovelier 
 in his eyes, it was now wholly transfigured, for he waa 
 blessed with the fruition of his dearest wish. Like the sun 
 shining out after a storm, his present joy was more fresh 
 and brilliant for the hours of gloom which had preceded it. 
 The woman whom he loved, loved him in return, and every 
 one at Vanely sincerely rejoiced. The young man had 
 twined himself around the hearts of old and young, and the 
 parents of the young lady hailed with joy the closer bond 
 which was about to unite them to the young man ; he had 
 been like a son always to them, now he would be really 
 such. 
 
 Bonnybel bore her " new honors" with some blushes, but 
 a serene, tranquil happiness. All her wildness and mischief 
 had departed ; she no longer laughed or jested ; she was 
 content to be silent and happy. 
 
 It was arranged that the marriage should take place at 
 the end of summer, and the young lady and her companion 
 had a hundred confidential talks on the arrangements which 
 that event would make necessary. It was at last decided 
 that, after a month spent at Vanely, they should go to 
 "Flower of Hundreds," and settle down permanent 1 ?; thin
 
 28G MISS BONNYBKL. 
 
 Mr. St. John would be what he wished to be, an honesi 
 country gentleman. He would cultivate his patrimonial 
 acres, and never dream of Indians or war any more 1 
 
 His old ambition seemed to him, as he pondered and 
 smiled now, like a dream of the night, a mere foolish fancy. 
 Indians? That they should concern him was supremely 
 ridiculous !" He had other things to think of his wife ! 
 
 Thus a month fled away, and one morning the young man 
 mounted "Tallyho" to go to Williamsburg, where he hp.3 
 to attend to some pecuniary matters, and see to having the 
 old house of " Flower of Hundreds" refitted for the abode 
 of its future mistress. 
 
 " Are you sure you '11 not forget me ?" said Bonnybel, 
 archly, and blushing, as he bade her farewell ; " a whole 
 week ! what a long, long time !" 
 
 " It is a century to me," he replied, gazing with pride 
 and admiration on the girl ; " but I '11 try not to forget you, 
 if you will promise me as much." 
 
 The foollish, idle thought was not worth replying to, she 
 said, smiling ; he would write to her ? 
 
 " Every day could she think he would neglect it ?" 
 
 And with a heavy heart the young man vaulted into the 
 saddle. " Tallyho" departed at a gallop, but his master did 
 not see the road before him. His head was turned back 
 ward, his eyes fixed on a woman, who waved her white 
 handkerchief ; at last the forest intervened ; they were 
 parted for the first time since that moonlit evening. 
 
 Let us now leave the happy fields of Yanely, and its cheer 
 ful faces, and following St. John, reenter the old capital. 
 From this center and heart flows already the fiery blood of 
 revolution ; here, also, fell that cloud, which we have spoken 
 of, on the young man who thought his life all sunshine. 
 
 It was the afternoon of the first of August when St. 
 John roiK- into Williamsburg and stopped at the Raleigh 
 tiivern. 
 
 As he approached the door, a concourse of gentlemen 
 were issuing forth, and he recognized the members of the
 
 MISS BONNYfcfiL. 28/ 
 
 House of Burgesses, which Dunmore had dissolved more 
 than two months before. 
 
 Suddenly he saw, in front of him, the stranger of the old 
 church at Richmond. 
 
 The stranger was talking with one of the members, but 
 his clear, penetrating eye having caught sight of St. John, 
 he ended his colloquy and approached the young man. 
 
 " Welcome, friend," he said, in his deep, calm voice ; " I 
 have not seen you of late, as was very naturaL You have 
 recovered ?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly. So you knew of my accident ?" 
 
 " Of course ; the whole province knows it. Your adver 
 sary has just gotten out again." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad of that, and accounts are closed, I think, 
 between us. But this meeting, this assemblage !" 
 
 " It is the first Virginia Convention. You arrive too late." 
 
 " I am sorry, but I can at least compliment you on your 
 foresight. This is the second prediction which you made ; 
 both, I see, are now accomplished." 
 
 " My prediction ?" said the stranger ; " it was scarcely 
 such. Prophets are inspired, and speak from their inspira 
 tion. I was simply informed in advance. I have an advan 
 tage over you. To the uneducated eye of the mere looker 
 on, Virginia advances blindly, and without knowing what 
 she does ; to me, as to those who know, her whole career is 
 the result of a logical, mathematical set of premises ; the ac 
 complishment, in open day, of what Henry and the great 
 leaders have resolved on in council."* 
 
 " Ah, I understand I" 
 
 " This was to do it is done," continued the stranger ; 
 " the sword was drawn, the blow has now been struck. Do 
 you know what the blow is ?" 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " This contention of delegates, elected by the people of 
 Virginia, has just affirmed the action of the House, making 
 common cause with the people of Boston to the very death, 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXXIV.
 
 288 MI8 "ONNTBKL. 
 
 and breaking off wholly all commercial connection with Ki* 
 gland." 
 
 " That is well." 
 
 " What remains is better. Do you remember that the 
 articles of association, on the occasion of the dissolution, rec 
 ommended a general congress ?" 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " Well, that congress is now resolved on. Delegates have 
 just been appointed : Peyton Randolph, Richard Henry Lee, 
 George Washington, Patrick Henry, Richard Bland, Benja 
 min Harrison, and Edmund Pendleton." 
 
 " A noble array of names." 
 
 " A constellation of glory and victory !" said the stranger, 
 in his deep, earnest voice ; " our Virginia noblemen, by 
 God's patent, not the king's ! Do you know the instruc 
 tions they carry in their hands ? Listen to the ending I 
 have it by heart : ' If the said General Gage conceives he is 
 empowered to act in this manner, as the commander-in-chief 
 of his Majesty's forces in America, this odious and illegal 
 proclamation must be considered as a plain and full declara 
 tion that this despotic viceroy will be bound by no law, nor 
 regard the constitutional rights of his Majesty's subjects 
 whenever they interfere with the plans he has formed for 
 oppressing the good people of Massachusetts Bay, and, there 
 fore, the executing, or attempting to execute, such procla 
 mation will justify resistance and reprisal.' This is what 
 the delegates of Virginia take to the general continental 
 congress, to meet in Philadelphia on the 5th of September, 
 and it is enough ! No matter whether 't is General Gage, 
 or the government represented by him, which we are to re 
 sist and execute reprisals on ! 1 defy a million casuists to 
 change the issue when the cannon begin to roar !'* 
 
 "You- are right," said St. John, thoughtfully, "it is really 
 England which these instructions defy." 
 
 " Nothing less," replied the stranger, opening a pamphlet 
 which he carried folded in his hand, " and here is the defi 
 ance at greater length."
 
 MISS BONNYP.^L. 289 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " See ! ' A Summary View of the Rights of British 
 America."* " 
 
 " By whom ? 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Jefferson." 
 
 " Ah ! the man of the mathematical logic, the irreverent 
 genius, the overturner I" 
 
 " Y~es, the pick-ax,- as Henry is the gunpowder. Take 
 this pamphlet and read it, friend. See its noble sentiments : 
 ' the whole art of government consists in the art of being 
 honest !' Weigh attentively its inexorable logic, trading 
 upon thrones and principalities ! See how I uttered the 
 simplest truth when I told you that this man, Jefferson, 
 would be one of the eagles of the storm ! In this pamphlet, 
 which will probably cause his attainder for treason, the great 
 issue is defined with irresistible vigor and unflinching ex 
 actness ; these pages are the statement of the quarrel, the 
 watch-word of resistance revolution !* Every moment 
 that revolution advances ! We have looked for it almost 
 with tears and groans ! Now it comes, with gigantic strides, 
 as I speak ! Ten years ago, Patrick Henry said to me : 
 ' Even now you may scent the odor of the coming storm !' 
 Well, friend, that odor gathers closer and more intense, but 
 it is not suffocating ! It fills the veins of thousands with fierce 
 heat of thousands who are taking down their old swords and 
 fiie arms. The gloomy cloud droops above, and the world 
 lies in dai'kness, but wait, friend, wait 1 be not doubtful ! 
 From this gloom will leap the lightning of an oppressed peo- 
 j^e's indignation ; woe to those who are struck by the bolt !" 
 
 " You speak in a voice which leaves no room for answer," 
 said his companion. " I will take this pamphlet and read 
 it ; but I fear I shah 1 be a worthless proselyte." 
 
 " No, you belong to Virginia, and will take your part." 
 
 St. John smiled, 
 
 " Do you know why I think I shall not accomplish much, 
 friend ?" he said. 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXXV. 
 
 V
 
 JJiK) " MISS BONNYBJEL. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I am happy." 
 
 And the young man's eyes wandered, with a tranquil light 
 in them, toward the far south-west. 
 
 "You have been frank with me, friend," he said t) the 
 stranger; "you unrolled before me your whole past life I 
 will not be so unfriendly as to conceal my own. I love and 
 am beloved by the noblest woman in the land, and in her love 
 I find the consummation of my hopes and dreams. Do you 
 understand now why I am a bad instrument of revolution ?" 
 
 And the young man looked at the stranger with an air of 
 tranquil happiness. 
 
 The stranger for a time did not speak, but gazing at his 
 ^companion, seemed: to muse sadly. This expression of sad 
 ness deepened into sorrow as he reflected, and at last, shak 
 ing his head, he muttered, 
 
 ' "Youth ! youth 1 what a grand thing it is I how full of 
 trust!" . 
 
 "What did you say ?"' asked St. John ; "speak out your 
 thoughts." 
 
 "Perhaps I had better not, friend," said the stranger, 
 sadly ;" they are not happy thoughts." 
 
 "Let me share at least your griefs." 
 
 " I have none, and I only mused, as do all men who have 
 seen wither and fade the blossoms and flowers of their 
 dreams." r 
 
 *' Speak, friend !" said St. John, " I wish to hear your 
 thought." 
 
 "It will not appear rational to you, but I may as well 
 utteYit. Well, you think the future is clear and happy, do 
 Voiinot?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ^That you are assured of this happiness certain tc 
 reap?" 
 - * I think I am." 
 
 " You think that no clouds can rise, no thunderbolts de 
 scend ?"
 
 MISS BONNYfiEL. 291 
 
 " No clouds which love can not dissipate, no thunderbolts 
 which happiness will not turn aside." 
 
 The stranger shook his head. 
 
 "I thought so once, too," he muttered, "but it came. 
 Take care ! be not too certain ! Do not think that Heaven 
 will permit you to withdraw yourself from the contest." 
 
 St. John smiled. 
 
 " You speak to a man demented by a possessing thought, 
 a single image," he said ; " your words do not convince me." 
 
 " Well, perhaps they had better have not been uttered. 
 But the future is dark we know not what may happen. I 
 see that for the present I have lost a coadjutor, for you are 
 happy and content. If that happiness changes to sadness, 
 that content to suffering and pain, then you will come back 
 to the struggle from which you are HOAV taken. If that 
 event happens, come and put your hand on my shoulder I 
 will support you. My words seem idle, friend, but they 
 may be the best rationality for you if the darkness comes. 
 Do you see that tall house yonder rising above the suburbs ? 
 That is my working place, you know, and there you will 
 find me ! I hope you will not come. I trust I may be a 
 mere raven, like Virgil's, croaking from the hollow tree ; 
 but the future for all of us lies in the hand of God. Now 
 I will take my leave, as I have much to attend to. I shall 
 seo you again." 
 
 And exchanging a grasp of the hand with St. John, the 
 stranger left him, and disappeared in the moving throng be 
 fore the door of the tavern. 
 
 The young man looked after him with a sad smile. 
 
 " There goes one who has suffered much," he muttered, 
 " and he fears that I will suffer. He does not know the 
 depth and security of my happiness, poor heart ! He doea 
 not know that Bonnybel and myself are united by a tie 
 which destiny itself is powerless to burst asunder !" 
 
 He spoke with a smile, and so went into the Raleigl:
 
 '292 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 HOW CAPTAIN WATERS PLUCKED ALL HIS QKE8K 
 
 IT was on the afternoon of the next day that St. John, 
 while going along with his head bent down, struck sud 
 denly against an object approaching, as he was leaving, the 
 Raleigh tavern. 
 
 He raised his head and found that the object was Captain 
 Waters, who had been going along in the same thoughtful 
 way. 
 
 There was this difference, however, between the musings 
 of the friends; those of St. John were happy, while Cap 
 tain Ralph was evidently sad. 
 
 " I 'ra delighted to see you, my dear captain," said St. 
 John,'holding out his hand, " and must beg your pardon foi 
 nearly knocking you down. What news ?" 
 
 The captain pressed his friend's hand with melancholy 
 pleasure, and with a countenance elongated to an extent 
 really deplorable, replied, sadly, 
 
 "Absolutely nothing, my dear comrade, unless you call 
 the convention here, and a dreadful disappointment I have 
 suffered, news." 
 
 "A dreadful disappointment 1" 
 
 " Yes, my friend, nothing less," groaned the captain, " a 
 real staggerer." 
 
 "You pain me," said St. John, scanning the mortified 
 face of his companion ; " come, be friendly, and tell me your 
 trouble as I told you mine. Perhaps I can serve you as you 
 served me." 
 
 The captain shook his head. 
 
 " Impossible, mon ami," he groaned, " actually impossi 
 ble. Jtforbleu ! how black that sunshine is !" 
 
 And the captain drew down the corners of his mouth, and, 
 consequently, the midnight fringe which covered them, in 
 a way which indicated actual despair.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 293 
 
 l *Yon look at me curiously, my boy," he s,i1d, after a mo 
 ment ; " you lament my distress. You will lament it more 
 when I tell you about it, and will see tlint you can't relieve 
 it. I succeeded tolerably well in hatching that little affair 
 between you and Lindon, who is just getting out again, but 
 you can not reciprocate the favor. It has some relation to 
 that little circumstance at Jamestown island, but the simi 
 larity soon ends. You can't help me, miserable wretch that 
 I am 1 You can not be of the least service to me !" 
 
 And the captain groaned again. This time he almost 
 sobbed. 
 
 "I see you are dying to hear about it, comrade," he con 
 tinued, after a disconsolate pause, " and I do n't mind tell 
 ing you every thing. But let us go and get a cup of Canary 
 I 'm choking." 
 
 With which words Captain Ralph led the way into the 
 domain of mine host of the Raleigh, and being supplied 
 with what he demanded, drew St. John into a corner of the 
 apartment, and sitting down, proceeded to his disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 " Fancy me lounging yonder at home, mon ami," he said, 
 " after seeing you well through that little affair with Lindon, 
 and behold me, as the French lingo has it, idle, sombre, be 
 coming gradually a prey to the blue devils. They assaulted 
 me even when you were sick, and that 's why I told you all 
 those adventures and wore out your patience with stories ' 
 Do n't deny it, comrade, you are too polite. My own 
 opinion is, that those narratives delayed your recovery at 
 least a fortnight ! You smile you think I 'm a farceur I 
 My friend, I am not ; I am plunged into despair. But to 
 proceed." 
 
 And taking another draught of the Canary, the soldier 
 ^ighed and continued. 
 
 " Back to Flodden once more, as I said, companion, I be 
 came a prey to the blue imps, and all day long I thought of 
 mthing but my disappointment in the matter of drawing 
 Foy into a duel. In vain did madam, that paragon of wo-
 
 Z94 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 men, endeavor to extract from me the origin of my low 
 spirits. In vain did Master Ralph Waters, that noblest of 
 urchins, and most indefatigable of dirt pie fabricators, climt 
 up my knees, and beg for a caress. I motioned Madame 
 Henriette away I sent Master Ralph to the nursery. Every 
 day I grew thinner, and was rapidly becoming weary of life 
 under the ungentlemanly persecution of that fellow, Foy, 
 who has treated me abominably. You see it was his refusal 
 to fight me, mon ami, which caused my melancholy, and I 
 was in despair. 
 
 "Well, things were in this condition, when, one morning 
 I read in the 'Virginia Gazette,' that their honors, the del 
 egates of the colony, would meet in convention in a day or 
 two, at Williamsburg; and no sooner had I perused this 
 announcement than a fortunate or unfortunate idea at once 
 struck me. Foy had refused to fight me on the ground of 
 his secretaryship. Now I would place myself on an equal 
 ity with him, by becoming the secretary of the convention. 
 Do n't you see ? I do n't mind saying I 'm rather proud ot 
 the idea, and I proceeded immediately to put it into execu 
 tion. I got a bundle of paper as big as a horse could carry, 
 a fascine of pens, which Madame Henriette made by redao- 
 ing all the geese on the plantation to a state of nature, and 
 having thus prepared for my civil duties, the ink being left 
 to the liberality of the convention, I hunted up my best 
 sword, and spent an entire day in burnishing my accoutre 
 ments. On the next morning I set out in my carriage, bid 
 ding a triumphant adieu to that paragon of women, Madame 
 Henriette, who was dying with curiosity her only failing, 
 my friend and in due time I reached Williamsburg." 
 
 The captain stopped to sip his Canary, in the midst of 
 smiles from Mr. St. John. 
 
 " I arrived just in time," continued the narrator, "and by 
 the influence of my friends, secured the post of secretary of 
 the convention, which I, however paid a deputy, an excel 
 lent scrivener, to perform the duties of. You see, however 
 I was de jure, as Jack Hamilton is fond of saying, the sec-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 29* 
 
 retary, and I rubbed my sword again, until I could see my 
 face in it. As to the paper and quills, the deputy took them, 
 while I went after Foy. 
 
 " I called at the palace his secretaryship was at Monte- 
 bello, the residence, some six miles below town, of his Ex 
 cellency, the noble Dunmore. I got into the saddle, and 
 went to Montebello ; his secretaryship sent me word that he 
 was engaged in important business with his lordship, and 
 begged to be excused. You may know I came back in a 
 furious bad humor, and so I remained until this morning. 
 
 "I then heard that Foy had returned, and dressing my 
 self in this elegant suit, and girding on this pretty little pa 
 rade sword, I repeated my call at the palace. 
 
 " I heard Foy say to the servant, ' Tell him, pest that he 
 is ! tell him I have not returned !' The lackey was deliver 
 ing this message when I pushed him aside, and went in. 
 
 " Foy was sitting at his table, the same one, I doubt not, 
 rnon ami, from behind which his Excellency scolded you, 
 and from the pile of papers before him, I suppose he was 
 busy. We look at each other for a moment, and Foy frowns. 
 I smile and bow. 
 
 " ' I am really distressed to disturb you, my dear Foy,' I 
 say, ' but you will permit me to say that 't was scarcely 
 friendly to deny yourself thus to an old comrade.' 
 
 " ' I am busy, Captain "Waters,' he replies, with a grand 
 air. 
 
 " ' I thought Conolly was gone, my dear friend,' I say ; 
 for, you see, I wanted to get him up to the point. Once 
 aroused, I knew I had him. 
 
 " At the words, ' I thought Conolly was gone,' his pale 
 face flushes, as I expected, and he rises an 3 says, 
 
 " ' Captain Waters, this is the third !>r fourth time you 
 have been pleased to connect me wifti Major Conolly, his 
 Excellency's agent ' 
 
 " ' Ah! he is his Excellency's agent,' I interrupt ; * you ac 
 knowledge it ?' 
 
 **'J acknowledge nothing, sir!' he says, growing' hot at
 
 296 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 his blunder, 4 I only say that yonr persevering intrusion uj> 
 on me, and your insinuations, are insulting, offensive, and 
 such as I shall not longer endure !' 
 
 " My dear St. John," continued the captain, smiling, 
 " when Foy said that, growing red as he spoke, I felt a hap 
 piness which I have not before experienced for a long time. 
 I saw that I had fortunately come on him in an irritable 
 moment, when the best of us, you know, can't keep cool, 
 and I expected much from this circumstance. 
 
 " * My dear Foy,' I say, ' do you really consider that ques 
 tion insulting? Well, I'll tell you in confidence, I meant 
 it to be so ; not in any bad spirit, for I have a positive affec 
 tion for you, and would not wound your feelings for worlds, 
 but, you see, I have set my heart on fighting you.' 
 
 " I said all this with so much good feeling, that my gen 
 tleman saw, I suppose, that I uttered the truth. He sat 
 down, coldly, and I read, in his keen eye, that he felt he 
 had all to lose and nothing to gain by the encounter, and 
 that his best revenge for my insult was to take no notice 
 of it. 
 
 " ' Sir,' he said, in his grand way, ' you seem aetually de 
 mented, and did I not know the eccentricity of your charac 
 ter, I should not suffer this offense to pass unanswered. I 
 shall not so proceed, however, sir, and I request that this 
 interview may end. I have repeatedly assured you that my 
 post of secretary, in the service of his Excellency, renders it 
 impossible for me to accept your defiance ; you know me 
 perfectly well, sir, and are doubtless aware that I place much 
 restraint upon my feelings in refusing.' 
 
 " ' Know you ! my dear Foy !' I reply, ' like the word of 
 command ! You 're as brave as steel, and I offer you a lit 
 tle affair whereby you may prove it to these stupid Vir 
 ginians, persons wholly ignorant of your valorous deeds at 
 Minden, and a thousand other places.' 
 
 " ' I repeat, sir,' he says, coldly, ' that this duel is impot 
 gible.' 
 
 ** ' Why ? On account of your secretaryship, oJi ?'
 
 MISS BONNYJJEL. 20* 
 
 " * Yes, sir.' 
 
 " ' That makes the combat unequal ? 
 
 " 4 It does, sir.' 
 
 " ' Well,' I say, triumphantly, ' suppose we stood on equa 
 grounds, would things be changed ?' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir, and as I said before, it would give me extreme 
 pleasure to cut your throat,' replies Foy, making me the 
 most elegantly sneering salute. 
 
 " I did not notice it ; I got ready my blow. 
 
 " ' It gives me real happiness to inform you, my dear Fey,* 
 I say, ' that the equality which you mention really exists. 
 I am secretary of the convention of Virginia, and here is a 
 parchment evidence of it, sworn to by three witnesses I 
 added the third for safety. This paper, my dear Foy, proves 
 what I say, and now I suppose you will no longer refuse. 
 Come, let us make the arrangements; I'm dying to learn 
 the coup of Reinfels, and if I kill you, I shall bless your 
 memory.' 
 
 " My gentleman looks, with the strongest astonishment, 
 on the paper, and says, 
 
 " * Captain Waters, you seem really crazy.' 
 
 " ' My dear Foy,' I reply, smiling, * you seem to me abso 
 lutely stupid.' 
 
 " ' Captain Waters, I shall suffer no more insults !' says my 
 gentleman, flushing. 'Take back your parchment, sir, the 
 evidence of your participation in a treasonable assemblage ; 
 take it back, sir, and I advise you to destroy it. Otherwise 
 you will suffer by it when the government makes its investi 
 gations into the riotous conduct of the inhabitants of the 
 colony. I give you this advice, sir, as an old companion, 
 and I refuse to have you arrested, as I might, because we 
 have fought and slept together. Go, captain ! let us pro 
 ceed different ways; at present, I repeat that I neither can 
 nor will fight you, but if it is any consolation, I announce to 
 you that, in all probability, the time will soon arrive when 
 I shall show you your favorite coup. I do not pretend to 
 think that we are not enemies; we are, for we espouse ilif-
 
 2&i? MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 ferent sides. If you can kill me, do so; when the \irua 
 comes, I h^ve good hopes of performing that ceremony for 
 yourself!' 
 
 " And bowing, with an air of the most odious elegance, 
 the confounded fellow bent over his papers again. I had 
 nothing to reply, my dear friend," finished the captain. " I 
 could not force Foy to recognize the validity of my appoint 
 ment as secretary, when he conscientiously doubted. I was 
 beaten, driven back, disappointed, conquered completely. 
 I only shook my head, and bidding Foy adieu, came away. 
 At the door I met his Excellency, whom I saluted, and so I 
 was returning, soiTOwfully, when I ran up against you. 
 Miserable and detestable fate !" added the captain, "which 
 pushes me eternally away from this snake. But even in the 
 depths of my disappointment, I'll not despair. I '11 yet wait 
 for happier times." 
 
 The captain finished his Canary, and rose, St. John, hav 
 ing listened with the utmost attention, and not without 
 laughter, to his narrative. 
 
 " Perhaps resignation is the best, my dear captain " he 
 said, " and I can feel for you in your distress. I have lis 
 tened to your relation with much entertainment, and 'tis 
 certainly anothei touch added to Captain Foy in my imagin 
 ation. He seems to me a mixture of the soldier and the 
 diplomatist, the tiger and the lamb." 
 
 " Exactly," said the captain, " that hits him to the very 
 letter." 
 
 " Well, may be his lamb's fleece will fall off and he will 
 show his teeth. Let us hope for the best !" 
 
 And, laughing, St. John rose and followed the soldier to 
 the street. 
 
 As they reached the portico of the tavern, St. John saw 
 Lindon pass, and the two adversaries exchanged a ceremo 
 nious salute. On the part of St. John, this salute was per 
 fectly polite and frank ; on the part of Lindon, formal and 
 Almost haughty, his dark eyes glittering with a sinister 035-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 299 
 
 pression in his pale, cold face, as he passed on and disap 
 peared. 
 
 " There 's another of the snakes, if I 'm not greatly mis 
 taken," said the captain, " and I advise you to keep a good 
 look-out when you pass dark corners. A man with an eye 
 like that can't possibly be honest, and now, my dear friend, 
 I must return home. To our next meeting !" 
 
 And the friends separated the captain to mount his 
 horse, St. John to attend to the business which brought 
 him to Williamsburg. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIL 
 
 SOME OLD FKIENDS AT LEAST THE AUTHOB HOPES SO.* 
 
 ST. JOHN'S business was nothing more nor less, says our 
 author, than some pecuniary arrangements in connection 
 with his proposed embarkation upon the seas of matrimony, 
 and the agent in these arrangements was a certain Mr. 
 A. Z. Smith, factor. . 
 
 We should like to pause in our narrative, and once more 
 enter the small warehouse of the worthy factor, salute the 
 round-faced shopboy, who, as of old, presides with smiles 
 over the domain of tin pans and flitches, whips and boxes 
 of tobacco, in perennial youth. We should like to enter the 
 little counting-room beyond, where Mr. A. Z. Smith, as in 
 old days, transacts his real business with his courtly custom 
 ers, and taste his rum, and see the picture of his mustachioed 
 ancestor, and admire his great ledgers chronicling the busi 
 ness of a lifetime. But, unfortunately, Mr. A. Z. Smith, 
 factor, is not destined to affect the current of our narrative, 
 which runs in other channels past the little shop. 
 
 Mr. St. John was with Mr. A. Z. Smith a portion of every 
 day, and the smiling little factor made him his best bows 
 
 * The worthy author of this chapter seems to refer to some scenes and 
 vents in a previous hirtory.
 
 300 MISS BONHYBEL. 
 
 when he appeared, and went away; that salute jf familiar 
 respect which the wealthy bourgeois bestowed at the period 
 on one of the gentry. 
 
 After these business interviews Mr. St. John was idle 
 for the rest of the day, and one morning he thought he 
 would take a gallop into the country for the benefit of the 
 air. 
 
 He accordingly mounted Tallyho, and putting spur to 
 that spirited animal, was soon beyond the limits of the to'vn, 
 careering through the summer forest, in the direction of 
 Captain Ralph's. 
 
 Tallyho seemed to think that the choice of the road was 
 left to himself, and his master soon found that he had di 
 verged from the highway, and that they had arrived in front 
 of a certain mansion known as the " Trap," where resided 
 a certain Mr. Jack Hamilton. 
 
 " Well," said the young man, smiling, " why not go in 
 and see Jack ? I 'm idle, and I '11 stop." 
 
 With which words he halted and dismounted before the 
 mansion. 
 
 An old gray-haired African came, respectfully, to take the 
 bridle of one of the new generation, and this bridle was 
 loftily relinquished by the perennial old nobleman of the 
 stables to a grotesque individual about four feet high, ad 
 dressed by the euphonious name of Crow. 
 
 Mr. Crow still rolled in his gait, distended his large popped 
 eyes, grinned from ear to ear, and if he did not turn sum 
 raersets, danced as before, with like danger of trenching on 
 the rights of his sweeping coat skirts. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton received his friend with great cordiality, 
 and laughed heartily when, over a bottle of claret, Mr. St. 
 John related the interview between Captain Waters and 
 the secretary. 
 
 " The fact is, my dear St. John," he said, " our friend, 
 Waters, is a trump, and sooner or later, I predict, will run 
 the secretary through the body. Eh ? Do n't you think so ?" 
 
 " Not unlikely."
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 301 
 
 " He '11 do his work better than you did in the case of 
 Linden." 
 
 " I 'in very glad of the result in that case, my dear Ham 
 ilton." 
 
 "Glad?" 
 
 " Certainly ; you see, I 'm naturally indisposed to shed 
 blood, and I was forced into that duel. ] begin to think all 
 duels folly though, and there 's the whole matter*** 
 
 Hamilton laughed. 
 
 " I understand," he said ; " there 's a little angel who 's 
 been talking to you, doubtless come, do n't blush, my boy, 
 she certainly is an angel, and if I 'm not mistaken, you wish 
 to monopolize her." 
 
 St. John stopped blushing, and smiled. 
 
 " See how the world is given to scandal," he said. 
 
 " Scandal," exclaimed his friend ; " do you deny it ?" 
 
 " I will reply by asking you a question, my friend." 
 
 " Ask it, Harry, my boy." 
 
 "Don't you understand the real motive of my visits to 
 Vanely ? 
 
 " I think I do," observed Mr. Hamilton, triumphantly ; 
 "you go thither in order" 
 
 "To see Colonel Vane on important business! Yes, ] 
 perceive you know my affairs thoroughly !" 
 
 And Mr. St. John concluded with a burst of laughtei 
 which caused Jack Hamilton to look rather sheepish. 
 
 " I 've plainly got the better of you, my dear fellow," said 
 St. John, "and now I shall leave you to continue my ride. 
 I want exercise come, go with me." 
 
 " Willingly ; I have a little message for the squire at the 
 Hall yonder let us go there." 
 
 Mr. St. John assented, and very soon the two friends were 
 in the saddle and on their way to Effingham Hall. The 
 old mansion ere long rose before them, and they passed be- 
 neatii the grout trees, and stopped at the door. 
 
 On the portico, the old squire, now grown gray, but In-t \ 
 and determined as before, was arguing vigorously wit 1 : his
 
 ,502 MISS BONNYBKL. 
 
 old neighbor, Mr. Lee, on whose head had also descended 
 the snows of those ten additional winters. As in long past 
 days, the squire indignantly denied the propositions of his 
 friend before they were enunciated, and, in contrast to all 
 this violent discussion of the gray heads, at their feet a child 
 was busily weaving larkspurs those little flowers resem 
 bling goblin hoods into a wreath, intent upon her toil and 
 wholly indifferent to the progress of the argument. 
 
 Mr. Champ Effingham and Madam Clare came forth to 
 welcome their friends the one calm and serene, the other 
 smiling and bright and behind these, Mr. William Effing- 
 ham, raised his intelligent head, and shot a stately smile ; 
 one hand extended courteously, the other supporting a form 
 leaning on his arm. 
 
 Before this latter, says our worthy author, with her joy 
 and beauty, and perennial loveliness and goodness ; before 
 Kate Effingham, now as in old days, the queen of purity 
 and meekness, the present chronicler bends to the very 
 ground, and takes his hat off and does homage, as in pres 
 ence of an empress. Not in vain has his pen, gliding 
 through the hours, and taking him from present scenes to 
 older days and figures ; not in vain has his pen labored, as 
 the painter's brush does, to delineate the lovely visions of 
 the past, when this fair form remains to speak of him. 
 Among those faces and characters which he tried to draw, 
 and which he is fain to hope, the readers of the present 
 chronicle will have also looked on among all the figures 
 of his former history, not one contents him but this maiden. 
 Everywhere something is to add to make the drawing 
 worthier, something to take away, an outline to round, a 
 trait to expand ; but here he can add nothing. Not from 
 his idle imagination could this picture have proceeded this 
 vision of purity and joy. A portrait painter simply, he can 
 claim no laurels such as are justly due to the great artist 
 originating from an inner impulse something new and beau 
 tiful. Old letters, yellow and faded, and crumbling into 
 dust, told of that fairest maiden ; and her portrait yonder
 
 MISS UONNYCFX. 003 
 
 iaughing on my wall, spoke audibly the words I read, with 
 pensive smiles, from the old sheet her snowy lingers rested 
 on. I read those dear old letters often letters commen 
 cing, " Dearest Bonnybel," and ending, " Your own Kate" 
 and thus, with these memorials, I knew what loveliness and 
 goodness the original of the portrait was endowed with. 
 Then with this image of the maiden of the last century, 
 blended the fair figure of a child of the present age a child 
 of such rare and touching purity and truth, that thinking of 
 her now, I grow young again almost, and live in the scenes 
 of other years bright years which have flown, but left be 
 hind the aroma of their joy and tenderness, and sunshine. 
 Thus I am satisfied, as far as that is possible in any instance, 
 with the picture of this maiden I have nothing to add, no 
 trait to change. I shall never do the like again, and I dare 
 not introduce her into the present history, or even so much 
 as repeat her letters. As she passes before me smiling and 
 beautiful, with the light on her hair and in her tender eyes ; 
 as she glides on thus like a vision or a dream ; I stand aside 
 as she moves, and only smile as I look, and return to that 
 life which is poor and cold without her, for it holds no figure 
 adequate to represent heir beauty ! 
 
 After this fashion does our worthy old chronicler dis 
 course upon the subject of Mrs. William Effingham, which 
 lady seems to have been an extreme favorite with him. In 
 the former portion of this MSS. this feeling of complaisant 
 satisfaction with his work more than once appears, and as, 
 doubtless, the character of Miss Kate Effingham shone fairer 
 for him than it can for the reader, we may pardon his rhap 
 sody, as the harmless exhibition of that fondness for youth 
 ful recollections, which frequently characterizes elderly gen 
 tlemen. 
 
 "We should extract the author's account of Mr. St. John's 
 visit to Effingham Hall, which he describes at length, repeat 
 ing all the conversation of the personages, but unfortunate 
 ly our narrative leads us to more important scenes. 
 
 The friends remained to dinner, which was seived at an
 
 304 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 emly hour, and then departing, the two gentlemen returner! 
 homeward Mr. Hamilton to the "Trap," and Mr. St. John 
 toward Williamsburg. 
 
 His route lay in the direction of the old field school, 
 and just as he came opposite that sylvan academe, Uncle 
 Jimmy Doubleday terminated the toil of the day, and gave 
 the summons of dismissal to his flock of chirping youngster? 
 male and female. 
 
 CHAPTER LVHL 
 
 THB SECOND WARNING. 
 
 THE young man was in an idle mood, and attracted by 
 the fresh faces of the children, always favorites with him, 
 halted, and turning in his saddle, followed their gay gam 
 bols with a pleased smile. 
 
 It was not long before a figure detached itself from the 
 merry flock of boys and girls, and this little figure ap 
 proached the fence, and made Mr. St. John a smiling curte- 
 sey. 
 
 It was Blossom, and the young lady seemed to experience 
 much pleasure in again meeting with her friend. 
 
 The man and the child had scarcely exchanged greetings 
 when Uncle Jimmy Doubleday himself made his appearance, 
 framed, like a gigantic pedagogue, in the doorway of the 
 old field school. Seeing Mr. St. John, Uncle Jimmy camo 
 toward that gentleman, walking, with the dignity of a patri 
 arch, in the midst of his family and tribe. 
 
 " You behold a pleasing sight, my dear Mr. St. John," 
 said Uncle Jimmy, taking off his great goggles, and extend 
 ing the hand holding them toward the flocks of children. 
 " I hold not with the heathen philosophers that children are 
 as ciphers in the state ; to my mind, they are meadow flow 
 ers w*4ch gladden the hearts of those who look upon them.
 
 MISS BOSNYBEL. 305 
 
 and in all the various relations of our life, wield mighty in 
 fluences." 
 
 Uncle Jimmy stooped, in a dignified way, to button a 
 negligent " point" of his splatterdashes as he spoke, and 
 then pulled his long waistcoat again carefully to his knees. 
 
 " I think with you, Mr. Doubleday," replied the young 
 man smiling, " that tliey are great blessings ; their affection 
 often outweighs that of older persons." 
 
 " Yes, that is true," said Uncle Jimmy, placing a fatherly 
 hand on the sunny curls of little Blossom, who stood de 
 murely by him, one foot based firmly on the ground, the 
 other poised upon the toe of her slipper the neat stockings, 
 without crease or fold, beneath the short skirt ; " that ia 
 true, Mr. St. John, and in my little friend, Blossom, here, 
 who seems to know you, I recognize a treasure of goodness 
 and affection. Nay, do n't blush, my child ; I like to praise 
 you for your dutiful and obedient conduct. I only wish you 
 would give a little of your character to that young scamp, 
 Paul, who narrowly escaped the birch this morning." 
 
 And Uncle Jimmy smiled. 
 
 Before Blossom could defend her sweetheart, Uncle Jim 
 my felt a hand on the skirt of his long coat, and turning 
 round, beheld the smiling physiognomy of Master Paul. . 
 
 " I say, Uncle Jimmy," said that young man, " I did n't 
 mean to hit you on the nose, shooting that pea. I was only 
 trying Bob Dandridge's popgun, and I did n't mean for it to 
 go off." ' 
 
 " Behold, Mr. St. John, the depravity of the character of 
 children," said Uncle Jimmy, with philosophic severity; 
 " this youth is really incorrigible ; reproving does not af 
 fect him in the least ; he always begs off in a way which in 
 dicates a natural genius for the forum." 
 
 And Uncle Jimmy frowned at Paul, after which he turned 
 away his head to smile. 
 
 "Whether Master Paul saw the smile or not, we can not 
 say, but he uttered the observation, " Uncle Jimmy, me and 
 Blossom like you very much," after which the ycungstei
 
 300 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 ran to his pony, ar..l putting Blossom up behind him, gal 
 loped off toward " Roseland," her father's cottage. 
 
 " Such is the nature of children," said Uncle Jimmy, 
 smiling and taking a pinch of rapparee, which he offered to 
 his friend, " they laugh at every thing." 
 
 " I think 't is a better philosophy than groaning," said 
 St. John, 
 
 " Doubtless, but many disappointments await them; lifo 
 is a hard enemy. A decade from this moment and they will 
 change their merriment to sorrow, their smiles to sighing." 
 
 St. John smiled. 
 
 " Then your theory questions the possibility of perfect 
 happiness to adults," he said. 
 
 " Almost," replied Uncle* Jimmy. 
 
 " Suppose a grown man, as this child will be in the de 
 cade you speak of; suppose such a man is loved devotedly 
 by a woman, all purity and truth," said the young man, 
 smiling with his happy secret ; " suppose the whole treasure. 
 of a beautiful and nobie nature is his own ; is not that some 
 thing like the happiness you deny men ?" 
 "Uncle Jimmy shook his head. 
 
 " Time is uncertain," he said ; " woman more uncertain 
 than time." 
 
 " Some are," said St. John, laughing at his companion'N 
 ignorance ; " others are the pole stars of the earth." 
 
 Uncle Jimmy shook his head again. 
 
 " It is well to look keenly to see whether the star we hav<: 
 taken for the polar light, is not in the constellation of the 
 Serpent Scorpio, my friend. Truly hath it been said by 
 Horatius, 
 
 u . ' uxorem cum dote fidemque et amicos 
 Et genus, et formam, regina Pecunia, donat ;' 
 
 meaning, as you doubtless comprehend, that women are oft 
 swayed by worldly considerations. But let me not seem 
 uncharitable. Perhaps grief has soured me and clouded my 
 eves. It is the old who chant the
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 307 
 
 " ' Prsecipo lugubres 
 Cantus, Melpomene,' 
 
 and beating their breasts cry, ' Oh, Postumus ! Postum us ! 
 how the flying years glide away : 
 
 And Uncle Jimmy sighed and was silent, betaking him 
 self, for consolation, to his snuff again. 
 
 In taking the box from his pocket, he dropped a letter, 
 which came out with it, and as this circumstance did not at 
 tract his attention, St. John pointed to it. 
 
 Uncle Jimmy stooped to pick it up rather hastily, and the 
 young man's eye chanced to fall npon the direction. He 
 smiled, for it was in a lady's handwriting. 
 
 " That seems to be from a fair friend is it not ?" he said, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Y-es," observed Uncle Jimmy, rather shyly, " it is from 
 a friend of mine." 
 
 " A lady?" 
 
 "Well, yes, my dear Mr. St. John, but the affair is sim 
 ply Platonic simply that, upon my word, sir." 
 
 And Uncle Jimmy put the letter in his pocket. St. John 
 did not say that the preaching and practicing of the philo 
 sopher badly agreed, but lie thought so, and thus triumphed. 
 
 After a little more friendly conversation, they parted, and 
 Uncle Jimmy returned toward the old field school house, 
 now deserted. Mr. St. John continued his way back to 
 Williamsburg, smiling. 
 
 " What an amusing illustration of human philosophy that 
 was !" he said, " but how strange that thus, for the second 
 time in three or four days, I have listened to a voice uncon 
 sciously bidding me distrust my happiness, and prepare for 
 a change, for misery. The other day it was, ' Heaven will 
 not permit you to rust in the sloth of happiness at such a 
 crisis ;' to-day it is, ' Woman are scorpions !' What sad
 
 308 M I S3 
 
 philosophy ! Ah, they do not, know that the gift . f this no 
 ble love romes straight from heaven, and will purify me; 
 they do not know that whatever ether women mny be, this 
 one is nearly an angel in faithfulness and truth. A change 
 in hei love ! I should sooner look to see the star of even 
 ing yonder dart from its orbit, and fade into nothing. How 
 unhappy must these poor hearts have been, to doubt the 
 certainty of my happiness !" 
 
 And smiling tranquilly, the young man went upon bis 
 way. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 HOW ST. JOHN DREW HIS SWORD, AND STRUCK AT A 
 SHADOW. 
 
 " WlLLUiiSBiraG, Tuesday 
 " MY DEAR TOM, 
 
 " I send you the contents of your memorandum, as far 
 as I could procure the articles, and am sorry to hear that 
 you are indisposed. I trust 'tis but trifling. I might beg 
 your pardon for detaining Dick, and for sending an inferior 
 quality of hair powder, but I have been too much troubled 
 to have my right wits about me. 
 
 " Instead of trying to think of some news, which 't is cer 
 tain this execrable place do n't afford, I will proceed to tell 
 you the origin of my trouble. I do n't know if it 's a natural 
 weakness, or springs from the depth of the feeling I experi 
 ence, but I think it will relieve me to unburden my trouble 
 to a true friend like yourself, and perhaps you will be able 
 to give me some cheering view of the affair. 
 
 " I will announce the cause of my trouble at once. I 
 have just returned from Vanely, and the person that I love 
 more than the whole world has received me almost with 
 coldness. 
 
 " Can you imagine the possibility of that ? Do n't you
 
 MISS BOXNYBEL. 30 
 
 think I am out of 1113' senses? Yon know, as so inu> M 
 friend deserved to know, the whole of my position there, 
 and ever}' thing; and this knowledge will make you doubt 
 my sanity. When you have heard my narrative, however, 
 which I write with a heavy heart, you will be foi ced to be 
 lieve me. 
 
 "I had been here attending to my affairs for more than a 
 son'night, when one morning, having dispatched my esti 
 mates for the building up yonder, you know sooner than 
 I expected, I felt an absolute thirst for Tier society, and de 
 termined to gallop all the way to Vanely to have a little of 
 It. Out of her presence I only breathe, I think I do not 
 live, or enjoy existence. I had felt indeed for these seven 
 days during which I was absent, that the world would be but 
 a poor place for me without her ; that I would not care to 
 live ; and away from her now for even this small space, it 
 seemed to me that the sun did not shine as brightly, and that 
 even the orioles which flew over the roof tops sang almost 
 harshly. I 'm not ashamed to say I love her with my whole 
 heart and soul, and I had to go and see her again ! 
 
 " Well, I went, and although she received me with happy 
 smiles, I thought I discerned some constraint, and even a 
 certain coldness in her air. I make you my father confessor 
 for the nonce, and I pour my story into your friendly ear. 
 It troubles me, Tom, and I have to speak. I could not have 
 imagined this thing making a buggaboo for my private 
 annoyance I discerned this coolness plainly, for the eyes 
 of a man who feels as I do toward her, grow supernaturally 
 penetrating, his ears nervously sensitive to the most deli 
 cate variations in the tone of voice. It seems to me that 
 since I have loved this beautiful girl, I have received the 
 faculty of plunging into her very soul, and often I have 
 read her very thoughts, and replied in such a way as to 
 startle her. I can not explain this thing, which I blunder 
 out without expressing my meaning in the least; but I 
 mean that every shadow passing over the mirror of her 
 mind seems to clou>l my own ; every tappy thought in her
 
 OJ .U MISS BOXNYBKL. 
 
 bosom seems to be transferred to my own beart. I share 
 her disquiet, partake of her joy, and down to the least sen 
 timent, the most minute and varying emotion what af 
 fects her affects me, even before she has spoken for I love 
 her. 
 
 " Whether you understand this rhapsodical passage or 
 not, it contains none the less the very simplest truth, and 
 the sympathy thus existing between us made me at once 
 aware that in some way her feeling for me had been modi 
 fied. The family did not observe the least change ; and the 
 explanation of that fact was very simple. They might have 
 attributed a much greater constraint to mere bashfuluess 
 at her position, always an embarrassing one, I am told, to 
 young girls. Certain it is they saw nothing. 
 
 " As I have told you over and over for my distress makes 
 me garrulous and disconnected I saw it distinctly. The 
 sailor sees and notes with attention and anxiety the clpud 
 no larger than the hand of a child on the far horizon of the 
 sea, while the landsman only looks up when the rain begins 
 to fall, or the thunder mutters and the lightnings flash ! 
 The reason is, that, to the latter, it is but a question of rain 
 which he may avoid by entering his house, while the re 
 mote speck for the sailor contains storm and tempest which 
 may plunge his craft beneath the hungry waves, and himself 
 with it. 
 
 "I weary you, Tom, with my poor wandering words, but 
 I repeat that this troubles me. I saw in her eyes that inde 
 finable shadow which indicates a change ; there was no longer 
 the same sunny frankness, the same joy and abandonment, 
 if I may use the word. With a smile, assumed to hide my 
 disquiet, I asked her if my absence had tried her affection 
 my ' lengthy sojourn in foreign lands,' I said, making a jest, 
 you .see, or attempting to and she, with a smile which I 
 thought as forced as my own, said, ' Oh no, how could I say 
 such a thing ?' But the constraint remained, and after a 
 hundred attempts to fathom the mystery, I gave up in de 
 spair.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 311 
 
 " I remained from the evening of one day to .lie morning 
 of the third day. I think the constraint grew almost to 
 coldness before I departed, and, as I write, I am greatly dis 
 tressed. You see, Tom, this is no trival affair with me. I 
 have built all my future on the broad foundation of this 
 woman's love, and I can not love lightly. Where the heart 'a 
 given with me, it 's given for ever, and this troubles me. 
 Formerly nothing troubled me ; but I am changed now. 
 I no longer look upon life with that careless and almost dis 
 dainful indifference with which I once regarded it. You 
 may have heard me say a thousand times that nothing could 
 annoy me long or deeply, that I was ' sufficient for myself,' 
 that the world and its inhabitants might go their way and 
 I would go mine, unmoved by their opinion good or bad, 
 unaffected either by their love or their hatred at least v 
 greatly. Well, now, I say that no longer. I wish every, 
 body's good opinion ; for the expression of this good opinion 
 doubtless gives her pleasure. Can't you understand my 
 meaning ? Can't you see how a man who formerly laughed 
 at the idea of being moved in the least by a world of women, 
 now fixes his eyes upon a single one's face, and lives only 
 when he thinks of her or 's with her ? I am even proud of 
 my bondage, for I know that the chain binding me binds 
 her, that my love is as much to her as her own is to me at 
 least it was the other week. 
 
 " I write the words with a heavy heart. I tell you, Tom, 
 there 's no doubt about the coldness. The absence of her 
 former frankness and joy was, and is, proof strong as holy 
 writ. Something has come between us, I know not what. 
 Write what you think of it ; I am blind, I confess it. Like 
 that seer of the middle age, who bartered all his lore for 
 love, and gave up willingly his power over the invisible 
 denizens of earth and air, to be a simple mortal, and lean on 
 a woman's bosom, as her equal and love ; like him, I have 
 lost, perhaps, my penetrntion ; I am troubled, it may even 
 be, by a chimera, for I coufess I begin to distrust myself. 
 If she is untrue, then all things are false, and, with the rest,
 
 312 MISS r>o:>.sYEL. 
 
 my intellect. Friend, help me to extricate ny*elf from 
 this web, which seems to be even now closing round me, 
 wrapping me closer and closer in its mysterious folds. I 
 scarcely know what I write, and I doubt if it is sense ; but 
 there is something, I know not what I feel it ! I breathe 
 it! There is some evil at work upon my life! I am not 
 superstitious, but it seems to me that a cloud is rising some 
 where, with which I am to struggle, though I can not gra^p 
 it. Have you never felt this irrational foreboding ? If' you 
 have not, you will laugh at me, but your laugh will not affect 
 me. You must first tell me why here, in the morning, with 
 the sunlight around me, with my nerves perfectly healthful, 
 my pulse beating with its wonted regularity ; why thus, in 
 perfect health of mind and body, I feel as if a dark fnte were 
 at work upon my life, travailing to bring forth my misery! 
 
 "That you will think me insane after this full and unre 
 served expression of what I meant to conceal, even from 
 you, friend, I fully expect. Whatever you think, I can not 
 complain. I frankly confess that I have given you but sorry 
 and foolish grounds for my disquiet. 
 
 " What ! I hear you say, St. John become superstitious, 
 trembling at such bugbears of the fancy as are only fit to 
 frighten nervous women ! St. John, the careless fellow with 
 the stalwart shoulders, the iron nerves, the smiling lips ; 
 who touched his sword hilt, and boasted that he was ready 
 to meet any foe, and would have laughed in derision at the 
 very intimation of imaginary disquietude ! St. John, now 
 crouching and shrinking under an invisible lash, wielded by 
 airy hands ! St. John a-trembling, like a baby, at the sight 
 of a buggaboo, and whining out mysterious influences! 
 secret warnings ! I hear you say that, and I flmcy you 
 shaking your head, and thinking that from this time forth, 
 you can never trust in human boastings, or, any man, how 
 ever healthy 's nerves. Well, friend, be it as you will ; I 
 do not try to convince you I yield. Say, if you choose, 
 that I am mastered by a dream, a vision of the night, a very 
 shadow and chimera. But I am none the more convinced
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 313 
 
 none the less mastered by my insanity, if you like ILC word. 
 I toll yon, friend, earnestly, strongly ! with my whole force! 
 that, even ns I write, this influence is growing, increasing, 
 darkening terribly! More 'than ever, there is in the full 
 sunshine a sad splendor, gloomier than midnight ! More 
 than ever, I thrill with a nameless dread ! I seem to see de 
 scending on me a huge ebon cloud ! A thrill runs through 
 my veins my hair stands up ! there are forms around me ; 
 one, that of a woman with cold eyes, and a sneer which 
 chills me ! There ! before me as I write ! Away ! 
 ****** 
 
 Well 
 
 " I shall end this letter, my dear friend, with words less 
 fanciful than those above. Perhaps there is something wrong 
 with my nerves ; I am out of health, it may be ; I am sick. 
 For, after writing those hurried words there, it seemed to 
 me that an enemy stood beside me, advanced toward me 
 a something, I know not what, which matched itself against 
 me ! 'Tis gone now, but to prove to you how profoundly 
 I was moved, look at that blot Upon the paper. It was 
 caused by my pen falling from my trembling fingers, as 1 
 rose to my feet, drawing my sword completely from the 
 scabbard, and striking madly at the air. Doubtless I am 
 sick, for even now my breast seems contracting, and I 
 breathe heavily. There, >t is doubtless the old story of 
 Marius cutting at his visions when he was dying the fever 
 moving him. 
 
 " Yet my pulse beats regularly again ; I see myself in the 
 mirror yonder, and rny complexion is healthful ; I do not 
 seem sick. I must be, however, for no traces of rny deliriun 
 remain I write calmly. Keep my letter as a striking ex 
 hibition of the power of the imagination. 
 
 " I will end with a few words of news. His Excellency 
 is said to regard the convention of the delegates with sido 
 looks and suspicion, and to threaten. But he will do noth 
 ing. All your friends are well. At Vanely^ every ono is 
 well, I tlink, and there is nothing now. The Italian l<j'.,k*
 
 314 MISS BONNY BEL. 
 
 ing woman, the seamstress, is still there, and, I know not 
 why, I have taken up a prejudice against her. Another of 
 my irrational whims, you will say well, but she none the 
 more pleases me with her dark, wary-looking eyes. 
 
 " You will be glad to hear that 't is my decided opinion 
 that your shaking begins to detach the fruit. From chance 
 observations, uttered by the young lady, I should say that 
 another siege would terminate in victory, though I hope the 
 victor would not demolish. It is rather a sad jest to make, 
 but I hope to be your brother Harry some day. 
 
 " I have writen you what may seem a pure pack of non 
 sense, my dear Tom, but 't is you alone who will read it. 
 We are old comrades, and I'm not afraid to speak my 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Write and dissipate my trouble, if you can. Until then, 
 and f^r ever, I am, 
 
 " Your friend, 
 
 "H. ST. JOHN." 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 TOM JLL8TON TO HENBY ST. JOHN. 
 
 " MOOREFIELD, after Dinner. 
 
 " MOST beloved of friends, and estimable of gentlemen, 
 but also most superstitious of correspondents, and strangest 
 of Sancti Johannes ! I have perused thy letter with abun 
 dant laughter, and return unto thee my most grateful thanks 
 for dissipating a catarrh which has troubled me this fort 
 night ! 
 
 " In this mournful vale of tears, O Henricus ! not every 
 d:iy do the immortals vouchsafe to the inhabitants of earth 
 the high prerogative and privilege of inextinguishable laugh 
 ter. This assurance will I write unto thee, O Henry! thy 
 prehvtion having rendered it incumbent. Even now a nasaJ
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. '31 1 
 
 eachinnation, or inaudible expiration, vulgarly called snicker, 
 doth bear witness to the account given of your gorgons and 
 chimeras 1 
 
 " In other words, my dear boy, to descend all at once from 
 my ceremonious style, your letter has made me laugh, sans 
 intermission, an hour by the dial ! Per Hercle ! but my 
 swearing shall be confined to the French. Or, rather, I '11 
 not swear at all, or laugh. I will be grave as Erebus. 
 
 " To be serious, and stop my jesting, my dear Harry, 
 pray tell me what, in the name of all the gods at once, has 
 thrown you into this nervous state of mind ? Is it too much 
 work, or the want of my cheerful society, or the sight of 
 that fine gentleman, his Depravity Lord Dunmore ? I have 
 never before known you to give evidence of this strange sus 
 ceptibility to superstitious impressions, and though I make 
 a jest of your letter, and certainly did laugh at first, it has 
 been productive, by this time, of far more disquiet to me. 
 
 " You rightly supposed that I would consider your fan 
 cies the product of disordered nerves, and I here declare, 
 once for all, that they seem to me the very climax of irra 
 tionality, from first to last. What ! you can not permit a 
 young girl of the most timid and shrinking disposition to 
 exhibit a little embarrassment at your arrival you, her ac 
 cepted lover, and I wish you joy of it ! You can't let her 
 blush a little, and leave the burden of the conversation to 
 the rest, and retire when she feels sick, or looks badly, and 
 fears you will not admire her in that plight, and therefore 
 hides herself; you can't permit those most natural and ob 
 vious every-day, humdrum occurrences to take place, without 
 imagining a change in her feelings, a diminution of her love, 
 an interruption of her affection ? Fie, Harry ! 't is but a 
 poor lover that you make, and I predict that if you go on 
 with your fancies, 't will end in frightening her, and causing 
 the very thing which you dread. It is my intention, through 
 out the two following pages, to dwell upon this subject of 
 the young lady's constraint, which you, yourself, aekjiowl- 
 <?^<> no one observed but a certain Mr. St. John, gifted, fo|
 
 316 MISS BONNYI5KT. 
 
 the nonce, with nautical penetration to discern distant cloud*, 
 and atmospheric phenomena, invisible to landsmen ; it is mv 
 intention to proceed at length to the refutation of your fan 
 cies on this point, and then I shall handle more briefly the 
 phantom appearances. 
 
 ******* 
 
 " Having thus completely demolished your first point, ab 
 solutely leveled it with the ground, plowed up the founda 
 tions, and sowed salt in the furrows, I proceed briefly, as 
 my paper decreases, to speak of your phantoms. My dear 
 Harry, can you seriously believe in those idle stories ? 
 
 " There was a time, certainly, when the best minds, ignor 
 ant and surrounded by common tilings which they could not 
 understand, took refuge, from their blank thoughts, in . an 
 irrational superstition. Socrates, it is said, believed in a fa 
 miliar spirit, Friar Bacon also, and even that strong-minded 
 old fellow, Doctor Johnson, to come nearer, gives credit to 
 the story of the Cock Lane Ghost. The others had strong 
 intellects, but they lived in an age of scientific darkness, and 
 we may pardon, while we deplore, the vagaries of their 
 imaginations. But that an educated gentleman of 1774, 
 should seriously give credence to the airy whisperings of 
 such a philosophy as you do ! that you, a strong, healthy, 
 hearty, educated individual should believe in secret warn 
 ings, and mysterious presentiments! really the thing grieves 
 me too much to permit any more laughter. 
 
 " I pray you to banish these fancies, which are simply the 
 result of disordered blood, of a nervous attack, of loss of 
 rest, probably, or excess in the use of tobacco, the supply of 
 which, being last year's crop, is, I think, particularly rank 
 ajid violent in its effect upon the nerves. Physical causes 
 very frequently produce mental effects, and if you see the 
 devil enter, with horns and tail, you have but to go to the 
 next physician's library to read an account of the same phe 
 nomenon witnessed a century ago by another sick as you 
 are. 
 
 " What 's certain is, that you are unhappy, and you rightly
 
 MISS BOI-TNYBEL. 81 
 
 think that nothing that concerns you is indifferent tr> m, 
 that nothing yon write will find in me an unsympaihizing 
 listener. We have been friends since childhood, and though 
 censorious individuals are pleased to consider my carriage 
 of person the proof of a shallow nature, still I persist in de- 
 clnring that I love ray friends as well and heartily as the best 
 of them, and among these friends none takes a place before 
 yourself. I pray you throw aside these imaginary trouble* 1 , 
 and do not doubt that you have the entire affection of th?t 
 beautiful nature, than whom I know none purer or moie 
 faithful. 
 
 " I am still languid from my attack, or I would come to 
 see you. Why should you not make a visit here ? Leave 
 your plans for 'Flower of Hundreds,' and come, for a day at 
 least, and recover your spirits. You '11 work all the better 
 afterwards. I shall assuredly expect your answer to this in 
 person, and by word of mouth. 
 
 " I thank you for the things. They are all excellent, ex 
 cept the hair powder, which that abandoned profligate, La- 
 fonge, has prepared with musk. My opinion of that fellow 
 is, that he is a wretch, and that the chief end and aim, of his 
 whole existence is to disappoint, wound, and humiliate me. 
 A hundred times I have remonstrated with him, almost to 
 tears, on his conduct. I have dedicated whole mornings to 
 the most pathetic representations, which he has listened to 
 with sobs, standing behind his counter, and wringing hia 
 hands, and promising, between his sniffs of contrition, that 
 in future he will be perfect. It is all in vain ; his insidious 
 design is to mortify and humiliate me ; he thinks even to 
 shorten my days by his unmanly persecutions. He is mis 
 taken, however. This puts the finish to our dealings. I 
 distinctly ordered this hair powder to be prepared in an 
 apartment which a suspicion even of musk had never en 
 tered, and here I and my household, the very dogs and 
 cats, are turned into moschine denizens of Thibet, causing 
 me to blow my nose and groan every five minutes while I 
 write. Well, I have one recourse Lafonge and myself
 
 A<$ MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 part for ever ; I am tearful, but firm we separate. I 'n* 
 none the less obliged to you, Harry my boy, for the trouble 
 you were put to. 
 
 " I 've got to the end of my paper. Do not write, but 
 come here and breathe a purer atmosphere. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake do n't yield again to your fancies, 
 which wound and distress me no less than they do yourself. 
 Forget them, and come and have a laugh with, or at, if yo'i 
 choose, 
 
 " Your friend to the end, 
 
 "Ton ALSTON." 
 
 "P. S. Even my pointer, Milo, is turning up his nose at 
 the musk, and regards me with a look of reproach which 
 penetrates my heart. The depravity of Lafonge has been 
 exhibited for the last time." 
 
 CHAPTER LXL 
 
 ST. JOHN TELLS HOW A SPIRIT ENTERED HIS ROOM At 
 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 "WlLLiAMSBUBG, Wednesday, 
 
 " YOUR letter, my dear friend, was scarcely different from 
 what I expected. I was perfectly well aware of the fact 
 that my account of the singular influence I experienced 
 would excite rather laughter than sympathy, and I even 
 add that your reply contained less of banter than I ex 
 pected. 
 
 " It is unnecessary for me to say that your laughter did not 
 annoy me at all. I recognize your right to scold me as vig 
 orous!) as you choose, for, as you say, we are too close friends 
 to stand upon the least ceremony. I thank you indeed for 
 your letter, filled as it \vas, the greater part of it, with the 
 ipo^t friendly assurances of regard, and the most labored
 
 MJSS 
 
 attempts to raise my drooping spirits, and cheer me nflor 
 my afflicting adventure. After reading the sheets carefully 
 T laid them down, thinking your views admirably just. 1 
 said to myself that I would not further continue the discus 
 sion, but leave to after events the determination of the mat 
 ter. I would willingly believe, if she met me as of old, and 
 if the presentiments did not return, that I was merely car 
 ried away by fancy, and there would be the end of the ar 
 gument, and your triumph. If, on the contrary, this change 
 became more marked in her if these influences attacked 
 me more unmistakably then, too, there would be an end 
 of the discussion, and I should have wofully triumphed. 
 
 " I announce to you, with a groan as I write, that the last 
 is the fact. I can not come to Moorefield I can not move 
 now. I do what I can I write. 
 
 " In order to understand what has taken place since the 
 arrival of your letter, and to make myself better understood 
 n the further account of what has befallen me, I shall begin 
 at the beginning, and trace the matter through all its steps ; 
 briefly, however, for I am weak and faint. 
 
 " To go back, then. 
 
 " I left Vanely a fortnight or more ago, and came hither 
 to see to a number of arrangements connected with Flower 
 of Hundreds, which is sadly in want of repairs, owing, I 
 suppose, to my long absence. As you may imagine, I car 
 ried away from Vanely, in the looks and tones of somebody, 
 what made these toils a happiness, for she was to share the 
 home I was bent on beautifying for her reception. 
 
 "I came hither, therefore, with a light heart, and pro 
 ceeded to work. But the strangest thing happened to me 
 so strange in connection with what has taken place since 
 that but I will narrate. 
 
 " On the very day of my arrival I encountered at the 
 Raleigh tavern that strange man of whom I have spoken to 
 you more than once the stranger of the old church of St. 
 John, at Richmond town. We talked of political matters, 
 and when he came to allude to the assistance the province
 
 35$ MISS r-ONNTBEL. 
 
 demanded from all her patriotic inhabitants, I returned his 
 strange confidence up yonder, by speaking of myself, and 
 saying that I would be nble to do little, since I had received 
 from a woman an avowal of her affection, and was happy and 
 content, and disposed to think all things in the world just 
 as they should be. He replied, with a strange look, * Do 
 not think that Heaven will permit you to withdraw yourself 
 from the contest.' Those were his very words, and though 
 I listened to them then with careless inattention, I now re* 
 member them, and find them echoing, like his deep voice, 
 in my mind and my heart. 
 
 " Some days after the interview with the stranger, I rode 
 out, went to Jack Hamilton's, an<l, with him, visited Effing- 
 ham Hall, where I had a long and very pleasant conversa 
 tion with Mrs. Kate Effingham, her friend, you know. Suro 
 a woman never tires of dwelling on the merits of her friend, 
 and my cheek glowed, I think, as I listened to her praises. 
 I came away with those gracious words of love and praise 
 resounding in my heart, and having left Hamilton at the 
 ' Trap,' proceeded toward Williamsburg. I stopped, how 
 ever, to exchange a few words with old Mr. Doubleday at 
 the school house, and in some way, here too the conversa 
 tion turned upon human happiness and the female charac 
 ter. As the stranger had intimated that Heaven would not 
 permit me to enjoy tranquil happiness in wedded life at suoh 
 a juncture as the present, so now the old philosopher of the 
 school house croaked, ' Time is uncertain, woman more un 
 certain than time.' He presented an admirable commentary 
 on his sermon by dropping, accidentally, a letter from a fair 
 friend with whom he had an affair, 'simply Platonic,' he said, 
 and I came away laughing. But still these coincidencea 
 trouble me. 
 
 " You see when a man has staked his whole earthly hap 
 piness upon the faith of a single heart, he is no longer free, 
 he no longer laughs with careless indifference at theories 
 affecting him ; he is bound with a chain of gold, and at a 
 certain spot he is forced to pause and reflect. Happiness
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 321 
 
 is more tban life to the heart, at least, happiness such as 1 
 play for, and I could not resist a sentiment of disquiet in 
 spite of my laughter and incredulity. I had built all my 
 hopes on a woman's faith ; I had played my own happiness 
 against that stake, and I could not bear in my mind even a 
 suspicion of the genuine nature of the coin. See my mis 
 erable player illustrations my figures, borrowed from the 
 gaining table ! I attempt thus to divert my mind from 
 what follows. 
 
 " Let me say at once that I determined to go back, were 
 it even for an hour, to Vanely. I determined to escape thus 
 from my foolish fancies ; the very sight of her tender and 
 confiding countenance would dissipate my uneasiness and 
 gloom. 
 
 " You know the result of that visit, for I wrote you a 
 lengthy account of it, laboring, unsuccessfully it seems, to 
 impress upon you the singular change which proved the ra 
 tionality of my fears, first suggested by the words of the 
 stranger and the old schoolmaster. It was in writing that 
 letter, as you remember, that a strange and mysterious pre 
 sentiment attacked me a presentiment which you laughed 
 at when you read my letter, and argued against in your re 
 ply, as a mere hallucination, springing from nervousness, or 
 illness. You shall judge whether I was not sane and well 
 what follows will cut the knot. 
 
 " Your letter, as I have said, communicated to my mind 
 great cheerfulness. I read, and reread it, and dwelt upon 
 your views connected with the physical and mental organ 
 ization attentively and carefully. They seemed to me of 
 excellent soundness, and positively irrefutable. Not only 
 your argument, but your laughter, had a strong effect upon 
 me. I imagined you remonstrating with Lafonge-^I saw 
 his gestures the horror you experienced at the discovery 
 of the musk ; and Milo's look of reproach as you declared. 
 Your laughter dispelled my gloom ; your gayety brought 
 back the sunshine. From clouds I came forth into the .sun 
 ny air ; my surrounding of presentiment was dispelled by 
 
 1**
 
 322 MISS BoNNYBEf- 
 
 yonr surrounding of merriment. Thus, your arguments and 
 your smiles together made me think that I had indeed 
 yielded to an unhealthy melancholy ; hat my nerves had 
 disordered my mind, and that the distressing change in Aer 
 demeanor existed only in my fancy. 
 
 " I therefore determined to go again to Vanely, and to 
 enter the hospitable doors unaccompanied by the least sus 
 picion. All that should be left behind in this detestable 
 place, which I wonder now that I ever could have dwelt i<i. 
 I would go to Vanely with the smiling face of the past 
 with my arms stretched out to press welcoming hands, as in 
 old days. I would say to her, frankly, that I had foolishly 
 thought her feelings changed toward me, and would have 
 a hearty laugh at my imaginary disquiet. Sitting down, 
 with a smile, I leaned my head upon my hand, and imagined 
 her replying, with a look of reproach, that I must have in 
 deed been very ill to think that she could ever change ; and 
 as I fancied her smiling and tender countenance, my fears 
 were all dissipated, and I rose up joyfully and mounted my 
 horse. 
 
 " Never had I seen a morning so bright, I thought. Wil- 
 liamsburg no longer frowned, the white houses smiled and 
 saluted me, as on one happy morning when I cantered by, 
 from Richmond town, thinking of her and laughing. 'Tal- 
 lyho' bore me into the open country, to the ferry, across 
 the bright waters, and into the smiling fields of Vanely, far 
 away from turmoil and confusion. As I entered that long- 
 loved land- as I breathed the fresh and balmy air, which, 
 sure, is nowhere so inspiriting as in our good Old Dominion 
 as I went along thus rapidly through forests, and across 
 blooming meadows, where the lark sang, and the wheat 
 waved in luxuriant gold, my last anxiety was dissipated, and 
 I felt that I had not only been irrational and ridiculous in 
 my fancies ; I had been unjust to one of the purest and love 
 liest natures ever sent into the world. 
 
 "I linger upon these emotions of freshness and joy, and 
 pass to what followed with reluctance and a sort of dread.
 
 MISS liONNYBEL. 321 
 
 I pause under vhe blue skies, without a cloud, and turn away 
 from the storm. 
 
 " Well, I came thus to Yanely. 
 
 " What I write now, friend, is between my lips and your 
 oar, as though we sat alone beneath a tree, in the middle of 
 a field, you know, with no foliage to conceal a listener- for 
 you, and you only. Not only would it compromise a young 
 lady, if known, by speaking of her former demeanor to one 
 who is not the same to her, but it would, perhaps, procure 
 me the reputation of a madman, and make me the subject 
 of a writ de lunatico inquirendo. But I have set out with 
 the intention of telling you all, and I write nothing that I 
 should not write. 
 
 " Well, to proceed. 
 
 " As I entered the grounds, I more than ever busied my 
 imagination happily with the reception which I was sure to 
 receive. When formerly I had gone from Vanely to ' Flower 
 of Hundreds,' or elsewhere, and returned in the evening, slie 
 had come always to meet me, sometimes to the outer gate, 
 in her little chip hat, with a smile on her lips and a flower 
 in her hand. On such occasions I had strained my eyes, 
 from the far distance, to discern her form, relieved clearly 
 against the emerald sward, and even ' Tallyho' had tossed 
 his head when the fair figure glimmered in the sunset, for 
 he knew and shared the delight of his master. As I drew 
 nearer, the animal's speed would increase, he would almost 
 fly ; in a moment he would bear me to her side, and leaping 
 from the saddle, I would hold in mine a hand throbbing, 
 like my own, with happiness. We ascended the Vanely hill, 
 I leading * Tallyho,' she leaning on my arm, and stopping at 
 times to caress the neck of the animal, because he was mine^ 
 she said. And then she would turn again with sweeter 
 smiles to me; I would cover her hand with kisses, and if 
 my lips touched the pure forehead, she did not shrink, but, 
 looking into my eyes with an expression of the tenderest 
 affection, told me, thus, that her feeling for myself was an 
 echo of my own for her. As I write now her eyes shine
 
 324 MISS TIOXNYBEL. 
 
 on me ; I see the light on her hair, the flower in Ler hand ; 
 I hold that hand, and groan, and endeavor, in vain, to for 
 get ! 
 
 '' Well, I won't groan so ! I think the sound must have 
 attracted the attention of my servant ! A man can't sec all 
 his hopes pass from him, though, and smile as they depart. 
 I will stop my recollections, and proceed with the relation. 
 It was in the manner which I have described that I now ex 
 pected to be met, and, sure, I thought, she would at least 
 meet me thus, after an absence of what seemed a century to 
 myself. I hastened forward, with eager looks, I am sure, 
 certain of meeting her upon the portico, or in the hall, for 
 't is impossible for her not to have known of my approach, 
 as ' Tallyho' neighed at the foot of the hill, and I saw the 
 faces of the family looking from the window. You know 
 the sonorous sound of the animal, and it announced my com 
 ing from the commencement of the winding road, where 
 the great elm stands by the gate. 
 
 " She was not on the portico, she was not in the hall. 
 Instead of her figure, I saw Helen's and uncle's advance to 
 greet me with friendly smiles and open hands. 
 
 " I entered the sitting-room. She was bending over an 
 embroidery screen^with cheeks as red as blood, and I saw 
 her tremble. As Helen came in again (uncle had remained 
 without to give orders about my horse), she rose, and with 
 a sort of spasmodic gesture, held out her hand. I took it 
 in silence ; nor do I know whether I looked pale or red. 
 Helen gazed at her in silence, too, and for a moment she 
 stood thus, cold and pale now as a statue, and fixing upon 
 me eyes which burnt into my brain, so wild was their ex 
 pression. She looked like a stricken bird, and leaned upon 
 the screen for support. 
 
 " Helen asked her if she were unwell. With something 
 like a gasp, she said, in a faint voice, ' Yes,' and passing before 
 me like a phantom, was gone. I heard her ascend slowly 
 the broad stair-case, and then, as her footstep? died away, 
 I looked toward Helen with an expression of incredulous
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 323 
 
 despair, and terrible curiosity, nt least, if my fhce spoke ray 
 thoughts. Helen was as profoundly astonished and shocked 
 as myself however, and could only say that she could not 
 imagine what made Sonnybel unwell. I saw from her eyes, 
 as she spoke, that she did not believe the change in the 
 young girl's manner of receiving me attributable to illness; 
 but we had no flutter opportunity of talking upon the sub 
 ject, as my uncle came in after seeing 'Tallyho* taken, smil 
 ing, hearty, and cordial as before. 
 
 " The old gentleman was in excellent spirits, and asked 
 me a thousand questions about the doings in Williamsburg, 
 the convention at the Raleigh tavern, the Governor's view 
 of it every thing. I replied at random, and I suppose he 
 thought me utterly careless whether my answers pleased 
 him or not. You see I was racked by my feelings ; my 
 mind was filled with an absorbing thought ; I scarcely knew 
 where I was. I gazed at him when he spoke with the air 
 of a man who is waked suddenly from sleep, and is not per 
 mitted time to collect his thoughts. You will not feel as 
 tonishment at this ; my only surprise is that I did not burst 
 forth into the cry of an idiot or a madman, and toss and 
 rave. 
 
 "I suppose my uncle thought the inattention due to fa 
 tigue, for he made me go and drink some Canary with him, 
 and then dinner was served. She did not appear, but she 
 did come down in the evening, and my heart bled to see 
 how pale and sad she looked. As she gazed at me J saw 
 her eyes swim in tears, and then she turned away. All I 
 could extract from her was an assurance that she felt giieved 
 at her coldness in meeting me, that she was very unwell 
 had been suffering much, and I must pardon her. She 
 felt weak now, and believed she would retire, but Helen 
 would talk with me ; I must not think her wanting in po 
 liteness or or affection. She uttered the word with a 
 hesitation, a flush in her cheeks, and a swimming of the eyes, 
 which showed how profoundly she was moved. I think her 
 eves gushed with tears as she left the room, for she raised
 
 326 MISS BONNTBEL. 
 
 her handkerchief quickly as she disappeared, and 1 thougLt 
 I heard a sob. I strangle one in my own throat as I write, 
 friend, but I shall proceed. 
 
 " The interview I have just described will serve for the 
 two or three others which I held with her during this and 
 the next day. There was the same mixture of coldness and 
 pain in the eyes, which spoke with a more terrible eloquence 
 than any lips could. More than once she pressed my hand 
 in the most convulsive way, and her lips opened as though 
 she were about to spe^k. Before she uttered a word, how 
 ever when I was wholly silent, fearful lest I should inter- 
 rupt her, did I speak before the dumb lips formed the 
 least sound, an expression of constraint and coldness, almost 
 of fear, would diffuse itself over her countenance, and color 
 ing to the temples, she would turn away in silence. 
 
 " This is an exact description of the interview which we 
 held about twilight on the day after my arrival. We were 
 on the portico alone, and after refusing thus to speak, she 
 pleaded a headache and retired, going to her chamber with 
 the faint step of one who is indeed sick, as she evidently 
 was, for her eyes were red, and her face so pale that it made 
 my heart bleed to look at her. 
 
 "She left me thus and I sat down, and looked out upon 
 the fields. The sun was setting, and throwing long shadows 
 along the meadows, over the golden grain, which undulated 
 in the evening breeze, and from the great oaks, red now in 
 the flush of sunset, a low dreamy sigh seemed to steal, and 
 die away in the bloody sky. Never had I seen a landscape 
 fuller of the elements of beauty, but never did I think a 
 night so sad. That sorrowful splendor in the sunshine, 
 which I spoke of before, again attracted my attention, and 
 an oriole, upon the summit of the great oak before the door, 
 seemed to sing a funeral dirge. 
 
 "Prepare now to laugh, friend collect your incredulous 
 
 philosophy. I am about to utter more of my stupidities 1 
 
 am going to make you think me more than ever superstitions, 
 
 care not, I will cont.innp A T sat. thus upon the portico,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 327 
 
 and saw the mournful beauty of the snnset die away across 
 the lands, I felt again that same presentiment of evil which 
 I formerly described. It seemed to me that again I was 
 encircled by hidden foes, that the atmosphere grew dark aa 
 though from a great midnight cloud, and though I strug 
 gled to resist the impression, my nerves again began to tin 
 gle, my pulse to throb unaccountably, my hair moved upon 
 my head, and a shiver ran through my body. I seemed to 
 feel rather than see the presence of something hostile to me 
 something cunning, insidious and dangerous something 
 I must struggle against or yield to. A nameless dread 
 seized upon me, and all color forsook my cheek as before* 
 I laid my hand convulsively upon my sword. 
 
 "In a moment the feeling disappeared, and I looked 
 around to see if any one had observed my agitation. I saw 
 no person, and rising, entered the house, feeling completely 
 wretched. You think this only another evidence of dis 
 ordered nerves ; well, you will soon see that I was ere long 
 the victim of another hallucination, if you choose, more 
 strange and terrifying than this even. 
 
 " I shall trace the remaining incidents in regular order. 
 That evening she came down, looking, as usual, pale, very 
 pale, and so sad that my heart sank as I gazed at her. I 
 announced my intention of returning to Williamsburg on 
 the next morning, and as I did so I saw her turn her head 
 hastily. It was in the direction of myself, and for a mo 
 ment our eyes met, and a long look was exchanged. I 
 never saw any thing so sad as those eyes even now they 
 haunt me, and make me groan as I write. I went to her 
 aide, carelessly, but with a throbbing heart ; and taking a 
 volume from the table, played with it, and tried to smile, 
 saying, with a wretched affectation of mirth, that I was no 
 longer my own master now, and that the repairs at Flower 
 of Hundreds must not be delayed, under the circumstances. 
 I am ;v bad actor ; I assume badly, and I think that human 
 laugh never before rang out so harsh and false. My muscles 
 refused to obey me they rebelled. fnd the sound that
 
 328 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 should have been mirthful must have almost been tragica 
 and sinister. 
 
 " She did not reply with a word ; I waited in vain for her 
 to speak, and after an hour, during which she took part in 
 the conversation only fitfully, and at intervals, in the same 
 forced way, she glided out of the apartment, and cvLd riot 
 return. My heart grew cold as she disappeared, for I hat 1 
 determined to hold a private interview with her that night, 
 when the rest of the family had retired, and entreat her to 
 explain her demeanor toward me. I had planned all this, 
 down to the very words which I would utter, the arguments 
 I would use, and I thought she would be unable to resist. 
 You have seen how she defeated this scheme by simply 
 retiring without a word. 
 
 " Well, I curbed, by a violent effort, all exhibition of my 
 disappointment and distress, determining to have the inter 
 view on the next morning, in the library, before my depart 
 ure. I felt as if I must either have this explanation or go 
 mad, and the discovery of the grounds of this terrible 
 change must come from her lips alone. The rest of the 
 family, with the exception of Helen, did not seem to per 
 ceive any thing unusual. Busy about other things, they left 
 us to ourselves, and did not occupy themselves with the ex 
 pression of her countenance. Certainly they never dreamed 
 of watching her face with that rabid anxiety which led me 
 to bestow the closest scrutiny upon its most minute details 
 upon the most flitting lights and shadows. 
 
 " They must certainly have observed her constraint in my 
 society that she was not, wholly, the same. But this was 
 doubtless attributed by them all, as you suggested, to maid 
 enly modesty and timidity at her novel position in relation 
 to myself. I saw that I should only be stared at by Aunt 
 Mabel or Miss Seraphina if I declared myself surprised by 
 the young girl's manner. They would think me the most 
 irrational of men, even foolish, if I gave expression to my 
 pain insulting, perhaps, if I spoke of feeling offended. 
 That could not be thought of, and I placed all my hopos
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 329 
 
 upon the interview with herself on the next morning. I 
 therefore talked upon other subjects, and finally retired to 
 my chamber. 
 
 " Now comes the account of my final hallucination, if you 
 like the word, friend. I approach what will doubtless lead 
 you to believe that I am really a lunatic. 
 
 " I went to my chamber at the hour of ten about, lor in 
 the country they retire early, and I remaiued for an hour, 
 perhaps, sitting by the open window, from \vliich I loohed 
 out upon the moonlit fields, and pondered. All v,as huahed, 
 and no sound disturbed the silence but tne low twitter of 
 the swallows which have their nests bene?.oh the eaves, and 
 were going to sleep. The fitful sighing of the ocean breeze 
 in the great moonlit oaks served as a sort of burden to my 
 sad thoughts, and silent thus by the open window I reflect 
 ed long and painfully upon the wofni change which had 
 taken place in the feelings of that one whom I loved more 
 than my life. I remember that at last my thoughts dwelt 
 upon the singular warnings I had received before I had the 
 least reason to suspect this change, and a slight feeling of 
 superstitious fear may have agitated me. I think that no 
 man is wholly free from this influence, which is due either to 
 the stories of those old negro nurses who frighten children, 
 and instill thus early the seeds of superstition, or to the pe 
 rusal of those authors who make use of hobgoblins to lend 
 attraction to narratives otherwise stupid. There was some 
 excuse for this sentiment, too, in my surroundings. The 
 chamber which I occupied was the 'haunted chamber,' that 
 invariable adjunct of a Virginia country house. Here, it 
 was said, Mrs. Yane, my uncle's mother, had died in grent 
 pain, and here, said the servants, she often 'walked.' 
 
 "I was not afraid of the old gentlewoman's spirit at nl), 
 however, and if I thought of her at all it was with a smile 
 at my childish disquiet and foolish superstition. I threw 
 oif my clothes, tried to mnke my payer as my dear mother 
 taught me at hey knee, and then, somewhat quieted by this
 
 330 5IIS3 KONNYBEL. 
 
 appeal to a higher power, extinguished the light in the tall 
 candlestick, and was soon asleep. 
 
 " I do not know how long I slept, but I suddenly awoks 
 with the consciousness that something or somebody was at 
 the side of my bed. I distinctly heard a low and suppressed 
 breathing, and opening my eyes, I swear I saw a white figure 
 within three paces of me, crouching and looking toward me, 
 where I lay ! The moonlight fell upon the figure, and I saw 
 that it was only a long, white garment, not unlike grave- 
 clothes, and from beneath the folds of this garmenc two 
 burning eyes were fixed upon me. 
 
 " For a moment I lay motionless, in that stupor which 
 possesses the frame immediately upon awaking, and I re 
 member thinking how foolish I was to fancy myself awake, 
 and not what I was, asleep and dreaming. Then I rose sud 
 denly in the bed, as the mist was dispelled from my mind, 
 and as I did so, the figure hastily retreated. 
 
 " With a single bound, I was out of the curtains, and 
 clutched my sword. A glimmer, a stealthy footfall, and the 
 figure melted into the darkness and disappeared. 
 
 " I went quickly to the door, which had been left open, 
 as the weather was warm, and found it just as I had left it, 
 almost ajar. A human figure could scarcely have passed 
 through it. I opened it, and went out in the upper hall. 
 Every thing was silent. I stood there for a moment with 
 my sword in my hand, trembling, I think, with a vagie 
 fear for you must confess the adventure was enough to af- 
 fjot the nerves of the boldest and then I ree'ntered the 
 room. Every thing was just as I had left it upon the pre 
 ceding night; nothing had been disturbed. I looked at my 
 timepiece ; it was half past two o'clock, and the moon, by 
 whose light I made the examination, was just setting. 
 
 " I replaced my sword upon the chair by my bed, and 
 sitting upon the side of the couch, reflected, as you may 
 easily imagine, upon what had just occurred. Could I have 
 been dreaming? Certainly it sec'ined to me that I was wide 
 $wake, that I saw the thing with my material oyos ; its
 
 MISS BONNYRKL. 331 
 
 still burned before me, and I heard the stealthy footfall. 
 But was not this all fancy ? Could the appearance be real ? 
 I dismissed at once, you see, the thought of a spirit, though 
 I still felt a superstitious dread, and my only question was 
 the state I had been in sleeping or awake. If awake, then 
 some person had entered my room stealthily, and retreated 
 as noiselessly. Who could it have been, and what possible 
 object could have produced this nocturnal walking ? De 
 cidedly, I thought, I dreamed the whole thing, and took 
 the result of my nervous imagination, aroused and stung by 
 my meditations at the window, for the veritable presence of 
 an intruder. 
 
 " I remained thus lost in thought for half an hour, I sup 
 pose, and then I went and locked the door, and returning 
 to bed, lay down. After a while my thoughts ran into each 
 other^L began to dream, and then fell sound asleep. I was 
 waked by the sun shining in my face, and rose and dressed. 
 As I did so,, I almost laughed at my dream, for it doubtless 
 was such, as I do not believe in spirits, however superstitious 
 I may seem to you. Yet was it not strange that I should 
 thus have sprung up, and caught my sword, and followed 
 my airy visitant ? Think what you may laugh at me if 
 you choose, but it seemed to me that those burning eyes 
 Avere like the eyes of the hostile figure in my first delirium, 
 when I dropped the pen upon the paper, writing to you, 
 and rose clutching at my sword. 
 
 " Well, let me finish my long, sad letter ; I will proceed 
 with the events of the morning in turn. Finding that none 
 of the family were yet stirring, I sat down at the table, upon 
 which were writing materials, and wrote you a note, asking 
 you to pay me a visit in Williamsburg the note to await 
 your appearance at Vanely. You have doubtless received 
 it, and pray come, my friend. Your presence will soothe 
 and cheer me. Do not measure my desire to see you by 
 the brief nature of the note, which was written, as you may 
 imagine, under unfavorable circumstances. I must beg you 
 to pardon its style, and also the apparent discourtesy in nofi
 
 332 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 sealing the wax with my signet. Upon looking on my fin 
 ger for it, I found it was gone, left, doubtless, on my table 
 here when I went to Vanely, though, strange to say, I have 
 not found it, and even th.nk that I remember having it on 
 when I went thither. 
 
 "To end my letter with the events of the morning, how 
 ever. As I informed you, I had announced, on the previous 
 ereuing, my intended departure, and every one had givcc 
 me commissions. I had letters to friends from my uncle, a 
 memorandum from Helen, and a package from Aunt Mabel 
 for Mrs. Burwell, through a window of whose dwelling, one 
 night, not very long ago but I am wandering, and, as it 
 were, making a sorrowful soliloquy. You see to continue, 
 calmly I had, in every way, impressed upon the family, in 
 cluding herself, the fact of my departure on that morning 
 early. I had, I said, pressing business ; the architects, with 
 their plans, were waiting ; beyond a peradventure I must 
 certainly go I could not remain. I meant her to under 
 stand that I should no.t lengthen my visit, and that an ex 
 planation must take place upon that morning, or I should 
 continue miserable away from her, not near her. 
 
 " After finishing the note to you, therefore, I drew on my 
 riding boots, with a pair of large spurs, and leaving my 
 chamber, descended the stair-case. I thought the heavy 
 sound of my footsteps, and the metallic ring of the spui 
 chains, on the oaken floor, would attract her attention, and 
 oring her down to the library, which I entered. Often when 
 I was going over to 'Flower of Hundreds,' early in the morn 
 ing, this sound had drawn her from her chamber, fresh, rosy, 
 and smiling with happiness and beauty, like a flower of the 
 morning how I groan, friend as I write ! Well, well ! I 
 thought the desire of seeing me would again make her run 
 to me, and give me that innocent err brace which her pure 
 heart accorded to me. Alas ! she did not come. I sat in 
 the library, as yet untenanted, except by myself, and with 
 the 'Gazette' open before me, made pretense to read, as 
 the servant moved about j in reality, I did not even see the
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 333 
 
 letters I was listening for her footsteps. If ever you have 
 thus sat, with a throbbing heart, and waited for a figure 
 which did not appear, you will know my breathless expecta 
 tion, and my agony. My agony, for she did not come. 
 
 "The members of the family, one after another, entered ; 
 every one had a kind word, a smile, and a regret at my de- 
 1 arture, while she she did not even come to look coldly at 
 me. I had not even the consolation of her frown. Well, 1 
 did not ask why she delayed, I did not utter a word on the 
 subject ; somehow the words stuck in my throat. I only con 
 versed, with my eyes fixed upon the door ; and when Aunt 
 Mabel thought I was listening, with the deepest attention, 
 to her new method of curing colds, I was trying to catch 
 her approaching footsteps. 
 
 "Breakfast was announced, and every one sat down 
 Then Aunt Mabel asked the question which I feared to pro 
 pound, ' Where was Bonnybel ?' She was unwell, Helen 
 said, and begged Cousin Harry to excuse her not coming 
 down to bid him good-bye. 
 
 " As the words were uttered, I think I must have turned 
 pale, and I sat down the chocolate which I was raising to 
 my lips. Aunt Mabel diverted attention from me, however, 
 by pausing, in her operations with the urn, to say, * Unwell ! 
 why she was well last night.' Helen replied that she did 
 not think her sister had been well for a week or two, and 
 there the subject was dropped. Half an hour afterwards I 
 was in the saddle, on my way hither, without having seen 
 her, and carrying away with me no second message from her 
 even. 
 
 "And now, my friend, you have it all ; you have, I think, 
 the proof, full and unanswerable, that I was not so irrational 
 in tuy presentiments as you declared me. I told you, in my 
 former letter, that a cloud seemed descending on my life ; 
 I now show y.ou that cloud covering my whole existence. 
 I said, in the commencement of this letter, that I had deter 
 mined, if she met me as of old, to consider my forebodir j 
 bnly fancy, and thus you would triumph the woful tri-
 
 S.i4 MIS? IJONNYIiEL. 
 
 umjih, as you see, is my own. Of these influences, I have 
 no word more to say ; they may return or disappear, it is 
 indifferent to me. It is nothing, either way, now when I 
 am perfectly wretched, when I am ruined, broken-hearted, 
 overwhelmed by a fatality which I can not oppose, and which 
 crushes me in its inexorable grasp. I no longer struggle, I 
 no longer attempt to understand ; silent, gloomy, and pale, 
 I bend under my fate, and only reply with hoarse groans. 
 
 " I have Written with forced calmness. Why I wrote at 
 all I do not know, unless it is from that mad despair which 
 makes the dying soldier turn the weapon in his breast. 
 
 " I can write no more. I am faint, and seem to grow cold. 
 Well, so it ends. I thought 
 
 " I can write no more not even tears will relieve me. 
 " Farewell. 
 
 "H. ST. JOHN." 
 
 CHAPTER LXIL 
 
 ROW MB. ALSTON TRAVELED ALL NIGHT, AND WflAT 
 FOLLOWED. 
 
 THE letter which we have just laid before the reader 
 reached Mr. Alston on the afternoon of the day after it was 
 written, and in fifteen minutes that gentleman, looking very 
 sad and gloomy, was on his way to V.inely. 
 
 On the next morning, just as Mr. St. John had finished 
 his toilet, he entered the young man's chamber, having 
 traveled all night. 
 
 Up to the moment when his foot touched the threshold, 
 Mr. Alston's face had worn an expression of anxiety and 
 care, very unusual with him, but no sooner had he entered 
 the presence of his friend, than this changed to an appear 
 ance of the most careless humor. 
 
 " Well, Hurry, my boy," said Mr. Alston, "how is it thip 
 morning ? how are the nerves ?"
 
 Miss noxxyiir.L. 335 
 
 Instead of resenting this banter or expressing any sur 
 prise. Mr. St. John merely held out his hand, rising for th.-it 
 purpose from the sofa upon which he lay, with drooping 
 head, and then having given this evidence of welcome, he 
 sank back as cold and silent as before. 
 
 The reception did not seem to please Mr. Alston ; Le 
 gazed for a moment with an expression of great feeling at 
 the pale, cold face, turned away from him ; at the drooping 
 brows, the half-closed eyes, and the lips indicating hopeless 
 despair. 
 
 " Come, Harry, my dear fellow," he said, rapidly chang 
 ing his expression, and speaking in a tone of careless good 
 humor, " this is a poor greeting, and you have not replied 
 to iny question." 
 
 " Your question, Tom ?" asked Mr. St. John, waking up, 
 as it were, and looking absently at his friend. 
 
 " Yes, my question !" 
 
 " What was it ? You must pardon me, Tom, I >m not 
 very well this morning, or very lively, as you may im 
 agine." 
 
 " Bah ! all the imagination is on your side. My question 
 was in the words and figures following, to wit : ' how are 
 your nerves?'" 
 
 " Quite firm." 
 
 " Has a mouse run across the floor ?" 
 
 His friend looked at him with an expression of inquiiy. 
 
 " I say, has a mouse squeaked this morning, and thrown 
 you into agonies ?" 
 
 The look of inquiry changed to one of cold surprise, 
 which it seemed Mr. Alston comprehended. 
 
 He burst out laughing. 
 
 " I understand !" he said, " you are ready to cut my throat 
 because I refer to your nerves. Well, I believe I am compe 
 tent to form an opinion, and empowered to express the.same, 
 I only being responsible, under the circumstances, for the 
 said expression of the said opinion. The practical applica 
 tion which I make, on the present occasion, of this little ob-
 
 336 M>98 BONNYBEL. 
 
 Bfvvation, is simply as follows. The dreadful words have 
 been uttered now, and if ray opinions upon the nervous sys 
 tem do not please monsieur, I am entirely at his orders, my 
 preference being for the short sword !" 
 
 St. John sat down and leaned his head upon his hand. 
 
 " Pardon my coldness and irritation, Tom," he said, " T 
 can't afford to lose any friends now." 
 
 " Ah ! you come to reason, do you ?" 
 
 " Yes, I would keep the few hearts I retain. You see 
 I 'm a poor miserable devil that do n't dare to quarrel I 'm 
 too wretched for that." 
 
 " Wretched folly it indeed is, Harry my boy, to say that 
 you are wretched or rather, to proceed logically, to say 
 that you have any reason to be wretched." 
 
 " Have you received my last letter ?" said St. John, sup 
 pressing a groan. 
 
 "Yes, I have." 
 
 " And you laugh still ? w 
 
 " Most heartily." 
 
 " It is at my distress, then." 
 
 " No ; at your philosophy." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " Why, of spirits." 
 
 St. John made a movement with his head, signifying 
 plainly, "You are at liberty to laugh." 
 
 " I understand very well," said his friend ; " you mean by 
 that lordly nod to grant me permission to think as I may. 
 Well, my dear friend, I cheerfully avail myself of your per 
 mission, and consider that you ought to have a nurse to put 
 you in bed, and to sleep in the same room with you." 
 
 St. John was silent. What he had said in his letter was 
 true. He no longer cared to discuss the strange presenti 
 ments, and the dream, if it were a dream. In his agony all 
 other things were swallowed up, and after the momentary 
 outbreak he felt no anger even at the rough address of his 
 friend. 
 
 This, however, seemed to be just what Mr. Alston desired 
 V*-
 
 MISS BONNTB1L. 337 
 
 to excite he wished to arouse the young man. When his 
 taunts were received with indifference he seemed disap 
 pointed. 
 
 " Come," he said, returning to the attack, " confess, my 
 dear Harry, that you are a baby." 
 
 " If you choose, I will." 
 
 " A child frightened by a buggaboo." 
 
 "I have no objection." 
 
 " Really," said Mr. Alston, with a compassionate air, " you 
 <\o seem to me a mere girl ; put the cover over its head and 
 stop whimpering, and go to sleep mammy's sitting by its 
 bed !" 
 
 St. John made no reply. 
 
 " Would you have a little pap, mother's darling ?" inquired 
 Mr. Alston. 
 
 " No, I thank you." 
 
 " A sugar rag 's convenient." 
 
 Mr. St. John nodded his head. 
 
 " Mammy won't let bogy frighten mother's darling ugly 
 bogy, coming here to scare his mother's own sweet ducky 
 dear." 
 
 Mr. St. John had even ceased to hear the voice of his 
 friend ; stretched upon a lounge, he was thinking, with far 
 away eyes set in a face as pale as death. 
 
 " Harry St. John," said Mr. Alston, suddenly dropping 
 his tone of banter, " do you wish to hear my real opinion of 
 you ?" 
 
 Mr. St. John turned toward his friend, looked at him for 
 a moment, intently, and said : 
 
 " I will listen." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Alston, austerely, " I consider you 
 an idiot." 
 
 And Mr. Alston raised his head with a haughty air, and 
 placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. 
 
 Mr. St. John only looked at him more attentively. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Mr. Alston, coldly, "I understand your 
 gaze very well ; you think to intimidate me. But you will 
 
 15
 
 338 Mirs BONNYBEL. 
 
 not, sir ! iio, sir ! I am not to be bullied ! I say again, sir, 
 and I will repeat it a third time, if necessary, that my real 
 opinion of you is that you are an idiot a fool. There, 
 sir ! I am ready to take the responsibility of that declara 
 tion." 
 
 St. John scarcely raised his head, and for a moment did 
 not speak. 
 
 "Miserable coward!" said Mr. Alston, sotto voce, and 
 frowning. 
 
 A long silence followed it was broken by Mr. St. John. 
 He rose wearily from the sofa, passed his hand over his fore 
 head and said, 
 
 "You 're a good friend, Tom. I can not, however, say as 
 much for your acting. You are quite transparent. I see 
 plainly what brings you, and I know very well what you 
 intend by your affected taunts and insults. You overdo it ; 
 but even were it acted with a reality which persuaded me 
 of the sincerity of your desire to offend me, I doubt if I 
 should resent your words. You wish to arouse me by your 
 stage-play, but I am too dreary and despairing. All 's over 
 for me ; I yield. I do not even hear your insults distinctly, 
 for my mind is paralyzed." 
 
 And Mr. St. John sank back again, and was silent. 
 
 An expression of real pain diffused itself over Mr. Alston's 
 countenance, and gazing at his friend, he said, 
 
 " Harry, you afflict me to the heart." 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 
 " And I groan ! How can you yield to this infatua 
 tion ?" 
 
 "Infatuation?" 
 
 " Yes, 't is nothing more." 
 
 St. John looked at his friend. 
 
 " Do you think me infatuated after going and seeing tor 
 yourself?" he said. 
 
 " Seeing for myself?" asked Mr. Alston. 
 
 " Yes ; awe there ma^y of tLose jessamines left under th 
 window ?"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 339 
 
 And Mr. St. John pointed to a flower in Mr. Alston's but- 
 Con bole, plucked at \ r anely as he departed. 
 
 " That reminds me of a little flower I pulled one day at 
 Jamestown island," added the young man "a long, long 
 time ago." 
 
 And he was silent. 
 
 Mr. Alston looked at his friend with the same expression 
 of pain, and said, 
 
 " I see you have divined my movements. Well, I have 
 been to Vanely." 
 
 'And traveled all night to come and comfort a poor 
 devil, your friend. Thanks, Tom." 
 
 " You have hit it. I come to comfort you." 
 
 Mr. St. John shook his head. 
 
 " You wish to make me think you have something to tell 
 me which will raise my spirits. But 't is impossible. All 'a 
 at an end." 
 
 And Mr. St. John sank back again, silent and despair- 
 ing. 
 
 Mr. Alston seemed touched to the very depths of his na 
 ture by this agony of his friend ; it almost silenced him, 
 for he scarcely hoped to make any impression upon one so 
 resolute in his despair. He nevertheless collected all his 
 strength, and commenced the assault. 
 
 We shall not repeat the conversation, for it consisted only 
 of a description, in all their details and ramifications, of the 
 events which have been described in Mr. St. John's letters. 
 From these letters, with the reply of Mr. Alston, the reader 
 will gather exactly what the present interview concerned 
 itself with. On one side, arguments against imaginary in 
 fluences, presentiments and superstitions ; on the other, either 
 silence or indifferent replies. Then came the question of 
 tho young girl's change ; and here, too, Mr. Alston dwelt 
 upon the same views which he had expressed in his letter 
 maidenly modesty and indisposition. Mr. St. John only 
 shook his bead, making no reply. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Harry !" said his frieiid, " do n't meet
 
 **0 MISS EONNYBEL. 
 
 my arguments with that eternal gesture of simple dissent. 
 Really you are not open to conviction, for here, after two 
 hours' discussion, you seem absolutely more than ever deter 
 mined to despair; you hug your wretchedness and resist 
 every attempt I make to remove it." 
 
 " It hugs me," said St. John, groaning. 
 
 " Because you invite it to do so. Look away from it." 
 
 " I can not." 
 
 " Have I then been merely wasting my time ?" 
 
 " I am afraid so, Tom, alas ! I hear your heart rather 
 than your head speak to me. You wish to cheer me, but 
 you have nothing to offer me. For what is the sum of 
 your argument? You tell me that you have been to Vane- 
 ly, that you have adroitly sounded the whole family, and 
 you tell me their replies to your questions. My uncle, you 
 say, in reply to one of your allusions to me, expressed him 
 self well pleased that I was to become his son ; Aunt Ma 
 bel loved me in spite of my faults ; Miss Seraphina, like 
 uncle and aunt, saw nothing, and looked forward to the 
 wedding. Helen alone saw the cloud, but was guarded in 
 her speech, and mentioned indisposition as the cause of her 
 change ; lastly, she herself being flatly and earnestly inter 
 rogated, replied with what ? ' I am very sorry that 
 
 my manner has wounded Cousin Henry's feelings; I have 
 not been well lately, Mr. Alston.' There, Tom, that is but 
 the old story. You have in vain attempted to lift the bur 
 den of despair weighing me down. I thank you, I recog 
 nize your friendship ; it is a gloomy pleasure to me, but I 
 remain unchanged all 's over." 
 
 And St. John covered his face, and uttered a moan which 
 made honest Tom Alston turn away his head and remain 
 for some time silent. 
 
 After a while Mr. Alston returned again to the subject ; 
 but this time, with less vehemence, and a more quiet earn 
 estness. His object now was to persuade his friend to re 
 turn. 
 
 St. John shook his head.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 341 
 
 a Why should I?" he c?.id " it will only make two per 
 sons more miserable still." 
 
 "And you thus relinquish, without a struggle, the happi 
 ness of your whole life ?" 
 
 "I must!" said St. John, with a cruel groan. 
 
 "You must not, Harry !" said Tom Alston, almost groan 
 ing too ; " I tell you, you must not ! As your friend, as your 
 companion and playmate in childhood and youth, and your 
 friend now in manhood, I beseech you to consider this! By 
 returning no more, you at once break off all connection with 
 those who love you and whom you love ! By going thither 
 no more, you end for ever all affection which they have for 
 you At present no one but Helen observes any thing 
 strange ; your uncle and aunt will resent your action, and 
 banish you from their hearts. I beseech you to think what 
 you are doing, and not wreck the whole happiness of your 
 future life on a chimerical fancy, which may be a mere 
 dream 1" 
 
 At the end of an hour, during which Tom Alston thus 
 dwelt upon the effects of such a proceeding as his friend had 
 decided on, with the greatest earnestness at the end of this 
 long and elaborate expostulation, St. John, weak and unde 
 cided, promised to think of the matter. Tom Alston pushed 
 his advantage, and ero long forced from his friend a promise 
 that he would make a final attempt to penetrate the mystery. 
 
 " Yes, you have overcome me," said the young man, ris 
 ing, with a slight color in his pale cheek; " I will go again, 
 and I will take this with me." 
 
 As he spoke, he drew from the breast pocket of his doub 
 let a folded paper, on the face of which a slash or cut run 
 ning through the direction, " Henry St. John, Esquire," was 
 plainly visible. 
 
 " Yes, Tom," said the young man, suppressing a weary 
 sigh, "I will follow your advice, and make a last attempt. 
 Look at this letter, it is one which she wrote me some days 
 before my duel with Lindon, and it turned his sword -point. 
 I will go to her and say, ' It was a loyal heart which your
 
 BONWYBEL. 
 
 letter saved from being pierced and torn u-^nder; the heart 
 which it now covers is as loyal. If an enemy has spoken 
 against me, tell me what he has said, and I will answer it; 
 and not punish him if yon wish it.' I will go and say that 
 and heseech her to not leave me in despair. You are right, 
 Tom, propriety at least requires that from me." 
 
 And the young man finished with an expression of ming 
 led despair and disdain which was painful to behold. 
 
 Mr. Alston was, however, too much pleased with the de 
 termination of his friend to feel longer pained. He replied, 
 with a cheerful look, 
 
 " Be easy, Harry. All will come out right ; you have de 
 termined most manfully. I confess there is much to afflict 
 any one in this matter, but you have only to oppose your 
 self to the obstacle like a valorous chevalier, and all will be 
 well. You say this little flower in my button-hole reminds 
 you of that one you plucked when you were wounded, as 
 you told me at Flower of Hundreds. Well, take this flower, 
 and add to your former address, ' When I was wounded 
 and bleeding, fainting and unable to stand up, one day, I 
 thought of you more than my wound, and plucked a flow 
 er such as you had plucked on the very same spot, and 
 even when I lost my senses clung to it, and thought of 
 yon.' Add that to your speech, Harry, and if you do 
 not move her, and make her return to her old affection, 
 then I will really sympathise with you, for I shall have 
 reason." 
 
 Having thus terminated the discussion, and extracting 
 from his friend a promise that, within three days nt farthest, 
 he would carry out his design of visiting Vanely, Mr. Tom 
 Alston declared himself extremely hungry, and the friends 
 proceeded to the Raleigh and breakfasted. St. John scarcely 
 touched his food, and had never changed his expression of 
 cold despair. 
 
 An hour afterwards he bade his friend good-bye, and they 
 separated Mr. Alston to return to Moorefield, where he 
 was to receive a letter from his friend j Mr. St. John to seel
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 343 
 
 his lounge, rhere he now spent hour aft<r hour steeped in 
 gloomy reverie. 
 
 His friend's visit had been like a ripple on the surface of 
 a dark tarn the waters again closed over its gloomy depths, 
 silent and motionless. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 A BROKEN HEART : HENRY ST. JOHN TO THOMAS ALSTON. 
 
 " I HAVE followed your advice, and made the journey 
 which you suggested, carrying with me the letter, and in 
 tending to add what you advised me to add to my addrese. 
 
 " I write because I promised to write, though the ink 
 is somewhat faded. Strange ! that the merchants of Wil- 
 liamsburg will not provide the gentlemen of the colony, who 
 deal with them, something better than this pale, watery 
 fluid, which can hardly be seen ! I shall purchase no more 
 of it, depending for the future upon London. 
 
 " I feel somewhat badly this morning, which I suppose ia 
 attributable to the fact that I traveled all night, as a friend 
 of mine did a long time ago, when he came in early one 
 morning. Why, what am I writing ? It was yourself 
 was it not ? My head is a little disordered this morning, 
 and my memory is bad. As I said, I traveled all last night. 
 
 " What have I written ? Is my mind failing ? Why, I 
 am writing to Tom Alston ! We talked of this assuredly 
 we did i I told you of this visit to Colonel Vane's, in Prince 
 George did I not ? I told you I was going to see her. 
 I told you I would write, or I dream ! 
 
 " I have this moment returned. Oh, Tom ! it all flashes 
 on me now ; I have my senses again, which were stunned. 
 I went and she would not see me ; she refused to meet me. 
 I am broken-hearted ! My head pains me something trou 
 bles me ; is the weather turning cold again ? Strange, at 
 this season I H. ST. JOHN,"
 
 t <* MISS UONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER LX1V. 
 
 HENBY ST. JOHN, ESQUIBE, TO MISS BONNYBEL VAlTb, ja 
 VANELY, IN PEINCE GEOEGE. 
 
 " Is it wrong for me to write to you ? We were cousins 
 once, with some affection for each other I at least for you. 
 I do not add that we have ever been any thing more, lor 
 that would doubtless wound and offend you. I would not 
 wound or offend you ; I am too unhappy to think of re 
 proaches. Once I might have given way to my passionate 
 temperament, and uttered wild words ; now I have no 
 such words to utter. I acquiesce in all you do and say, 
 and scarcely dare to write these lines to ray cousin, as it 
 were. 
 
 " My memory has been impaired of late, but I think wo 
 were playmates in our youth, were we not ? Are not you the 
 Bonnybel of my childhood ? She was very lovely, and had 
 the kindest and tenderest heart, and a face full of the most 
 delicate loveliness. I have been thinking about her, and you 
 must not think me unmanly because the tears come to my 
 eyes. I do not think any one ever loved Bonnybel as I did. 
 She seemed to me like an angel, holding out her pure white 
 hands and blessing me. I used to weave flowers for her, 
 and once she showed me the wreath, a long time afterwards 
 she had kept it for my sake, she said. 
 
 " I believe I am wandering from what I intended to write. 
 I have been sick, but am very well to-day. My friend, Tom 
 Alston, has been to see me in my sickness, and he has taken 
 up the strangest idea, he thinks that we have quarreled 
 you and myself. Could any thing be more absurd ? Ordi 
 nary persons quarrel and fall out, but the very idea of Bon 
 nybel and Harry being any thing but friends ! I told him 
 that it was absolutely silly, and the grounds of his opinion 
 are the silliest part of it. He thinks, because you were un 
 well the other day, when I was at Vanely, and did nc*. ,oino
 
 ilISS BONNYBEL. 31ft 
 
 down, that for this reason you do not like me. I wiote him 
 \vord, on my return that night, or rather early in the morn 
 ing, for I preferred traveling in the night, as the weather 
 was warm I wrote him word about the visit, and said I 
 had not seen you, because you were sick. My letter had 
 scarcely reached Moorefield, I thought, when he broke into 
 my chamber here in the strangest manner, with tears in his 
 eyes, crying, most singularly, ' O, Harry ! Harry !' and sit 
 ting down with his hands over his face. He then came and 
 put his arm around me and asked me how I felt, as though 
 t had been sick. I was not at all sick then, but became un 
 well that evening, strange to say ; I believe it was on ac 
 count of his visit. He persuaded me that I must be sick, or 
 I never would have written him such a letter, when my let 
 ter was the simplest in the world, and just such as I gener 
 ally write to him. A physician came to see me, and he and 
 Tom went out just now together. I have risen from the 
 sofa, to write to you. 
 
 " I believe I am not quit* well this morning, and I have 
 a strange feeling, as if we had quarreled. Write to me, 
 darling, and tell me that you still love me. My whole heart 
 is wrapped up in you, and I can not breathe without your 
 love. How kind and good in the merciful Creator to give 
 me your love. I have been very ungrateful not to thank 
 him, and obey his commands, but I will try in future to be 
 better. I expect much from your love, I think it will make 
 me purer and better. I do not love you only because your 
 face is beautiful, but because you are pure and good. When 
 we are married, I shall be far better, and you will have made 
 me so. 
 
 " They spoke of something which had come between us. 
 Is it not strange? Why, what (.ould ever separate us? 
 There was a strange man who hinted at something of thia 
 sort, I remember, but how foolish. 
 
 " I have not seen you for some days now, but I will come 
 soon. I am a little unwell to-day, but I am happy, thinkinj 
 
 15*
 
 840 MI 3S DONNYBEL. 
 
 " There 's Tom Alston's step upon the stairs, and he must 
 not see me writing to you ; I can not write to you in com 
 pany, as I can not speak to you when others are present. 
 We must be alone, darling, to address each other as we 
 wish. I can not call you by your name in society, and I 
 can not even write it when another 's present. 
 
 "They are near the door now, Tom and his friend, and I 
 must close my letter, which my servant shall carry to the 
 post office when they are gone. 
 
 " Write to me very soon, my own Bonnybel, and a good 
 long letter, such as you used to send me over to ' Flower of 
 Hundreds,' when I was detained. 
 
 " Good bye. 
 
 "Tour faithful 
 
 "HENRY ST. JOHN." 
 
 " P. S. Tom and his friend have just gone out, and I arn 
 glad I hid my letter from their eyes. They affect to think 
 that I am sick, and even say that writing and reading will 
 be injurious. How strange it is that intelligent men like 
 Tom and the doctor, do not understand that I am merely a 
 little fatigued and indisposed from want of rest and working 
 at the plans for ' Flower of Hundreds.' I have devised a 
 very pretty wing, I think, such as you said you liked when 
 we looked at the old house from the hill in front. You did 
 not know that you were describing your preference to a 
 company of invisible architects. The addition will contain 
 a sitting-room for you, a smaller library, looking out upon 
 the lawn, and two guest chambers. I am sure you will like 
 it, and you know I only live to please you. Farewell."
 
 MISS BONNYBKL. 84? 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 **HOW STRANGE! i KXEW A BONNYBEL ONCK! W , 
 
 THREE days after this letter was dispatched, Mr. Alston, 
 who was now permanently residing at the Raleigh tavern, 
 entered his friend's chamber, after breakfast, and found ju'in 
 holding in his hand a paper which his eyes were fixed upon 
 as though riveted to it by iron chains. 
 
 The sound of his footsteps did not arouse Mr. St. John, 
 who continued to gaze at the paper. 
 
 Mr. Alston approached, and, without ceremony, looked 
 over the young man's shoulder. 
 
 As his eyes ran over the letter, all color forsook his cheek, 
 a sort of tremor passed through his frame, and leaning one 
 hand on the back of the carved chair, he remained silent 
 and motionless. 
 
 The letter was in the following words : 
 
 " VANELY, Thursday. 
 
 " I have received your strange letter, in which you speak 
 of our union, and your plans in making additions to you res 
 idence, suggested, you say, by myself. It was not my in 
 tention to make such suggestions, and I hope the addition 
 will be stopped. At least I do not wish you to indulge the 
 hope that I shall ever become its inmate. 
 
 " It pains me to refer to what was, I hoped, forgotten 
 that is, our engagement. What has occurred since that 
 time makes such engagement null, and it is no longer bind 
 ing upon either of us. 
 
 " Your strange letter will, I hope, be the last on this sub 
 ject. I am entirely resolved. 
 
 "B. V." 
 
 It was this letter which Mr. St. John was gazing at \rith 
 wide eyes. His friend took it out of his hand and placed it 
 in Jus own pocket. Mr. St. John did not move.
 
 348 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Mr. Alston went and sat down at some distance, and with 
 eyes hollow and red from Avant of rest, watched the young 
 man, the very sight of whose figure seemed to send a pang 
 through his honest heart. 
 
 St. John remained for nearly an hour perfectly motionless, 
 his shoulders drooping, his head bent down, his eyes fixed 
 upon the floor, across which a long bar of sunshine ran like 
 a stream of gold. 
 
 "It was a glorious sail we had upon the river," he at 
 length murmured with a smile. " What a day it was !" 
 
 Mr. Alston half rose, but fell back in his seat. 
 
 "The sky was so blue, and the sun shone so brightly!*' 
 continued St. John, laughing. " Even now I remember 
 how the foam danced along, far whiter than the wings of 
 the sea birds who hovered over us ! What a happy time ! 
 They may talk of the great wide ocean, but there's nothing 
 like our stately liver nothing ! It runs from the moun 
 tains of Virginia to the east, and Virginia is the fairest of 
 all lands, is it not ? How the foam danced before us, and 
 the winds were blowing ! The air was perfumed by the 
 forest as we sailed !" 
 
 " Harry ! Harry !" murmured Tom Alston, in a stifled 
 voice. . 
 
 "Ah ! are you there, friend ?" said the young man, turn 
 ing g.'iyly, " are you there, good mine host of the Raleigh 
 tavern? 'Tis a fine tavern, and a stranger told me thf y 
 were making history there ah! is it so? But we'll not 
 mind them. Bring me some sherry, host or stay ! let it 
 be Canary. 'Tis a gentleman's wine, and I am a gentleman 
 though a poor one : very, very poor !" 
 
 And the head sank. 
 
 "Are we in the capitol ?" he murmured, smiling as be 
 fore, "I am a stranger, but it seems that I have been here 
 once before ! One night, when the violins played, and I 
 danced a minuet Avith some one who could she have been ?' 
 
 And with the air of a man who tries to recall something, 
 Mr. St. John touched his forehead and was silent.
 
 MIS* BONNYBEL. 840 
 
 '' Well, well, well !" he murmured at length, in a low, 
 measured voice, " I can not remember it was very long ago. 
 How long, good host ? A decade ? Well, well, well 
 't was a merry time, I think. What a noble gift is memory !" 
 
 And. with the same musing smile, both sad and joyous, 
 the young man raised his head. The colored drawing on 
 the opposite wall attracted his attention the drawing pur 
 chased for its chance likeness to Bonnybel that which he 
 had selected on the night of the assembly, with the words 
 " The fallen salutes his victor." 
 
 " Ah 1" he murmured, " who is that, mine host ? Is the 
 wine coming ? Who is that a fair face, I think !" 
 
 " He does not even recognize Bonnybel !" muttered Tom 
 Alston, covering his face, with a sob. 
 
 Only the last word caught the young man's wandering 
 attention. 
 
 " Bonnybel !" he murmured, " did you say Bonnybel war 
 her name ? How strange ! I knew a Bonnybel once : ehe 
 was very beautiful and tender. Eyes bright and of the ten- 
 derest violet ; hair a soft brown, and the very same lips the 
 same, as I live! But no, no, no i that picture is not like her. 
 She was truer looking than that portrait answer me not, 
 sir ! Who says she was false ? Do you wear a sword ? I 
 who stand here am Henry St. John, of Prince George, in 
 Virginia !" 
 
 And an expression of haughty anger drove all smiles from 
 the wan face. 
 
 " Oh, me ! oh, me 1" was all Tom Alston could repeat, in 
 a voice stifled with emotion. 
 
 St. John continued for some moments gazing wildly at 
 the picture, and, as he gazed, a shudder ran through his 
 frame, his eyes expanded with a sort of dread, and, rising 
 violently from his seat, he drew his sword, shouting : 
 
 " Who are you that stand beside the picture of my love 
 and darken it ? Away ! I haye seen you before, with 
 your burning eyes, and I defy you ! I will meet you breast 
 to breast ! back !"
 
 360 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 And wit*, a fiery flash from his haughty eyes, the young 
 man cut at the air with his sword. 
 
 Tom Alston ran to him, and, sobbing like a child, put hie 
 arms round him, and with gentle force compelled him to sit 
 down again. 
 
 " Oh, Harry ! Harry ! my poor, poor Harry !" he sobbed, 
 " 't is only your fancy : there is no one in the room. Oh, 
 Heaven ! that it should come to this !" 
 
 St. John looked with a dreamy, absent air into the face 
 of his friend, and then turned away. 
 
 His momentary excitement soon disappeared, and, reclin 
 ing now against the tall, carved back of his chair, his shoul 
 ders drooped, and he traced figures idly with the point oi 
 his scabbard on the floor. 
 
 As he did so, his excitement seemed completely dissi 
 pated, and, with a smile, he murmured to himself : 
 
 " Yes, yes ! she is very beautiful and faithful ! Who says 
 she 's not ? poor creature, unworthy of my steel ! Is that 
 a flower you hold in your hand ? I have seen that rose be 
 fore it is white. Were there not red roses too ? Did you 
 tell me that you loved me ? Oh, how dearly I love you! 
 Is your name Bonny bel ? I knew one once like you she 
 was very good and (beautiful but she died, and flowers are 
 growing from her bosom. Do I dream ? Oh, me ! Is she 
 dead, then my own girl? Is she dead, then my own 
 faithful girl? Oh, no! I should not be alive to ask you! 
 that was another ! You are my own dear Bonnybel, are 
 you not ? You hold the flower in your hand, and smile. 
 You have the dearest eyes, and your hair is gold in the sun 
 light. Do you love me ? I shall die if you do not love 
 me ! There is the moon ! take care or your horse will 
 stumble ! Oh, to die now since I have pressed your lips, 
 writh your head on my bosom, with that light in your eyes ! 
 my own iiiithful, noble girl!" 
 
 And with an expression of the most radiant happiness, 
 the young man fixed his eyes upon the image of his memory, 
 jjpt} remained thus, lost in his reverie of joy and delight,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. flM 
 
 At five paces from him, his friend followed every move 
 ment, caught every murmur. With a heaving bosom, ;n <1 
 with eyes wet with tears, honest Tom Alston, whom the 
 world called fop and derided, watched, wofully, the prog 
 ress of the delirium. 
 
 At last he breathed more freely, his eyes turned eagerh 
 toward the door. He heard the step of the old physician 
 slowly ascending, and he soon entered. 
 
 A single glance at Mr. St. John told him all : he shook 
 his head. 
 
 " He has a brain fever," said the old doctor, " produced 
 by mental excitement, exposure to the sun, after sickness, 
 perhaps, and loss of rest ; of course chiefly by the former. 
 The sooner he is in bed the better, Mr. Alston. Ring for a 
 servant, and give orders that no person whatever be ad 
 mitted." 
 
 A powerful opiate was administered to the young man, 
 and he slept for some hours. 
 
 When he awoke, it was to toss and rave, deliriously, 
 from a violent brain fever, as the old physician had pre- 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 THB LAST HALLUCINATION OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 FOR more than two weeks, Mr. St. John remained thus 
 prostrated in body and mind, by the burning delirium 
 which had seized upon him. 
 
 The strong nature had been too heavily taxed the vig 
 orous mind had succumbed beneath the vast pressure of 
 the weight of grief and agony completely prostrated now, 
 the young man was but the wreck of himself and, from 
 the delirious ravings which shook his thin frame, seemed t 
 be possessed by but one absorbing thought his love.
 
 352 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 He would ramble on thus for hours, his memory return 
 ing to all the happy scenes of the past : and looking at 
 times into the face of Tom Alston, who scarcely ever left 
 his side, he would speak of her with aii accent of such 
 tenderness, that the honest fellow had to turn away his 
 head to hide the tears in his eyes. 
 
 Mr. Alston had found that one of the most soothing 
 medicines, so to speak, consisted in holding before his 
 friend's eyes the picture resembling Bonnybel ; and in 
 order that the sick man might have the full benefit of the 
 painting, its position had been changed to the wall in front 
 of the foot of the bed. 
 
 The young man did not seem to associate with the girl 
 thus brought to his mind, a single event of a sorrowful 
 nature. It was the Bonnybel of the happy past which he 
 gazed at with pensive pleasure ; and he would lie thus 
 for hours, gazing in silence at the picture, or speaking to 
 it. 
 
 At last the crisis of his malady came, and seated at the 
 side of the bed, Tom Alston and the old physician followed 
 every indication of the disease. Life and death seemed to 
 wrestle over the young man's body but life conquered. 
 From the brink of the grave he returned to life, and with 
 every hour now, to his friends' inexpressible delight, he 
 grew better. 
 
 One morning Mr. Alston had taken advantage of the 
 favorable condition of his friend, to go and get some sleep. 
 He had nearly broken himself down, this honest fop, by 
 those vigils at the bedside of his friend night after night ; 
 and yielding at last to the doctor's expostulations, he went 
 to the Raleigh and slept. 
 
 St. John sank into a gentle slumber soon after hia 
 friend's departure ; and he had a happy dream, he thought. 
 
 It seemed to him that he was awake and gazing at the 
 picture resembling Bonnybel, when the door opened noise 
 lessly, a light footfall rustled on the carpet, and the figure 
 on the wall, as he continued to gaze, slowly became living,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 353 
 
 advanced from its frame, and stood at the foot of the bed, 
 looking at him. 
 
 A change, however, seemed to have taken place in the 
 features. The picture was happy and smiling, while the 
 figure of his imagination gazed at him with inexpressible 
 sadness, sobbing and permitting large tears to escape un 
 heeded, as the eyes continued to survey him. 
 
 Then as though to perfect the vision, another figure 
 advanced to the side of the first ; and the young man rec 
 ognized the sad face of Helen, weeping like the image of 
 her sister. 
 
 The figures stood thus for some moments, motionless and 
 silent, except for the low sobs ; and then slowly separating, 
 right and left, they came to the side of his bed. 
 
 The figure of Bonnybel sank into a chair, and the head 
 drooped until it rested upon the bed. Her companion 
 also sank down, and for some minutes he seemed to hear 
 low sobs, of inexpressible sorrow, dying away one after 
 another in the silence. 
 
 He tried to move and speak, and bid the vision not sob 
 so ; but he could not. An influence, gentle and yet all 
 powerful, seemed to paralyze his limbs. 
 
 Then the figure of Bonnybel slowly raised its head, and 
 he saw that the eyes were red with weeping ; and turning 
 his head, he perceived that the other image wept also. 
 
 A* he looked, he felt a soft warm hand encircle his wrist, 
 a tear fell upon it ; and this was followed by a kiss which 
 the figure Bonnybel pressed upon his thin, pale hand. 
 
 He tried again to move, but could not. 
 
 And then he saw the figures rise, stand for an instant 
 gazing at him with grief too deep for words ; and then 
 they seemed slowly to disappear, and the picture on the 
 wall smiled as before. 
 
 From that time he grew rapidly better the disease 
 retreated, and the color began to return to his cheek. 
 Life again infused itself like a subtle liquid into all the 
 culls of his being, and his eyes every hour grew clearer,
 
 &4 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 At Inst he rose, and as before, at " Flower of Hun 
 dreds," lay beneath the window inhaling the fresh breeze 
 and basking in the sunshine ; and finally, Tom Alston, 
 with the doctor's permission, drove him out. On the 
 next morning, after a sound sleep, the young man was 
 well. 
 
 Nothing remained of his illness but a slight paleness 
 and a settled melancholy. The old physician could cure 
 the body, but he could not minister to the mind diseased. 
 
 Mr. St. John was entirely uncomplaining now he was 
 also entirely hopeless. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVn. 
 
 HOW ST. JOHN KEPT HIS APPOINTMENT WITH TUB 
 STRANGER. 
 
 THREE days after the morning ride of the friends, and 
 about midnight, a man was seated in the upper room of 
 the tall house pointed out by the stranger to St. John, 
 and bending over a great table covered with papers, was 
 writing rapidly. 
 
 It was the stranger himself. 
 
 He was clad in the same sable suit his face was pale 
 and earnest as before and he was writing by the light of 
 a single candle which sent its feeble glimmer far across the 
 roofs of the houses a solitary sentinel, in its watch-tower, 
 over the sleeping town. 
 
 The stranger continued writing for half an hour without 
 raising his head ; but at the end of that time, a footstep 
 upon the winding stair-case attracted his attention. 
 
 He listened as the step ascended, and went to the door, 
 which he threw open. 
 
 He found himself opposite to Mr. St. John. 
 
 .** Ah ! it is you, friend !" he said ; " welcome ! And yet I 
 grieve to see you if "
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 355 
 
 And a look of inquiry en-led the sentence. 
 
 St. John inclined his head, slowly, and took the seat to 
 ward which the stranger motioned him. 
 
 " I reply to your unuttered question," said the young man 
 calmly ; " yes, I have come to seek you, as you predicted 
 I would come. It is to do my duty to try at least. I am 
 ready to-do all that a broken-hearted man may do a poor 
 gentleman. You were right ; I am miserable, utterly so 
 you triumph." 
 
 Having thus spoken in a tone of gloomy, but uncomplain 
 ing despair, the young man leaned upon the table, and low 
 ered his eyes. 
 
 The stranger looked at him long and intently, without 
 speaking. Then taking his cold hand and pressing it, 
 
 " You will not think me insincere when I tell you, sir," he 
 said, " that your unhappiness deeply afflicts me. I will not be 
 guilty of the bad taste of asking its nature, of probing your 
 wounds afresh, and making you suffer for the gratification 
 of my curiosity. It is enough for me to know that you are 
 grieved, and I most sincerely sympathize with you, and, if 
 possible, would endeavor to console you." 
 
 There was great dignity in the air of the stranger, as he 
 spoke, and that sincerity which springs from a superior na 
 ture, but the young man only shook his head, and muttered 
 some inaudible thanks. 
 
 " So let it be then, friend," said the stranger, " I shall ask 
 you no questions and offer no common-place consolations 
 Will you permit me, however, to make one observation be 
 fore we dismiss the subject ?" 
 
 " Willingly." 
 
 " Do you remember one day when we dined in your pri 
 vate apartment at the Raleigh tavern ?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly," said St. John. 
 
 "Do you remember observing my silence and abstiic 
 tiou ?" 
 
 "Yes." 1 ' 
 
 " To end my questions do you recall that history cf
 
 356 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 my life which I reiated in the old church at Richmond 
 town ?" 
 
 "7 shall not forget it." 
 
 ' Well, friend," said the stranger, calmly, "the apartment 
 to which you conducted me, in the Raleigh tavern, was the 
 one which she occupied, when I knew her first ^he wo 
 man who was more to me than life. There first I saw her, 
 there she moved about, and sat, and read, and smiled ; there 
 first her head rested on my breast, and I heard her heart 
 speak to me. Well, I thus entered that room again at your 
 invitation, after years of absence, and I recognized, per 
 fectly, every detail of the apartment the windows, the old 
 mirror above the fireplace, the very andirons, and the crack 
 in the plaster of the wall. Here she had sat down and 
 looked at me so kindly, there she had stood with the breeze 
 lifting her curls, yonder she had leaned one white arm on 
 the moulding I saw all, and lived through the whole past 
 again. You observed my abstraction, 1 remember ; you 
 gazed at me as I leaned on the table, and left the wine un- 
 tasted, and mused." 
 
 " Yes, I saw all that, sir," said St. John, " and I feel for 
 you." 
 
 " Let me finish, friend ; it is not idly that I recall all this. 
 I say that there, in that apartment, I thus recalled to my 
 mind the grand hours of my life, when my horizon was all 
 sunshine, and the sad present was set, like a black figure, 
 against that dead sunlight. Well, I did not groan and sob, 
 turn pale, and cover my face. I looked, in turn, upon every 
 object ; I traversed the whole past with a single glance, and 
 then I returned to the subject we had been discussing, with- 
 out emotion. Do you understand ?" 
 
 St John inclined his head, calmly. 
 
 "You wish to console me," he said. " I thank you." 
 
 "I wish, indeed, to say to you that the lapse of time 
 slowly wears away the deepest impressions, that grief gradu 
 ally disappears, that God finally leaves us only that pensive 
 Badness which surrounds the beloved and lost figure with a
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 857 
 
 soil of gltry, contributing far more to our happiness than 
 our misery." 
 
 St. John remained silent. 
 
 " I have said," added the stranger, " that I would not 
 weary you, in your doubtless great grief, with common 
 place consolations. But I declare to you, friend, as the result 
 of the observation and experience of a life crammed with 
 bitter and corroding emotions I declare to you, I say, as a 
 proposition, a truth, which can not be refuted, or modified 
 in its application, that the merciful God, who has made the 
 creature man, does not design, nor will he permit grief to 
 master us, the clouds to overshadow us for ever. The gloom 
 will disappear, the sun will again shine, that hope which 
 now flies from you for ever, as you imagine, will return, and 
 again you will be happy." 
 
 St. John listened in the same gloomy silence, and said at 
 last, 
 
 " I know not if I even believe in a God, but I do in my 
 destiny." 
 
 The stranger looked sadly at his companion. 
 
 " I thought the old Greek dogma had disappeared, friend," 
 he said ; " destiny is but another word for chance, however 
 opposite they may seem." 
 
 " Well, I do not refuse that philosophy either." 
 
 " Look at that flower on my table," said the stranger ; 
 " that alone refutes you." 
 
 " An apple blossom ; yes, it is very pretty ; simple, but 
 delicate and beautiful." 
 
 " Simple ?" said the stranger ; " there, friend, you err ; 
 't is a miracle of complexity. Its history unfolds the spirit 
 of the universe, and simple as that flower may seem to you, 
 the links of an invisible chain bind it to the throne of the 
 Eternal. Look at it with me ; see these delicate petals, like 
 rose-colored velvet, the germ of the fruit in the middle of 
 the star, the down on the leaf and around the stem. A 
 thousand trees shall grow upon a hundred hills, and no one 
 shall produce a different bloom, and if this be conceded
 
 358 MI86 BONNYBEL. 
 
 friend, t is violating reason to dub such causality as is here 
 apparent, with the name of chance. Chance might, if you 
 choose. originate this blossom, though I could never com 
 prehend the meaning of the word, even ; but could a blind 
 chance continue to produce? Let it be granted that this 
 wonderful trifle came by accident, could accident constantly 
 renew it? Is it not a mere contradiction, I ask you calmly, 
 friend ? To me it is evident that this incessant reproduc 
 tion, this fatal sequence, involves necessarily the existence of 
 law. The bough buds and blooms, the bloom falls away, 
 the green germ expands into a globe, striped or mottled, 
 filled with juice, sour or sweet, and the small seed of this 
 globe possesses the reproductive power so perfectly that 
 with a handful you may plant a forest. Year after year that 
 forest, in turn, blossoms and bears fruit what fruit ? Why 
 the same, absolutely the same, and the existence of immut 
 able law thus reveals itself. I see you acquiesce. 
 
 " Well now friend," continued the stranger, whose de 
 sign seemed to be a diversion of the young man's thoughts, 
 " if this law does beyond doubt exist, how was it estab 
 lished ? Chaos as you know is the primal condition of 
 matter does order evolve itself from chaos blindly? or 
 can law itself rise from anarchy without a motor, a fiat of 
 some greater power ? There must of necessity be some 
 thing above chaos and anarchy, to bring forth law and 
 order. What must it be ? Why a God. It seems to me, 
 friend, that the necessity for this Being is more fatally 
 logical, armed with a wedge more penetrating, than the 
 Greek ' Necessity.' " 
 
 " I did not mean to say that I doubted the existence of 
 a supreme Being," said St. John gloomily " I only say 
 that this Being, if he exists, has made my life darkness." 
 
 " How do you know that fact?" 
 
 "My reason tells me so to answer you philosophically," 
 said St. John. 
 
 "And what does your reason tell you about the atone 
 tnent ?
 
 MISS BON >Sr i'BEL. 85fe 
 
 " It recoils." 
 
 " I tliougbt so. Well, friend, permit ne to say that you 
 reject these consolations precisely because you reason as 
 you do, with tfee head." 
 
 " How should I ? 
 
 " As a child does, with the heart." 
 
 " Must I embrace blindly ?" said the young man with 
 gloomy calmness. " I can not do that." 
 
 '' No one expects you to." 
 
 " How then ?" 
 
 " With faith founded on reason a ' reasonable faith.' " 
 
 " Faith and reason are implacable enemies," said St. 
 John struggling gloomily against hope, " the encyclopae 
 dists prove that " 
 
 " Man as a machine. So they do, friend," interrupted the 
 stranger. "Well they make but sorry machines of us I 
 prefer one of wood and iron to their imaginary men. I 
 say that faith and reason, so far from being hostile, are in 
 separable ; true faith and right reason, understand me, 
 friend else we wander. It is no quibble to say you must 
 exert faith to believe in reason to comprehend what is 
 really such. I do not call a skepticism, springing from 
 depravity of life, and warping mind and heart, the triumph 
 of reason. I say that the French idea of it is based at 
 most on science and philosophy miscalled ; and the ency 
 clopaedists stumble in the dark, and utter only broken 
 words, for science and philosophy are progressive. Do 
 you comprehend the immense significance of this fact, 
 friend ? Undoubtedly both science and philosophy are 
 constantly advancing and unfolding well, the philosophy 
 preached by Paul in the name of his Master, is perfect, 
 finished, not progressive. From Plato and Pythagoras, 
 to Diderot and D'Alembert, the philosophers of nil nations 
 have been speculating on the mystery of human life man's 
 destiny ; and those accomplished intellects, you must con 
 fess, have come to different conclusions. They all appealed 
 to science and philosophy, and their svstcins have all been.
 
 860 MISS BONNTBEL. 
 
 rejectedbecause the cnild who succeeds trie octogenarian 
 knows more than the gray-haired thinker has the benefit 
 of every new discovery, a sealed book to the generation 
 preceding him. That is undoubtedly the state of science. 
 What is revelation, by which term I mean of course the 
 system of the 'Nazarene philosopher,' as says a friend of 
 mine ? Is it either progressive or defective ? More than 
 seventeen hundred years ago, from the depths of the East, 
 where the paganism of the profligate Romans mingled 
 with the groveling hypocrisy of the debased Hebrews 
 from this repulsive society of hard masters and cowering 
 slaves, came a man of thirty, announcing a new system. 
 He was poor, and his followers were some fishermen from 
 the most gnorant district of the country of Galil 3e. This 
 man continued to disseminate his views for three years, and 
 then the Hebrews, whom he arraigned as hypo,)rites v pro 
 cured his execution as a seditious person, in the Roman 
 manner by crucifixion. What was the system of this 
 young philosopher, the philosophy originating in the most 
 debased age and people of which history speaks ? Friend, 
 you may read it in the book called by that Greek word 
 itself the Bible. If you do not see that the model therein 
 given is superior to the highest development of holiness 
 found in the purest ages and the most enlightened coun 
 tries, you must read without the student's mind. As I 
 have said over and over, human philosophy is progressive, 
 and consequently defective ; the divine system is not pro 
 gressive, because it is perfect. It has not advanced one 
 step for seventeen hundred years, and is still immeasurably 
 in advance of our purer civilization. Is that not plain ? 
 Look at it as a statesman searching for the means of lead 
 ing a great land to happiness and glory ; then say if you 
 can doubt that if the precepts of the Nazarene philosopher 
 I mean love and charity were the common law, the 
 world would touch the summit of her splendor, her peace 
 and joy ? Year by year, tho world hns advanced to higher 
 heights under the bauuer bearing that rudo instrumc.it on
 
 MISS UONNYBBL. 861 
 
 which the Founder was executed the Cross drives the 
 powers of darkness before its triumphal march. Thus the 
 earth blossoms every year with purer flowers ; but where 
 is the individual whose life has approached the great Ex 
 emplar's ? He was a poor youth, reared up in the midst 
 of the superstition, cruelty, and debasement of a pagan 
 land and nation. You, a Virginia gentleman of the eigh 
 teenth century can not touch the threshold of this majestic 
 temple, where truth and goodness sit like queens. I finish 
 by saying, that if there is any cause and effect, the system 
 can not be of human origin. I would rather believe the 
 miracles recorded in that book than credit the idea that 
 the man who founded its system was merely a man a sys 
 tem which, after two thousand years nearly, soars above the 
 onward march of the nations, and remains unapproached 
 and unapproachable. Reason shifts and changes, and the 
 philosophy of to-day is the byword of the morrow. This 
 revelation alone does not change because man eternally 
 requires the same consolation, just this, and this alone and 
 so it will be to the end. Friend, there are times when the 
 cold reason brings but sorry consolation. When the heart 
 is broken with grief, the spirit weary and worn by sorrow, 
 the eye dim, and the blood cold, at such times we do not 
 read the encyclopaedia. We then feel that the heart is 
 greater than the intellect that after all we are not ma 
 chines we find in faith that rest which the wounded seek 
 when they drag their bleeding limbs from the battle field. 
 I ask for the healing balm, and will not listen to Voltaire 
 who stands by and sneers, and tries to persuade me that it 
 is a nostrum. And now pardon me for these many words; 
 my excuse is that they are true." 
 
 " There is nothing for me to pardon," said St. John, in the 
 same cold and gloomy tone; "I should rather return you 
 my thanks, friend. I see plainly that your object is to con 
 sole me in my affliction. I only regret that 't is impossible 
 Whatever I may have in the future, I have now no faith 
 like yours. I lament it, but I can not help it. Lot me not 
 
 10
 
 302 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 longer trespass on your time than is absolutely necessary 
 You were writing ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the stranger, abandoning the subject, as his 
 companion desired, " I was at work." 
 
 " And I interrupt you." 
 
 " No, it is not interruption to see friends, whatever hav 
 ing others by me may be. The mind gathers strength and 
 elasticity from rest. My pamphlet will end with gieatei 
 vigor for your visit." 
 
 And the stranger lifted one of the sheets and ran his eye 
 over it with that comprehensive glance peculiar to authors 
 
 " I have nearly finished," he said. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked St. John, who had never for a mo 
 ment lost his cold and gloomy air, and seemed indeed to 
 move and speak like a lifeless automaton ; " is it revolution 
 ary?" 
 
 " You shall judge for yourself." 
 
 And the stranger pointed to a rough printed sheet of proof. 
 Mr. St. John read, 
 
 " THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT ASPECT OF AFFAIRS, BY A 
 MAN OF THE TIMES." 
 
 As he was reading the commencement of the pamphlet, 
 i tap at the door announced a visitor, and without waiting 
 <br permission, a printer's boy entered. 
 
 The stranger handed him the pages of MS., and he re- 
 iired as silently as he had come. 
 
 St, John, for a moment interrupted, again returned to the 
 pamphlet, and having read the two or three sheets, said, as 
 b-3 laid them down, 
 
 "That seems to me treason, friend it will be seized." 
 
 " No," said the stranger. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " At least if it is seized, that ceremony will take place in 
 a thousand separate localities throughout Virginia." 
 
 "You do not publish here then?" 
 
 44 No, 't is only printed here." 
 
 "And scattered by your agents?"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 36C, 
 
 The stranger nodded. 
 
 St. John reflected for some moments without speaking 
 and then said, 
 
 " I came to offer you a gift for the cause, friend. 'T is 
 twenty thousand pounds, in valid securities, for which I will 
 take your receipt." 
 
 The young man uttered these words as coldly as before, 
 and then waited for the stranger's reply. 
 
 That reply was a refusal of the money, on the ground 
 that the association would not consent to impoverish its 
 friends even for the general good. The stranger presented 
 his view at great length and earnestly, but St. John did not 
 seem in the least moved by his arguments. 
 
 " Well, friend," he said, with gloomy calmness and the 
 same measured, automaton-like movement of the head, " well, 
 be it as you wish. I can not force you to accept the gift I 
 oifer ; but I forewarn you that this refusal will be injurious 
 to me, perhaps fatal, if I do not forestall its effects. You. 
 look at ine with curiosity, and my words even seem to cause 
 you concern ; well, I will respond to the silent question of 
 your eyes; I will speak plainly as you formerly spoke; I 
 will explain my meaning, and the action I have taken." 
 
 St. John paused a moment, and suppressed the groan 
 which struggled for utterance in an instant he was again 
 calm. 
 
 "Since I last saw you, friend," he said, coldly, "I have 
 suffered a misfortune which henceforth renders me the vic 
 tim of an incurable despair. I shall only say, upon this 
 point, that my despair proceeds from the changed rela 
 tions of a woman who is no longer the same to me, and has 
 broken my heart. 'T is almost a piece of cant, the phrase 
 which I use, but it is true. You will easily understand, after 
 these words, that I can not remain where I was once happy. 
 I can not look upon the objects which were familiar to me 
 and to her, witnout breaking my heart daily, and opening 
 afresh my almost mortal wounus. I fear to do so. I think 
 wy ft^rne, already much weakened by illness, would, siw
 
 3G4 MISS 1JONNY15EL. 
 
 cumb. I shall tnerefore go away from these scenes; I shall 
 never again look upon them. I have just perfected the ar 
 rangements' by which my whole property is alienated, my 
 intention being to leave Virginia for ever. I have executed, 
 in the first place, a deed by which my old and faithful serv 
 ants, with their entire families, are conveyed in fee simple 
 to a gentleman living near me, my uncle one who has been 
 a most tender father to me in my orphanage, refusing abso 
 lutely to accept the least return for his kindness, or even so 
 much as repayment of his expenditures on my account. 
 This deed is properly drawn, and my uncle will have no 
 choice in the matter, for I shall be dead, as it were, and it 
 is in fact a bequest by my last will and testament. Well, 
 there was so much taken from the cause, but I did not dream 
 of any other course. My real estate remained, and that is 
 all free from incumbrance. See these papers they are ap 
 proved securities from the purchaser, Mr. A. Z. Smith, of this 
 town. At the moment when he affixed his name to them, 
 I felt almost relieved, for, from that instant I should no 
 longer look upon scenes which it tears my very soul to ap 
 proach now. You spoke of that room at the Raleigh, friend ; 
 you say you were simply sad. With me it is different, for 
 where is a room yonder in my house, which would strangle 
 me with memories should I enter it, were I not to faint and 
 fall on the threshold. 
 
 " But I wander. Let me say what I intended. I thus 
 hold in my hand the purchase money of my manor house and 
 plantation, but it will not remain by me long. It shall not 
 be the accursed temptation in my grasp, corrupting me, and 
 leading me to those desperate courses by which men most 
 frequently try to drown despair. No, I am resolved, friend. 
 I will not retain the means of drugging myself with sensual 
 poison, and of thus slowly slipping, as it were, into the gulf 
 of perdition. I know myself well enough to understand 
 that I require rough medicine, if indeed any medicine at all 
 fcxists, for my disease. I must wrestle with the hard world 
 if I would retain even my faith of gentleman, if I would
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 305 
 
 forget what has paralyzed me. Well, fviena, do you still 
 refuse ? If you do, I have only to add that the dice will 
 relieve me of my incumbrance. I have a natural and ac 
 quired fondness for the vice of play, and, from my past ex 
 perience, I do not despair of being rapidly relieved. Speak 
 finally now, for myself I have nothing more to say." 
 
 And the young man, as cold and gloomy as ever, ceased 
 l caking, looking out into the gloomy night. 
 
 The stranger did not reply for some moments. During 
 this pause, his penetrating eyes were fixed intently upon the 
 face of his companion, and he seemed to feel that he was in 
 presence of a man who had finally resolved, and whom it 
 was useless to make any effort to move. Then, as he gazed, 
 a sigh shook his breast, and an expression of compassion, 
 almost tender, as a father's for an unhappy child, softened 
 the iron features, and vailed the brilliant eyes. 
 
 He stretched out his hand, and laying it kindly on the 
 young man's shoulder, said, 
 
 " You must suffer much." 
 
 " I do," was the gloomy reply. 
 
 "Is there no means of relieving this unhappiness ? w 
 
 " None." 
 
 *' You will not confide in me entirely, and take my ad 
 vice." 
 
 " It is useless, friend ; it will only tear open my wounds." 
 
 A silence followed the low words, during which neither 
 spoke. 
 
 " Be it so," said the stranger, at length ; " I do not fur- 
 Iher urge you, and I accept your gift." 
 
 With these words, he took a piece of paper, wrote some 
 lines on it, and received in exchange for it the papers which 
 St. John still held in his hand. 
 
 " I retain what I need," said the young man, " and my 
 future is already resolved on." 
 
 " That at least you can speak of." 
 
 "Assuredly. I shall to morrow apply to the Governor of 
 Virginia for a commission in the service of his Majesty."
 
 4(56 MISS BONNYHEL. 
 
 " Ah ! you apply to Dunraore ?" 
 
 " Yes. That is, to the Governor of this colony, in his of 
 ficial capacity ; my plea being simply that I am an educated 
 Virginian.* 1 
 
 " You go West ? 
 
 " Yes, to the Indian wars, and, if I do not die there, down 
 the Ohio river to New Spain, thence to Europe." 
 
 And the young man looked, with the calmness of despair, 
 through the window, at the stars. 
 
 The stranger sighed, and his clear eyes vrere again vailed 
 with their expression of compassionate regret. 
 
 " I understand all now," he said, " and I can not oppose your 
 plans. I know well that the heart, when deeply wounded, 
 instinctively recoils from the sight of those objects familiar 
 to it in the hours of happiness ; I know that the impulse to 
 go away to some distant land, to new scenes and adventures, 
 which will divert the mind's eternal brooding, is unconquer 
 able. Perhaps, after all, you have adopted the best course, 
 and in a few years you will return cured of your wounds." 
 
 The young man replied by a gloomy shake of the head. 
 
 " Well," said the stranger, " let us leave it to time. To 
 return to the affairs of the moment, I think you are right in 
 going to the frontier. At last his Excellency has sounded 
 the bugle blast, and the men of Virginia are mustering to 
 the rendezvous. General Lewis, a giant among giants, the 
 brave of braves, is in Williamsburg, and in ten days the 
 army will be on its march, his Excellency following it with 
 his select corps." 
 
 The stranger spoke coolly, but a meaning glance showed 
 that his words contained more than they expressed. What 
 he now added proved this : 
 
 " This is the affair as it appears in the official proclama 
 tion," continued the stranger, " and even to the eyes of 
 many Virginians. Those who pierce beneath the wrappings 
 of events see differently, however. It is my profound con 
 viction thnt this man, Dunrnore, is going out yonder to per 
 fect the treachery which he lon^ sin.ce. conceived, Conoliy
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 867 
 
 *aid the train his master will apply the match. You are 
 going to look on, and hear the explosion. It is really the 
 cause of liberty which you serve, in diverting thus your own 
 private grief. Let that cheer you." 
 
 And the stranger again looked earnestly and compassion 
 ately at St. John, and was silent. 
 
 The young man rose. 
 
 " Friend," he said, " I have listened as you have listened 
 to me, and I thank you. You more than ever confirm me 
 in my intention, and I shall early in the morning proceed 
 to put it into execution take the first step. Yes, from this 
 time forth I am a wanderer, and if that wandering will ben 
 efit a cause which I feel is just and noble, so much the bet 
 ter. I shall apply for the commission of lieutenant if it is 
 refused, I shall volunteer in the ranks. Now I will go, hav 
 ing too far trespassed already on your valuable time. You 
 are courteous to shake your head, but I have seriously inter 
 rupted you. Well, good friend, let us now part. I shal. 
 see you again before I go until then, farewell." 
 
 And exchanging a grasp of the hand with his companion, 
 who still looked at him with that compassionate softness, 
 dimming the brilliant and penetrating eyes, the young man 
 took his departure, and soon regained the street, which waa 
 still and vacant. 
 
 With measured steps, and in silence, he sought his own 
 mansion, and the lonely stars looked down upon him, peer 
 ing with their curious eyes, as they have looked on men who 
 have suffered in all ages. 
 
 As he entered the door, the young man turned his head 
 and saw the light still shining from the lofty eyrie of the 
 ^stranger. 
 
 " Yes," he murmured, " like him, it keeps watch while 
 others sleep. Sleep! Oh when shall I sleep, and not 
 awake ?"
 
 36/J ' MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVin. 
 
 A VIEGINIA GIANT. 
 
 ON the next day Mr. St. John presented himself, clad 
 with the most scrupulous ceremony, at the door of Gov 
 ernor Dunmore's palace. 
 
 He was shown into the receiving room by a solemn major 
 domo in black velvet, and thus found himself in the presencef 
 of the Governor. 
 
 Lord Dimmore was seated, as always, in his great carved 
 chair covered with red damask, the portraits of the king 
 and queen, respectively, facing and behind him, and at a 
 table, the members of the council, together with Ciptain 
 Foy, were ranged in a long and imposing array. 
 
 There was another personage seated at some distance, 
 whom Mr. St. John had never before seen, and this man 
 attracted perforce, as it were, his attention. 
 
 He was almost gigantic in stature, with limbs moulded 
 like those of a Hercules, and his massive head, with its long 
 hair, rose from a pair of shoulders, which, like those of At 
 las, seemed vigorous enough to bear aloft a world. The 
 broad collar was turned down, and the throat of this singu 
 lar personage was thus revealed a mass of iron muscles, 
 and sinews like whip cords. He was clad in a pair of huge 
 horseman's boots, to which were affixed heavy spurs with 
 enormous rowels ; knee breeches of buckskin, secured at 
 the knee by thongs instead of buckles, and over this lower 
 costume fell the folds of a hunting shirt, gathered round 
 the waist by a broad leather belt, from which depended an 
 enormous broad-sword. 
 
 The air of this man had in it a collected and invincible 
 resolution, mingled with a sort of wild and primitive ease ; 
 but it was the ease of a stern and rugged nature, which 
 does not care for the etiquette of courts. As though to 
 confirm this impression, the strange-looking personage held
 
 BONNYBKL. 
 
 ;H his hand, as if from habit, a short Indian pipe, which he 
 passed backwards and forwards through his fingers, as he 
 gazed with a careless air at the Governor. 
 
 St. John exchanged a glance with the individual as ho 
 entered, and remembered afterwards the penetrating eyes 
 which flashed beneath the shaggy brows. 
 
 "Well, sir," said the Governor, without returning the 
 young man's bow in the least, " pray what is your pleas 
 ure ? 
 
 " I have indicated it in the paper which lies before your 
 Excellency," returned St. John, coldly, pointing to the table 
 and again bowing. 
 
 Lord Dun more raised the paper with a supercilious air 
 and looked at it carelessly. Then he looked again at the 
 young man, and tried, after the fashion usual with his lord 
 ship, to brow-beat him. 
 
 As may be imagined, it had little effect. The cruel dis 
 tress of the young man's mind was a triple shield against 
 any thing which the words or looks of the Governor could 
 express. 
 
 He felt rather wearied standing, while being subjected to 
 this scrutiny that was all and looked round for a chair. 
 There was none vacant, and although a handbell upon the 
 table at his Excellency's elbow would have summoned a 
 servant in a moment, it remained untouched. 
 
 "So this is from yourself, is it, sir?" said his lordship, 
 tapping the paper with his finger and then throwing it 
 down. 
 
 " Yes, my lord, as you may perceive, it bears my signa 
 ture." 
 
 " The signature of ' H. St. John,' I believe," said the Gov 
 ernor, coldly. 
 
 " That is my name, your lordship." 
 
 "The name of one who grossly insulted me, sir!" said 
 his Excellency, frowning, " and you now expect me to for 
 give and forget that, and commission you anew, after your 
 insulting treatment of my last." 
 
 *
 
 8/0 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Mr St. Jolm replied, with his okl gloomy calmness, 
 
 " Precisely, my lord." 
 
 Lord Dunmore looked for a moment at the young man 
 with silent anger, and then moving about in his chair, a& 
 was his habit when growing more and more angry, said 
 rudely, 
 
 " And upon what grounds do you presume, sir, to make 
 this request ?" 
 
 " Will I be permitted to inform your Excellency ?" said 
 St. John. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? Have I not demanded the in 
 formation." 
 
 " It is true that your Excellency has done so, and I only 
 request permission to speak, uninterrupted." 
 
 The flush on Lord Dunmore's brow grew deeper, and the 
 vein in his forehead swelled. 
 
 " Mr. St. John," he said, with a scowl, " you seem to 
 think it necessary to bandy reproaches with me whenever 
 you appear before me. On former occasions I have over 
 looked this, but I advise you, for your own good, not to re 
 peat them." 
 
 " I do not wish to do so, my lord. I wish, on the present 
 occasion, simply to say, with the highest respect for the au 
 thority of your lordship, that I am constitutionally subject 
 to irritation when not permitted to speak in my own way, 
 and for this reason I solicit permission from your lordship to 
 speak without interruption." 
 
 "Speak, then, sir I" said Lord Dunmore, more augry 
 than ever, but beaten by his adversary's superior coolness ; 
 " speak, and as briefly as possible." 
 
 *' I will, my lord. Your lordship asked me the grounds 
 upon which I apply for this commission " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did." 
 
 " Well I reply to your lordship as briefly as possible, as 
 you request. I resigned my former commission because the 
 duties which it involved were unpleasant to me. In Vir 
 ginia we are so accustomed to be served, that we can not
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 37'. 
 
 ourselves serve, as gentlemen do, I am told, ji the old world. 
 The duties of my office of lieutenant, in a word, were dis 
 tasteful to me, and I resigned my commission. I see that 
 your lordship is thinking of the scene on that occasion. It 
 was unfortunate. I beg that your lordship will make allow 
 ance for a somewhat excitable temperament. After that 
 scene I should certainly not apply for a new commission in 
 my own name, as it were, to the nobleman with whom I had 
 had an altercation. It is simply as an educated Virginian 
 who can furnish testimonials of fitness, that I apply to the 
 Governor of the colony of Virginia for a commission to fight 
 the battles of Virginia. I have endeavored to be as brief 
 as possible in laying before your lordship the state of the 
 case, and need only add that I do not ask a favor. It is 
 simply permission to join the forces of the colony which I 
 ask a commission in the service of his Majesty." 
 
 And Mr. St. John bowed, and was silent. 
 
 "Have you done, sir?" said his Excellency, suppressing 
 his anger, and speaking in a tone of striking coldness and 
 spitefulness, if we may use the word. 
 
 " I have said all, my lord." 
 
 a And you wish a reply ?" 
 
 " As soon as is convenient to your lordship." 
 
 " It is quite convenient now," said the Governor, with a 
 sneer ; " I require no delay, sir, in deciding whether I will 
 commission a person of your description in his Majesty's 
 service. No, sir! I regard your conduct and your charac 
 ter as seditious, and you may congratulate yourself upon 
 personal immunity after your deportment here upon a for 
 mer occasion. I refuse you the commission, sir ! I need no 
 time to reflect! I treat your special pleading about 'edu 
 cated Virginians' and ' Governors of this colony' with the 
 contempt which it deserves ! I have still another word to 
 add, sir ! Beware how you again cross this threshold with 
 your arrogant air, and your insults! Hitherto I have spared 
 you for the future, beware ! Now, go sir 1 I have done 
 with you I"
 
 372 
 
 A flash of his old pasbiun for an instant illuminated, like 
 lurid lightning, the young man's haughty eyes, but this soon 
 disappeared. His face again became pale and cold his 
 eyes colder still. 
 
 " I am glad to reciprocate your Excellency's desire, that 
 in future we go separate ways," he said with courtly calm 
 ness; "I did not seek your Excellency formerly, you sought 
 me ; and now I depart, careless of your Excellency's hatred 
 or regard." 
 
 Mr. St. John accompanied these words with a low bow. 
 and went out of the apartment and the palace. 
 
 On the same afternoon he was going along Gloucester 
 street, in front of the Raleigh tavern, when he heard H 
 grave, deep voice utter the words : 
 
 " Give you good day, Mr. St. John." 
 
 The young man raised his head, and saw, standing upon 
 the portico of the tavern, the tall personage whom he had 
 seen in the receiving room of Lord Dunmore. At the other 
 end of the porch, a number of men, who seemed to be 
 recruits, were assembled, engaged in laughing, talking and 
 drinking. Their suddenly-assumed military air, added to 
 the tarnished uniforms worn by some of the company, com 
 municated to the Raleigh the air of a camp. 
 
 As to the tall personage who thus saluted Mr. St. John, 
 he was clad, as betore, in his rude costume of the backwoods, 
 and carried in his hand the short pipe, which now, however, 
 was smoking. 
 
 As he stood erect, apart from the rest, his stature 
 appeared more gigantic than before ; and the young man 
 saw that his vigorous frame was moulded with extraordinary 
 symmetry. 
 
 " Give you good day, Mr. St. John," repeated the 
 stranger, in his deep voice. "Do you still hold to your 
 determination, expressed this morning to his lordship, oi 
 going to the frontier ?" 
 
 " I do, sir," said St. John, inclining his head. " It is ray 
 purpose to volunteer in the ranks "
 
 MISS BONIN'YBEL, 87* 
 
 "In the ranks?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " As a common soldier ?" 
 
 " Precisely, sir." 
 
 " That shall not be necessary, sir," said the stranger, in 
 the same deep, reserved voice ; " I will commission you." 
 
 " You ?" said the young man, in some astonishment. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said his companion, calmly. "A man of your 
 coolness, and so disposed to serve the country, shall not 
 fight in the ranks, though many gentlemen will. You 
 deserve a commission, sir, and I make you Lieutenant in 
 Colonel Fleming's battalion. My name is Lewis Andrew 
 Lewis, of Botetourt, and I listened, with pleasure, to your 
 observations this morning." 
 
 St. John bowed to the man of whom he had so often 
 heard the commissioner for Virginia in the treaty of Fort 
 Stanwix of whom the Governor of New York declared 
 that " the earth seemed to tremble under him as he walked 
 along." 
 
 " I am a rough backwoodsman," said General Lewis, 
 " and make few protestations, sir. I nevertheless say that 
 I like your face. I'll commission you without further 
 acquaintance. If his lordship objects, it will not move me. 
 If he does not like me, let him sei-k another commander for 
 the forces. You will rendezvous at Camp Union, otherwise, 
 Fort Savannah, on the first of next month, which is near al 
 hand," and General Lewis calmly inserted his pipe between 
 his lips, and commenced smoking.* After some more 
 arrangements, Mr. St. John took his leave, and went to his 
 lodgings. 
 
 ''Well," he murmured, as he stretched himself upon the 
 sofa, " that is the first step toward the struggle and oblivion. 
 If a tomahawk or a bullet interpose, what matter? 'T is the 
 same, for the end will be reached." 
 
 As he spoke, Tom Alston entered, and his friend laid 
 before him all his plans, which he had hitherto concealed. 
 
 * Historicai Illustrations, No. XXXVL
 
 3*4 MISS EONNYBEL. 
 
 To paint the dismay and sorrow of honest Tom Alston at 
 this mad resolution, as he called it, \vould be impossible. 
 He exhausted his strength, and grew positively hoarse in the 
 attempt to change the resolution of his friend. 
 
 In vain did he protest, however. In vain he declared 
 that the state of things, in regard to Bonnybel, could not 
 last that every one at Yanely had as perfect an affection 
 for him as at any pi-evious time. In vain did he represent 
 that the mystery of the young girl's demeanor could not 
 long remain unsolved, and that a single word would show 
 the injustice she had been guilty of the groundless nature 
 of her sudden dismissal of her lover. 
 
 To all this, the young man opposed either gloomy silence 
 only, or the words, incessantly repeated, "I am ruined, I 
 have lost all." 
 
 Tom Alston returned again to his expostulations, and 
 used every possible argument to prove the madness of his 
 friend's course. The family at Vanely had felt the greatest 
 solicitude about his illness ; had only been prevented from 
 seeing him by the physician's orders ; they had sent all the 
 delicacies which were so grateful to him in his convales 
 cence ; the girls had even come to Williamsburg, and had 
 stolen into his chamber, in his sleep. At this, the young 
 man started ; and, all at once, the vision, as he had consid 
 ered it, flashed on his mind, and a look of wonder greeted 
 the announcement of the reality of the appearance. But he 
 was no more convinced than before. " I am ruined, I have 
 lost all,' 7 was all that his friend could extract from him ; 
 and, after three hours of expostulation, honest Tom Alston 
 sank back, pale and exhausted, and gave up the struggle. 
 
 Two days afterward, Mr. St. John and his friend 
 exchanged a silent grasp of the hand. The young man 
 mounted his horse, and, throwing a last look upon the win 
 dow through which she had shone on him, like a vision of 
 the night, in the luminous halo, he set forward. 
 
 As before, Tallyho tossed his head, and careered merrily 
 along ; but his head was not turned toward home.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 375 
 
 Camp Union, or, as we now say, Lewisburg, was the 
 foung man's destination ; and, going along, not smiling, as 
 before, but gloomy and despairing, he murmured : 
 
 " A. tomahawk or bullet 't is the same !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 ON THE BANKS OF BELLE HIVIEKK. 
 
 THE aim of this book is rather to show what led to our 
 Revolution, than to narrate great public events ; rather to 
 present something like a picture, however feeble and faint, 
 of the state of society which preceded the struggle, than to 
 follow that struggle through its bloody, but triumphant 
 steps, from Bunker Hill to Yorktown. 
 
 The precursor of the greater contest was the war of '74, 
 which is now known as " Dunmore's war," perhaps on the 
 principle of lucus a non lucendo, for he did not fight the bat 
 tle which began and ended it. 
 
 This is not the place or the occasion to trace the details 
 of that splendid campaign, if we may call it such ; that cam 
 paign in which the Indian dominion, on the banks of " la 
 belle riviere," the Ohio, was leveled at a blow, and the fero 
 cious savage driven back to his fastnesses. 
 
 We listen with dull ears to the old frontier story, and can 
 not believe that the sweet and smiling fields, blooming now 
 with the fairest flowers of peace, were once the battle field 
 on which the Anglo-Saxons opposed a merciless i:nemy. In 
 our comfortable homes to-day, we read carelessly the old 
 cln-onicle which clasps in its embrace such bleeding forms 
 and desolated hearth-stones. It is in the midst of peace and 
 plenty, with the blessings of a ripe civilization around us, 
 with the bright eyes and cheeks, and the laughter of happy 
 children at our side, that ws read the moving story. What 
 does it say ? Let an incident, similar to a thousand others,
 
 i<V6 MISS BONNYBKL. 
 
 and no worse, tell what horrors were then en.*3teil >n the 
 border. 
 
 " An Indian seized Mrs. Scott, and ordered her to a par 
 ticular spot, and not to move ; others stabbed and cut the 
 throats of the three younger children, in their bed, and af 
 terwards lifting them up, dashed them upon the floor, neai 
 the mother ; the eldest, a beautiful girl of eight years old, 
 awoke, escaped out of the bed, ran to her parent, and, with 
 the most plaintive accents, cried, ' O ! mamma ! mamma ! 
 save me !' The mother, in the deepest anguish of spirit, 
 and with a flood of tears, entreated the savages to spare her 
 child, but, with a brutal fierceness, they tomahawked and 
 stabbed her in her mother's arms." 
 
 In the pages of Withers and Kercheval, the Commines 
 and the Froissart of the Valley, we read all this, and follow 
 the details of a hundred massacres the burning of houses, 
 the murder of men, the merciless beating out of women and 
 children's brains against the door posts of the dwellings of 
 the West. We read it all, and then close the chronicle, and 
 go to the routine of business, and scarcely give a thought to 
 the men who prostrated the power of the savage, thus dye 
 ing the very soil with the best blood of our country. 
 
 It is matter of rejoicing to all who admire and love the 
 great hearts of the past, that Virginia has finally decreed 
 recognition of the claims of one at least of these heroes of 
 the border. 
 
 The names of Andrew Lewis and his noble companions 
 shine like stars in the western horizon. Let the valiant sol 
 dier stand on his well-won pedestal in the capital of the land 
 which he fought for ; let the children of to-day and the 
 future be told, that long ago, when the sky was dark, in 
 old years which they do not remember, this stalwart gentlo 
 man and his brave followers opposed their broad breasts to 
 the flood of savage cruelty, and stood up between the toma 
 hawk and the bosoms from which the present generation 
 drew their life. Let them be told that when women and 
 children were cowering before a foe which knew no mercy
 
 MISS BONKYBICL. S77 
 
 this man and his companions came to succor them ; let the 
 names of those who came from the bloody fight be honored ; 
 let the memory of those who fell be perennial in the nation's 
 heart, and nil coining generations delight to honor them. 
 
 At some other time we may relate the " old and moving 
 story ;" how, entering the wilderness at the head of his no- 
 b'e army, General Lewis reached the junction of the Kan a- 
 wha and Ohio, in October, and how there, at Point Pleas 
 ant, on the banks of that stream which was called " belle 
 riviere" for its beauty, he defeated the combined forces of 
 the great northern nations. 
 
 It was the flower of the Indian tribes, led on by their 
 most celebrated chiefs, which were thus routed. Redhawk, 
 the renowned Delaware, Cornstalk, the greatest of the Shaw- 
 nee?, and Ellinipsico, the " Mountain Deer," his son ; Scop- 
 pathus, the Mingo; Chiyawee, the Wyandot, and Logan, 
 the last of the Cayugas, whose mournful speech, in reply to 
 Dunmore, is the pearl of Indian eloquence. 
 
 At sunset on the 10th day of October, the Indian power 
 was completely broken, and the tribes were flying into the 
 forest. 
 
 The Virginians returned to count their dead. 
 Alas! among those dead ones was Charles Lewis, the 
 brother of the general, one of the colonels of the expedition, 
 and beloved by all for his courage and nobility. 
 
 Receiving in his heart the fatal ball, which he had come 
 from such a distance to oppose his bresst to, he fell at the 
 foot of a tree, only murmured a few words, and expired as 
 the soldiers came back from the pursuit, amid the tears of 
 his companions, and his brother.* 
 
 It was not only this valiant gentleman who fell, who there, 
 on the banks of the great stream, breathed his last, stiffen 
 ing in the arms of those faithful comrades, who wept for 
 him and held him on their bosoms. The bloody foliage of 
 October was dyed with a deeper crimson, and the waves of 
 ** la belle riviere" were stained with the life current of the 
 * Historical HI ust rations, Xo. XXXVII.
 
 378 HI S3 JiONNYBEL, 
 
 noblest hearts of the .and. The bright waves rolled on, the 
 brilliant sun of October shone on forest and river, the stains 
 disappeared, and the birds chirped and sang where the vol 
 leys of musketry and the clash of arms had startled the si 
 lence of the woods. But that blood was not lost in the im 
 mensity of waters that crimson stain did not idly imbruo 
 the soil of the West. It fertilized and enriched, not the 
 spot where it fell only, but the whole land, east and west. 
 Borne along through the length of the land to the dark 
 waves of the Gulf, it diffused its influence wherever it flowed 
 though invisible, and swallowed in the waste of waters, it 
 blazed with red fires before the eyes of the country. From 
 the earth which drank it sprang the bright flowers of peace, 
 and the golden fruits of civilization. Not in vain thus did 
 they bleed, those noble hearts of the old border, those heroes 
 of western and eastern Virginia. To him who writes, all 
 their names are sacred. The sun which shone down on their 
 lifeless bodies, shines more brightly now because they fell. 
 They rolled back the cloud from our horizon, and in that 
 horizon, now calm and beautiful, let them shine as the stars 
 for ever ! 
 
 General Lewis would have completed the extermination of 
 the enemy on the border, and driven them into the wilder 
 ness never to return ; but here he was opposed by his 
 Excellency, Lord Dunmore. 
 
 In courts of law, men are condemned upon circumstantial 
 evidence, and hanged for the crimes thus proven on them. 
 Why should the judge of historical events and characters 
 be confined within narrower bounds ? The circumstantial 
 evidence which connects Lord Dunmore's name with 
 treachery, and the most horrible schemes excludes every 
 other hypothesis than guilt, and has long since gibbeted 
 that nobleman in the popular mind. Some day, that treach 
 ery will be established by irrefutable documentary proof. 
 
 We do not follow in detail the events succeeding the 
 battle of Point Pleasant, to show, as we think we have it 
 in our power, tli;it the Governor had bcc-n guilty of "foul
 
 MISS BONNYBEL.. 379 
 
 play." It is no part of our undertaking to bring home to 
 him a particular treason. It is enough to say that General 
 Lewis was sent by an order from Lord Dunmore, who was 
 on the Sciota, to disband his forces and return. 
 
 The General could scarcely believe his senses ; and for 
 reply, indignantly refused. He resolutely continued bw 
 inarch, and finally halted within three miles of the Gov 
 ernor's camp. 
 
 Lord Dunmore was at the head of his own army, and 
 yet had failed to come to Lewis's assistance at Point Pleas 
 ant. The General's men were very much inflamed against 
 his Excellency, as the event which followed demonstrated. 
 Most truly did an eye-witness of these events say of Dun- 
 more and Conolly, " there were wheels within wheels, dark 
 things behind the curtain between this noble earl and hia 
 sub-satellite." 
 
 That the Virginians under General Lewis believed as 
 much, is very plain. 
 
 " His lordship," says the historian, " accompanied by the 
 Indian chief, White-Eyes, now visited the camp of Lewis, 
 and he (according to some relations) with difficulty re 
 strained his men from killing the Governor and his Indian 
 companion." 
 
 But we trench upon history, and only add here, that the 
 General was forced to obey. With a heavy heart, and 
 surrounded by men who thirsted to revenge the horrible 
 cruelties of the Indians on a thousand occasions, General 
 Lewis bowed to the command of his superior and marched 
 baok ; Lord Dunmore remained to perfect his schemes. 
 
 lie returned in November to Williamsburg. 
 
 Thus ended the war of '74. 
 
 It had demonstrated to the minds of all men three im 
 portant things. 
 
 That the men of Virginia were ready for the field in a 
 moment, and too stubborn to yield. 
 
 That the struggle of the Revolution would not be em- 
 Re<l b incursions on the frontier.
 
 380 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 That Lord Dunmore was a traitor to the colony. 
 This was what " Dunmore's war" impressed upon the 
 most careless and unthinking. 
 
 THE OLD CHURCH OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 IT was the great and peculiar good fortune of Virginia to 
 have thus, for the last of her governors, when the storm 
 was first lowering on the horizon, a man whose whole 
 conduct revolted completely the popular mind whose 
 malignant and treacherous disposition and action united all 
 the elements of revolution. 
 
 Had Fauquier or Botetourt held the reins, they would, 
 either of them, been the last whom the Virginians would 
 have struck at. 
 
 Lord Dunmore was now their first enemy their prime 
 hatred. 
 
 With the spring of '75, all the fruits of the long opposi 
 tion rapidly matured. In the electric atmosphere, as in a 
 hot-house, the bloody flower of revolution began rapidly to 
 expand into bloom ; and its seeds were soon scattered far 
 and near, wafted on the sobbing wind which heralded the 
 approaching hurricane. 
 
 The general congress at Philadelphia had risen in Octo 
 ber of the preceding year almost at the moment when 
 Dunmore was endeavoring to perfect his treachery on the 
 Sciota. 
 
 They had agreed on a petition to the king an address 
 to the people of Great Britain and a memorial to the in 
 habitants of the colonies. 
 
 But the great result of this congress was the bond 
 which thenceforth united the North and the South. The 
 leaders of the two sections a;i\v that they could now ad 
 vance with the certainty of codpe ration.
 
 MISS BONNYSEL. 38l - 
 
 The delegates of Virginia returned home, followed by 
 Dunmore from the frontier ; and then they gave, viva voce, 
 an account of all things to the people. 
 
 Around one of these delegates, at the court house of his 
 county, the old neighbors gathered and made him describe 
 the whole proceeding. Then they asked about the men 
 tvho formed the congress. 
 
 Patrick Henry replied, " Colonel Washington was un- 
 i^uestionbly the greatest man on that floor." 
 
 The spring of '75 opened thus, as we have said, with a 
 threatening cloud, and that murmur which precedes the 
 rising of the masses, as it is the precursor of the storm. 
 
 In March, the second Virginia convention met at the old 
 church of St. John in Richmond town, crowning to-day, as 
 it then did, the summit of the hill, from which the eye 
 embraces the city below, the foaming falls, the glittering 
 current of the river, and the beautiful expanse of field and 
 forest. 
 
 Up even to this moment, the best patriots cast a longing 
 look behind them at the peaceful fields of the past, and ti'ied 
 to close their eyes to the events rushing forward to fulfill 
 ment. They wished to avoid that terrible conflict which 
 would stain the earth with so much precious blood. They 
 hesitated and doubted resolving, indeed, that the gen 
 eral congress had done well that the warmest thanks of 
 Virginia were justly due to her delegates for their services 
 but also resolving that the greates* desire, the most 
 ardent aspiration of all men should be, for the "speedy 
 return of those halcyon days" when England had not yet 
 molested them. 
 
 Patrick Henry listened in silence to these resolutions, 
 bearing the stamp of the doubt and indecision of every one. 
 He said nothing waiting for the proper moment. When 
 that time had come, he rose and moved that " a well- 
 regulated militia, composed of gentlemen and yeomen, was 
 the natural strength and only security of a free govern 
 ment," That " the establishment of $uch militia was <
 
 ^'j* MI88 BONNYBEL. 
 
 that time peculiarly necessary." And that " the colony be 
 immediately put in a state of defense." 
 
 The resolutions fell like a thunderbolt. Aftei the first 
 silence of astonishment, a dozen members of the convention 
 sprung to their feet and vehemently opposed them. The 
 nurden of the flood of impassioned oratory was that the 
 resolutions were premature and impolitic that the time 
 had not come, if it ever was to come. 
 
 It was then that the great prophet of revolution, rising 
 slowly and solemnly from his seat, delivered that speech 
 which is a part of the classics of America. 
 
 In its burning sentences, as we read it even to-day, the 
 stormy voice of the orator again resounds ; its solemn and 
 august periods seem to blaze and flash with the hidden fires 
 of an immense genius, a gigantic resolution. It strips the 
 husk from events, and defines with a finger of iron the 
 exact issue. The invisible spirit of the Revolution informs 
 it; like an avalanche it rolls onward, sweeping away all 
 obstacles to the comprehension of the issue, and roaring 
 like the ocean in its passage. 
 
 With the measured step of a giant, moving slowly, the 
 orator advanced at last to the dividing line the g^ f be 
 tween submission and revolution : 
 
 * If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late 
 to retreat from the contest ! There is no retreat but in 
 submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged ! Their 
 clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war 
 is inevitable! and let it come !" 
 
 Then with both arms extended aloft, and burning eyes, 
 " I know not," he said, " what course others may take ; 
 but as for me give me liberty or give me death !" 
 
 The resolutions were adopted without a dissenting voice, 
 their policy embraced, and the convention rose. 
 
 Its action sent a thrill of satisfaction through the whole 
 of Virginia, and in three weeks the popular mind was 
 braced for the contest. 
 
 Everywhere old arms were hunted up, swords burnished,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 383 
 
 the militia was organized, and only a match to fire tlie train 
 was required. 
 
 Lord Dunmore applied this match on the 20th of April, 
 by removing the powder from the old magazine in Wil- 
 liamsburg. 
 
 But let us not anticipate. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI. 
 BONNTBKL'S DREAM. 
 
 Ax Vanely all is bright and beautiful again, as on that 
 morning when St. John and Tom Alston cantered to the 
 door, together, on the day succeeding Lady Dunmore'a 
 entry. 
 
 The fine season of May has nearly come, and the swal 
 lows twitter, as before ; the grass is full of flowers ; the 
 great oaks clothe themselves in heavy foliage, through 
 which the breezes of the spring pass, as it were, with laugh 
 ter. In the beautiful sunsets and the golden dawns, the 
 fine old mansion raises proudly its gray walls, and looks 
 down, smiling, on the fields and river, as before. 
 
 Let us follow one of the curious and prying rays of sun 
 rise into a chamber of the mansion. The indiscreet and 
 careless intruder, as though weary with his long journey ol 
 so many millions of miles, falls prostrate, and rests tran 
 quilly upon the soft hair of Bonnybel, who sleeps beside her 
 sister. 
 
 The sisters always occupy one apartment and one oeJ. 
 It was always so in their childhood ; they retain the habit. 
 
 Helen is awake, but lies, as it were, in that delightful 
 state of semi-consciousness which is such a luxury to the 
 dreamer. The young lady dreams, so to speak, though she 
 does not sleep. From this reverie she is aroused by what 
 seems a sob at hef side.
 
 3b4 
 
 She turns her head quickly, and looks at her sister. 
 
 Bonnybel lies with one round bare arm thrown outside 
 the counterpane ; the other is placed beneath her head. 
 Over the white arm fall the curls of her soft brown hair, 
 like a golden ripple ; for the vagrant sunbeams change their 
 hue, and make them shine. 
 
 The light falls on the beautiful brow, like a glory, in the 
 pictures of Raphael and his brethren. It never fell on a 
 purer and sweeter face ; and, lying thus enveloped in her 
 snowy night dress, close buttoned to the neck, the girl is a 
 picture of modesty and loveliness. 
 
 But her sleep is not tranquil. Some sorrowful dream 
 seems to prey upon her. Her form trembles slightly, and 
 beneath the long silken lashes, resting on her cheeks, large 
 tears flow silently. Helen gazes at her. The form of the 
 girl again shakes, and another sob escapes from the half- 
 parted lips, dying away, like a murmur, in the silent 
 chamber. 
 
 Helen gazes at her sister with an air of the greatest 
 solicitude and tenderness, for this somewhat stately and 
 reserved girl conceals under her prim exterior a warm and 
 affectionate heart. 
 
 All at once, the sleeping girl moves painfully, and, with a 
 contraction of the lips which indicates great suffering, mur 
 murs, audibly, 
 
 " Ob, no ! no ! Do not take away the letter ! do not 
 take away the letter ! Oh, me ! oh, me !" and a passionate 
 sob breaks from the girl's lips, followed by a flood of tears, 
 which bathe her cheeks and neck. 
 
 " Wake, sister !" cried Helen, laying her hand on the 
 girl's shoulder. " What are you dreaming of? Wake up I" 
 
 Bonnybel opened her eyes, and looked dreamily around 
 her. 
 
 " What is the matter, sister ?" said Helen. " You were 
 crying and sobbing in your sleep. Were you dreaming ?" 
 
 The girl passed her hands over BUT eyes, and sighed 
 deeply.
 
 MISS BuNNYEEL. 385 
 
 " Yes," she murmured ; " I believe I was. Oh, s>ister ! 
 I have had such a terrible dream !" and Bonnybel \viped 
 her wet eyes, and half rose in bed, leaning upon her elbow, 
 and looking around her. 
 
 " What was the dream ?" asked Helen. " It must have 
 been very sorrowful." 
 
 " It was, sister. Oh, so sorrowful ! I thought he was 
 dying in the battle with the Indians. A bullet had wounded 
 him, and they were holding him upon their breasts at the 
 foot of a tree by the great river. He was pale and bleed 
 ing ! oh, sister ! so pale ! and his breast was all bloody !" 
 
 Bonnybel sobbed again, as she spoke, and wiped her eyes 
 with her fingers. 
 
 " They opened his coat, and were going to take away a 
 letter a letter I wrote him long ago, which saved his life 
 once ! Oh, sister ! how foolish I was to think that he has 
 that letter now !" and leaning her head upon the fringed 
 pillow again, the girl cried silently. 
 
 ' v Do n't. cry, dear," said Helen, kissing her. " You must 
 not let this foolish dream disturb you. There is no reason 
 to think he is even wounded." 
 
 " No," murmured the girl, more calmly ; " and you know 
 I am nothing to him. But the scene was so vivid that I 
 thought it real. I saw every thing as plainly as I see the 
 mirror there. He was lying on the grass at the foot of a 
 tall elm on the banks of a river which flowed, at a littits 
 distance, in the sunshine. The sunshine came through the 
 boughs of the elm, and fell upon his forehead, which was 
 very pule. A man, who had leaned his rifle against the 
 tree, was holding his head upon his breast, and opening his 
 bosom where he was wounded. The linen was all covered 
 with blood, and his eyes were closed, and he breathed 
 heavily. Ob, me ! what made me dream so ? I could have 
 died when I saw him ! I thought they tried to take away 
 a letter from his bosom- one of my letters and he did not 
 seem to know it. He was looking at a flower which grew 
 
 IV
 
 386 MISS LONNYBlL. 
 
 at his feet, a white rose, and he smiled as lie used to smile 
 once when oh, me ! 1 am so miserable !" 
 
 And with a passionate sob, which, seemed slowly to have 
 gathered in her breast, as she had gone on, the girl was 
 silent, her -bosom shaken with sighs, her cheeks wet with 
 large tears chasing each other in rapid succession. 
 
 Helen put an arm round her neck, and drew toward her 
 the trembling form, with a tenderness which betrayed itself 
 in her own moist eyes and sad lips. Then resting the girl's 
 head upon her shoulder, as she would have done a child's, 
 she pressed her lips to the white cheek, and smoothed the 
 disordered mass of curls from the brows which they covered. 
 
 "Don't cry, dear," she said, soothingly; "you must not 
 let a dream affect you so. 'T is only a dream, and you 
 should not permit it to cause you- so much trouble. You 
 were probably thinking of the battle when you went to sleep, 
 and your imagination thus carried you away." 
 
 " It was so real !" murmured the girl, hiding her face on 
 her sister's shoulder, with a sob. 
 
 " But it was only a dream," continued Helen. " Dreams 
 are merely the result of the fancy let loose, and you know 
 the old saying, that they always * go by contraries.' If there 
 is any thing in your dream, it proves that he is alive and 
 well." 
 
 Bonnybel only sobbed, making no reply. 
 
 Helen continued to soothe and talk to the girl, and at last 
 *he tears disappeared from the pure eyes, and a sad smile lit, 
 up the innocent features. 
 
 " Well, sister," said Bonnybel, at last, " you have made 
 me feel much better, and I will not permit this dream to 
 disturb me so. After all he is he is nothing to me. 
 Well ! I will not cry. I hope he is happy, and 's forgotten 
 me." 
 
 A last tear moistened the girl's eyes, and she was silent, 
 motionless, in the arms of her sister, leaning her blusning 
 face, enveloped by the soft masses of brown hair, on the 
 ghoulder of Helen.
 
 MISS BONNYPEL. 381 
 
 An hour afterwards, before the family had risen, Bonny- 
 bcl was going, through the fresh light of morning, on her 
 daily expedition to the "quarters," followed by her maid, 
 bearing the accustomed basket. 
 
 Only a sad and pensive smile remained, after her 
 and she was tranquil again, for she had prayed for him. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 BONJTFBEL VANE TO HER FRIEKD, KATE EFFINGHAM. 
 
 " VANELY, 18th April, 1775. 
 
 " 'T is so long since I 've written to my Kate that site 
 must almost have forgotten me. But you will not think, 
 my dear, that this silence has proceeded from forgetfulness ; 
 that is not possible toward the dearest girl in the world. 
 
 " I have been unhappy, and when I'm unhappy I can not 
 write. Alas ! my Kate, I am greatly changed. I 'am no 
 more merry and happy, as I used to be. Once I thought 
 this life was the gayest and happiest existence imaginable ; 
 I laughed and jested, and bude defiance to gloom. Now, 
 all 's gone from me. I only sigh, and sometimes I go away 
 and cry for hours. You know the cause of this change. 
 
 " I write now to tell you that I've seen him again, and 
 oh ! he was so changed. I shall proceed to tell you how 
 the interne w took place. In pouring my pain and sorrow 
 into my own Kate's ears, I may relieve my bosom, in some 
 degree, of the cruel pressure I experience. 
 
 " 'T was this morning, at the 'quarters,' in Mammy Liza's 
 cabin. I woke at sunrise, crying from a bad droam I had, 
 in which I saw him wounded and dying in a great battle 
 with the Indians. My dream was so vivid that when sister 
 shook and awoke me, I was sobbing and crying, and for a 
 long time I could not get over the impression,
 
 388 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " I rose and dressed, however, find went on ray customary 
 rounds to see the sick, returning, as my habit is, by Mamray 
 Liza's ! louse. 
 
 " i had been thinking of my dream and of hint-, and ap 
 proached the cabin with my head bent down, gazing ab 
 sently at a small white flower I held in my hand a little 
 rose, such as I 'd given him one day, when we went together 
 to Jamestown island it seems centuries now! and I scarce 
 realize the truth that I am the Bonnybel of that time. But 
 I shall not stop to speak of that. I was very near the door 
 of Mammy Liza's house, and was thinking of him, as I do 
 now and then, when I heard the neigh of a horse. I thought 
 that there was something familiar and yet strange in the 
 sound, and looked toward the spot from which it issued. 
 
 " I recognized Tally ho, his horse, in an instant ; and, 
 when I turned my head toward the cabin, he stood before 
 me. Oh, me! he was so thin and pale. Oh, Kate ! you 
 can not conceive what a change had taken place in his ap 
 pearance. Formerly, he had been so strong and handsome ; 
 his cheeks so ruddy, and his lips and eyes so laughing and 
 full of joyous pride when he raised his noble head and 
 looked at you with that beautiful smile of such extraor 
 dinary sweetness. My heart bleeds as I describe the change ; 
 now the color had all disappeared from his face ; his eyes 
 were dim and sunken, as after illness ; his cheeks white 
 and thin, and the hand which he leaned on Mammy Liza's 
 spinning- wheel was like a ghost's ! His dress looked travel- 
 worn, and his left arm was supported by a scarf, of some 
 Indian fabric, passed around his neck. He was but the 
 shadow of himself, and when he looked at me with a slight 
 tinge of color in his cheek and a sad surprise, inexpressibly 
 sorrowful, I would have burst into tears, and cried myself 
 weak, had not I placed a violent constraint upon myself. 
 As I found afterward, he had been talking with Mammy 
 Liza for nearly two hours, and thus he must have ridden to 
 Vanely in the night. Mammy Liza was crying and fixing 
 her spindle, stopping every moment, to wipe her old eyes,
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 389 
 
 aiid muttOiing, 'My child ! my own child !' in such an 
 nffl-cting way that I could scarcely restrain my sobs. I give 
 way to them now as I write. These blots upon the papei 
 are tears. 
 
 " lie stood, for a moment, looking at me so sadly that it 
 made my heart ache and my throat feel as if it were chok 
 ing. He then took from the left breast of his doublet an old 
 letter, and, with an inclination of courtesy yes, simple 
 courtesy held it toward me. It was the very letter I had 
 seen the soldier try to take from his breast when I saw him 
 dying in my dream, and the wound was now, apparently, in 
 his shoulder, really, as I had dreamed it. How strange! 
 For a moment I stood looking at him with tears in my eyes, 
 and he continued to hold the letter toward me. 
 
 "I saw that he would hold it thus until I took it, and 
 that the exertion was making him weaker. I unconsciously 
 received it, and then holding, for a moment, in hjs own, 
 Mammy Liza's hand, he inclined before me again with a 
 long, penetrating look, passed by me like a shadow, and 
 thus, with his pale face turned over his shoulder, as it were, 
 lie mounted his horse, and was lost in the woods. He had 
 never spoken I had not heard his voice 1 
 
 " I can write but little more, Kate ; I feel faint and 
 badly. This interview has, since the morning, preyed upon 
 my spirits ; and I have vainly sought to relieve my distress 
 by writing to you. It seems only to have opened the wound 
 afresh. I remained with Mammy Liza until a message 
 came that breakfast was ready, but I could not extract from 
 her any thing, scarcely. She only wrung her hands, and 
 muttered, ' My child ! my own child !' in a manner that 
 nearly broke my heart ; and I finally came away, and have 
 come here to my chamber now to hide ray red eyes. 
 
 " Can you explain the strange fact of my dream ? He 
 was clad just as I saw him, and, lying before me, is the let 
 ter which I dreamed they wished to take from him. As ho 
 gave it to me he looked intently at the white flower in my 
 hand, and I think, as he went away, and the letter fell at my
 
 390 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 feet, he remembered oh, me! my memory is my chid 
 wretchedness ! 
 
 " Oh, Kate ! if I could only lay my head upon your bosom, 
 and cry myself to rest there! This meeting has made me 
 ill, and I feel as though I was going to faint. 
 
 " Was I wrong in the past f Answer me, Kate: Was 
 I wrong Could I so command my feelings as to prevent 
 the terrible change in our relations ? I ask the question 
 with inexpressible anguish. Oh, tell me, Kate! was 1 
 wrong ? 
 
 " I know not, but I do know that I 'm miserable 1 His 
 old affection is mine no longer; he bowed with common 
 courtesy alone. Wo is me that the day should ever come ! 
 
 "I can not write more. The words swim in tears, and 
 I 'm blinded by them. Farewell. 
 
 " BONNYBEL. 
 
 " P. 8. My maid comes to say that Mr. Lindon is below. 
 I have sent word down that I desire to be excused. His 
 very appearance is hateful in my eyes ! May Heaven for 
 give my sinful feelings !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 THE FRIENDS. 
 
 ON the day after the meeting between the young man 
 and Bonnybel, two men, well mounted, rode slowly out cf 
 Gloucester street in a western direction. 
 
 These men were Tom Alston and St. John. 
 
 The purple light of evening lit up the two forms clearly, 
 and the young lady had accurately described the appear 
 ance of her former lover. Mr. St. John was but the ghost 
 of himself. Since those bright and happy days when in 
 haling the breath of love and living a life full of splendid 
 and joyful emotions since those hours at Vanely, which 
 now seemed to have shone for him, in ^he long past years of
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 391 
 
 centuries that had fled, the young man appeared to have 
 become another being to have changed the very founda. 
 tions of his identity. 
 
 His cheek was no longer ruddy and firm ; his eyes no 
 longer filled with mirth, dancing in the joyful light of love 
 and merriment. Pale, silent, with a tranquil sadness in hi? 
 face, he was, truly, but the phantom of himself. 
 
 Tom Alston was the same nearly as before, though some 
 what more subdued, and as the two friends rode along, he 
 gnzed at Mr. St. John with an air of the deepest regret and 
 compassion. 
 
 The young man had been speaking of the events which 
 had taken place since he had parted with his friend. He 
 had told how the army of General Lewis left Lewisburg ; 
 how they passed rapidly through the wilderness ; how they 
 fell upon the enemy at Point Pleasant, and how that enemy 
 was defeated and put to rout. In his picturesque narrative, 
 in his sad but vivid story, characters and events rose vivid 
 ly before his auditor, and thus going along quietly in the 
 bright evening, he related, incident by incident, the history 
 of his adventures and his misfortunes. 
 
 " It was near the end of the battle that I received this 
 wound," said the young man, indicating his left shoulder, 
 "and 'tis not yet entirely healed. Colonel Lewis, the 
 brother of the General, and myself were fighting side by 
 side, and I think we fell at nearly the same moment. A 
 nobler-hearted gentleman ne'er lived, and the whole array 
 wept for him, and carried him to his grave with a sad tri 
 umph which I'll never forget. But to return to myself, 
 friend. I was fighting as I said, when suddenly I felt what 
 seemed to be a red-hot iron pierce my breast, and then the 
 wild battle, with its shouts and yells, its whistling bullets 
 and dim canopy, all disappeared. I fainted, and when I re 
 turned to my senses, I was lying at the foot of a tree, sup 
 ported upon the breast of a companion. They had opened 
 my bosom, and were probing the wound, and I saw the bul 
 let when it was extracted, A little white flower J remenv
 
 892 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 bor grew at my feet, anrl I gnzed at it, as my nead drooped 
 forward. It seemed to me familiar, and I 've since recog 
 nized but that is nothing. It is very strange ! Well, well, 
 some other time, friend, I will tell you the rest of our cam 
 paign -how the General, at my request, had me borne on a 
 litter, by his side, to the spot where he halted near the camp 
 of Dunmore. The General, after a stormy scone, was obliged 
 to retreat, and changing my former plan of going down Belle 
 Riviere to Natchez, I returned with him to Botetotirt. The 
 exertion had irritated my wound, and all the winter I was 
 confined with it, receiving from the General such kindness 
 as I never shall forget. You see this man is a nobleman of 
 nature, a great-hearted gentleman, whose name will live on 
 the page of our Virginia story when the vulgar name of 
 Dunmore has been forgotten. 
 
 " So ends my story," said the young man, calmly ; " you 
 see, Tom, I have come back to the spot which I left, a poor 
 wounded soldier, with my heart wounded worse than my 
 frame. Perhaps 't would be better for me to die here ; but 
 that, I think, won't be. I tarry for a moment only on my 
 way, to exchange a passing grasp of the hand with yourself 
 and my other friends. In a week I go on my path to the 
 old world, there to seek oblivion. From that continent I 
 shall never return. It is not my fault. I thought my life 
 would be happy, and assuredly it opened with rare promise, 
 surrounded as I was by the old, loving faces, and especially 
 by that which well, well ! Let me not open my wound, 
 which is healing, I think. All is ended there, and I blamo 
 no one. It is over simply, and I go on my way." 
 
 It was thus that the young man ended his story smiling 
 tranquilly and gazing upon the sunset. 
 
 For a time, Mr. Alston remained silent and sad, with the 
 accents of his friend still echoing in his ears. Then he raised 
 his head, uttered a deep sigh, and said, 
 
 "Harry, I think I am growing old." 
 
 " How is that ?" said St. John ; " you are young both in 
 years and character."
 
 MISS BOSXYBEL. 893 
 
 Mr. Alston shook his head. 
 
 ** A man lives rather in thought, than in years," he said 
 "a trite maxim. I mean, Harry, that between last year and 
 to-day a great gulf seems to have been thrown for me, and 
 I add that H is you who have opened it." 
 
 " I am sorry I can not help it. Do not let my grid's 
 trouble you." 
 
 "I must," said honest Tom Alston, with feeling; "I can 
 not prevent it. Why will you thus cling to a delirium? 
 Why ruin yourself for a chimera?" 
 
 " A chimera ?" 
 
 " Yes, Harry, it is even worse ! You think that young 
 girl is faithless to you." 
 
 "Do not use the word faithless," said St. John, with tran 
 quil sadness. 
 
 " What then shall I say ?" 
 
 " Say that I am unfortunate ; that she is not to blame 
 only changeable, like women even the best of them." 
 
 '* No, I say that there is some mystery in this affair which 
 must be cleared up." 
 
 " Some mystery ?" 
 
 " Assuredly oh ! most assuredly. What it is 1 can not 
 say but I stake my life upon the fact." 
 
 Mr. St. John gazed at him with sad surprise. 
 
 " You 're a good friend, Tom," he said ; " you are faithfu. 
 to the end, and I thank you. But you convince me not at 
 all. You told me that you had made every eifort to dis 
 cover this mystery that you were constantly repulsed 
 that she would tell you nothing, always turning the conver 
 sation or retiring. Nought remains." 
 
 " Why not go yourself?" 
 
 "I would not!" said St. John haughtily; then with a 
 sorrowful smile, " I ought not to," he added. "You toll 
 me yourself, Tom, that the family at Vnnely no longer 
 think of me ; well, weie I to go thither, I should cause 
 them to think of me with bitterness perhaps to insult me. 
 No, no! 'tis better as it is. I shall bid them farewell in 
 
 17*
 
 *fl4 MISS BON2JYBEL. 
 
 a letter, when no word shall indicate my sense of the 
 seeming injustice, and then I shall go away, never to 
 return." 
 
 " And break her heart !" 
 
 St. John shook his head. 
 
 "The time for such a thing is past," he said, "she no 
 longer thinks of me. Some one has long since filled my 
 -jlace in her affections. Do you think I blame her? Alas! 
 \ do not. I am simply miserable. I blame no one. I am 
 much changed. I say that human nature is weak that 
 the strongest heart is feeble that God han made women 
 fallible like men. I think she loved me once with her 
 whole heart I then thought, and for ever. Well, she was 
 H woman, and at best they are but women. My prayers 
 and blessing will always follow her ; but we meet no more 
 on this earth, Tom." 
 
 And Mr. St. John made a movement with his hand which 
 indicated a desire on his part that the subject should be 
 abandoned. 
 
 Tom Alston sighed and yielded. That honest heart was 
 pained by the despair of his friend ; and in the conflict 
 with the settled sadness of Mr. St. John, he gave way and 
 said nothing more. 
 
 Mr. St. John had not spoken of the visit to Mammy 
 Liza's cabin ; for that encounter had produced a more 
 powerful effect upon his feelings than he cared to own. 
 The sight of her pale white face, her haunting eyes, her 
 thin form this sad vision had left him strangely affected, 
 and he had ridden slowly back to Williamsburg, musing 
 gloomily. They had met but for a moment, yet in that 
 instant all the past had seemed to rush upon him again, 
 with its smiles and happiness, its joy and beauty. As he 
 gave her the letter which had saved his life, as he looked 
 at the flower which she held in her hand, as he took in a 
 a glance all the details of that countenance, toward whicu 
 his heart still turned, as the Chaldean turns to his star, hia 
 resolution bad almost melted his strength had nearly
 
 MISS kONNYBEL. 306 
 
 given way as he bowed to her, it had required all his self- 
 control not to seize her thin hand and press it to his trem 
 bling lips, and moisten it with his tears. 
 
 He had not done so, he had only bowed and came away ; 
 and now he was more sad than before, almost yielding to 
 his emotion, and uttering a groan as he finally bade adieu 
 to all his hopes and his love. 
 
 They went on silently thus in the sunset, and soon came 
 in front of a cottage embowered in foliage and flowers. It 
 was Roseland. 
 
 Blossom played as of old upon the grassplat ; and, as she 
 recognized her friend, the child's face tilled with blushes of 
 happiness, and she ran toward him. 
 
 " Let us dismount a moment, Tom," said St. John, " I 
 must not neglect my friends." 
 
 As he spoke, the young man affixed the bridle of his 
 horse to the fence, and accompanied by Tom Alston, slowly 
 entered the grounds of the cottage. 
 
 Blossom had for visitor, her friend and admirer, Paul 
 Effingham, Esquire and this young gentleman now aban 
 doned an immense pile of flowers which he was weaving 
 into a garland, intended to encircle Miss Blossom's shoul 
 ders and waist, to come and welcome his friends. 
 
 He shook hands with Mr. St. John and Mr. Alston with 
 great good feeling, and with an impressive air asked them 
 how they were. 
 
 As for Blossom, she held Mr. St. John's other hand 
 tightly, looking sadly into his thin pale face, and seemed to 
 prefer that gentleman's society to her admirer's. 
 
 St. John looked at the child with a smile which was not 
 so sad. Blossom had increased considerably in stature, and 
 was now almost as tall as Mr. Paul Effingham. She might 
 now have stood on the base of Lord Botetourt's statue, 
 and clasped that good nobleman's waist instead of his 
 knee, and omitted entirely the ceremony of kneeling on 
 the shoulder of her devoted cavalier. 
 
 " And how have you been this long, long time, my child ?**
 
 300 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 said St. John, caressing kindly the soft hair. * I see that 
 the blossom is as bright as ever on your cheet. You are 
 happy and well, are you not, my dear ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the child, " I am very well indeed, but 
 but I am not happy, I think " 
 
 "Pray why?" 
 
 Blossom was silent a moment, gazing sadly on the thin 
 face of her friend. 
 
 " I am grieved because you look pale and unhappy," she 
 murmured ; " something grieves you ; won't you tell me 
 what it is ?" 
 
 St. John smiled sadly and shook his head. 
 
 " Am I changed ?" he said. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ! when you were here before you looked 
 stronger and brighter." 
 
 " That was because the sun was rising for me, Blossom. 
 Since then my day has passed. It is setting now." 
 
 And St. John gazed calmly on the great orb sinking in the 
 forest. 
 
 " I understand you," said the child, in a low voice, " you 
 are not happy. But you know the sun will rise again to 
 morrow." 
 
 The young man looked at the child, as she spoke, with 
 an air of such hopeless sadness, that the tears rushed to her 
 eyes. He saw them, and was pained at her pain. 
 
 " There, there, my dear," he said, " do n't cry, for you dig- 
 tress me. See, I smile, and, who knows ? when I come 
 again I may be laughing. Paul has finished your garland 
 See, he hands it out to you." 
 
 And taking the wreath of flowers, he put it around her 
 shoulders. Then he pressed the child's hand and bade her 
 good bye, with a request that she would tell her father of 
 his visit. 
 
 The friends returned to Williamsburg, and parted with a 
 close grasp of the hand, and an appointment to meet again 
 on the morrow. 
 
 "The un may rise again," murmured St John, as he
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 39" 
 
 sought his lodgings, " and the flowers may blossom again, 
 but my sunshine and flowers are all gone. So be it ! A few 
 heavy years, some more pain and heart-burning then I '11 
 aleep." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 THE REMOVAL OF THE POWDEB. 
 
 IT was nearly midnight, and St. John was standing list- 
 l issly on the door-step of the house he occupied, when rais 
 ing his eyes, he saw the glimmer of a light in the tall tower 
 where the stranger pursued his labors. 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, but soon made up his mind. 
 He slowly set forward toward the light. 
 
 He quickly reached the house, and ascended the winding 
 stair-case. The stranger awaited him, with outstretched hand, 
 on the threshold. 
 
 " Welcome, friend," said the worker, who was clad as be 
 fore in his somber black dress, " welcome back to the cap 
 ital. I was waiting for you, and knew your footstep." 
 
 St. John returned the iron grasp of the slender hand, and 
 took the seat which was offered him. 
 
 " You awaited me ?" he said ; " how is that ? Did you 
 then know of my arrival?" 
 
 " Three days before you came I expected you. As you 
 know, I have many correspondents, and I heard of your 
 journey from three sources but first from General Lewis." 
 
 And the stranger touched a letter lying upon the top of 
 an enormous pile similar to it. 
 
 St. John nodded. 
 
 " I see," he said, u and it will make an account of my 
 sickness unnecessary ; perhaps I need not even speak of my 
 Adventures on the border." 
 
 ^ It is useless, I may as w<4! say fraql^ly. I know al! \\:-+{
 
 398 MISS BO^NVBEL. 
 
 happened to you your wound, your journey in the litter, 
 your return. My correspondent gave me every detail." 
 
 St. John nodded again. 
 
 " Well," he said, " so I come back. You see I have not 
 carried out my plan of going down Belle Riviere and the 
 Mississippi. I go to Europe by the eastern route." 
 
 And St. John sat down opposite the stranger. That per 
 sonage, for some reason, did not seem disposed to combat 
 the resolution of his companion ; he did not leply even to 
 his last observation. He remained motionless for a moment, 
 leaning his pale face on his hand, and then taking a letter 
 from a drawer, carefully read it. He then returned it, and 
 said, 
 
 " Well, friend, we won't discuss your movements at pres 
 ent ; the future can take care of itself. Let us converse as 
 friends. You seem sad, and are very pale." . 
 
 " As you know, I have been sick." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And as you do not know, my character is changed.** 
 
 " I know that too." 
 
 St. John looked at the stranger. 
 
 " How ?" he said. 
 
 " Friend," said his companion, leaning back in his cha\r, 
 and gazing thoughtfully at Mr. St. John, " to an eye so prac 
 ticed as my own, 't is not a difficult thing to penetrate that 
 calmness which envelops grief and hopelessness. You are 
 no longer the gay cavalier ; you are the thoughtful man of 
 sorrow." 
 
 " Well, yes," said St. John, " I am as much." 
 
 " You have yielded in the conflict with despair." 
 
 " I am calm." 
 
 u T see. That is just what I say. You retire from all 
 struggles henceforth you seek merely oblivion." 
 
 " You read my heart, friend," said the young man, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " I know I do, and I say to you thai your resolution isi 
 mi .vorthy of a bruve man!'
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 390 
 
 St. John nodded. 
 
 " So be it," he said ; " I am no longer brav-, " 
 
 "That may be, but you have your duty, and you shrink 
 from it." 
 
 "What duty?" 
 
 " The struggle with wrong." 
 
 St. John said nothing for some minutes ; then, raising his 
 head : 
 
 " Do you know, friend," he said, " that life no longer af 
 fects me its sorrows or joys, or good or evil ? If I were 
 not a stoic I should be an epicurean. Let society go its 
 ways ; it does not concern me. I do not deny that once I 
 thought differently, but opinions often change as we grow 
 older. As for me, my strength is quite broken. I could not, 
 if I would, enter the contest." 
 
 He was silent, and the stranger seemed to acquiesce in his 
 plain wish to change the subject. He made a slow and meas 
 ured movement with his head, and replied, 
 
 " So be it ; but you may yet change your views. Events 
 are now on the brink of an abyss, into which we '11 all be 
 plunged. The revolution rushes on, and to-morrow may 
 be a day of history." 
 
 tl To-morrow ?" 
 
 " I mean any day now, for the storm is about to burst ! 
 You have been away, and do not know how the country 
 speaks of Dunmore, how the minds of men have been strid 
 ing on toward the battle field. Within the year which ends 
 next month, the North American provinces have advanced 
 toward rebellion with far greater rapidity than within the 
 entire ten years preceding. In '65, as I have before said, 
 the seeds of revolution were scattered broadcast by the 
 voice of Patrick Henry ; well, in these ten years they have 
 been ripening, now they burst into the air. In May of last 
 year, as you remember, the Boston Port bill was passed, and 
 you were witness of the effect which it produced upon the 
 Burgesses and upon the people. That outrage brought forth 
 the general congress, which Virginia proposed six days b*-
 
 400 MISS BONHTYBEL. 
 
 fore Massachusetts, though it was also origiiw with the 
 of the North, since no communication could have taken place. 
 That con s i-ess met at Philadelphia ; the Virginia convention 
 also met last month, in the old church where we first came 
 together, when, as you will recollect, I was looking at the 
 edifice with this very thing in view. The general congress 
 gpoke boldly, but the Virginia convention struck the face of 
 royalty with its gauntlet ! It was the voice of Patrick Henry 
 which resounded again, for he saw that the time had come !" 
 
 " Yes," said St. John. 
 
 " It was Duumore himself," continued the stranger, with 
 gloomy pleasure ; " it was Dunmore who placed his shoulder 
 to the car which will finally crush him ! And here see the 
 wondrous ways of Providence ! the proof that all men are 
 puppets in an invisible hand ! At the moment when the 
 general congress rose in Philadelphia, this man was plotting 
 treachery upon the Sciota ! He thought that he was band 
 ing the savages against Virginia in silence and secrecy ; he 
 was only arousing more violently the popular fury. Every 
 letter from the camp of General Lewis made the waters of 
 revolution boil and foam more angrily ! A popular idea for 
 the crisis was needed, an especial treason on the part of the 
 government. Dunmore went a thousand miles through the 
 wilderness to supply it ! He is the true author of the strug 
 gle about to burst ; his treachery will bear Dead Sea fruits ; 
 by him the discordant elements are combined ; before, there 
 was dissension and difference, but now there is none. The 
 phalanx moves forward, fully armed and in order !" 
 
 The stranger paused for a moment, and then continued. 
 
 " You may not fully realize as I do, friend," he said, " the 
 full meaning of those words, ' discordant elements.' Listen, 
 however, and I think I can tell you what they signify. The 
 society of Virginia is essentially composite made up of a va 
 riety of classes. To ascertain the character of these classes, 
 to analyze the elements which will enter into the struggle 
 before us this has long been my study and rny passion. A 
 poor engineer, but, delegated to touch the fuse, it has been
 
 XIIS3 BONttYBEL. 40) 
 
 my great subject of investigation, the nature and the prop 
 erties of this splendid ordnance which will batter down the 
 walls of royalty in America, sending its roar of triumph over 
 the ruins ! 
 
 " In Virginia, then, there are twenty different classes 
 from the indented servant who toils on the glebe, and the 
 fisherman who sleeps in the sunshine, to the great landed 
 proprietor who rolls by in his coach, and lives like a feudal 
 baron on his splendid estate. The intermediate grades are 
 immensely diversified, but, as far as politics go, there are 
 but three prominent classes. They are, first, patriotic con 
 servatives, with a sprinkling of royalists or toiies ; next, ad 
 vocates of revolution, prepared to go all lengths; lastly, 
 men who wait for events, and conceal their sentiments, 
 read to join either side, if it acquires the ascendency. 
 
 "The first of these classes embraces the great landed 
 proprietors. They are the sons or grandsons of English 
 younger sons who came here and obtained, by industry or 
 favor, large tracts on the banks of our rivers. In the first 
 generation they often lived rudely, and worked hard ; in the 
 second or third, they roll in coaches, and live splendidly. 
 They are cavaliers, or gentlemen call them what you 
 please essentially of the old English stock of country gen 
 tlemen. They have, many of them, been educated in En 
 gland, and have traveled on the continent. They have 
 thus imbibed the traditions of the past. On their walls 
 hang the portraits of their ancestors, and they read of these 
 personages in the memoirs of past ages. Thug, every thing 
 combines to make these men royalists : family pride, edu 
 cation, the fear of innovation on their class, and the dread 
 of Democracy. They are members of the established Church 
 of England, and believe in the apostolic succession. They 
 are attached to that constitutional royalty which recognizes 
 the monarch as the first gentleman of his kingdom. They 
 like the order of nobility because a step only separates them 
 from its elevation a step which has often been passed over. 
 They believe in those ' degrees i't a state' which Shakspeare
 
 402 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 tells of -they believe that they are better than the co amon- 
 crs. They love, in a word, the whole machinery of the 
 English system, and recoil at the thought of opposirg her. 
 " This class, thus imperfectly outlined, has longed for an 
 arrangement of the present difficulties a peaceful solution 
 of all dissensions. They have voted, in the Burgf;Sf,ea, for 
 petitions and protests, but their protests have always roded 
 with a clause about 'his Majesty's most loyal huuriWi* serv 
 ants and subjects.' They shudder and draw ba/jV w'len 
 the word revolution is uttered, and they cling to '/;. j<tst, 
 to the habitudes of London, to the sentiments jn'J V'sws 
 of their fathers. 
 
 " Now for the second class, the advocates of /rv;lution 
 those fiery souls who inhale the odor of the f&uttering 
 tempest, and rejoice as they descry its approach. These are 
 men of less property, though similar origin. Tl y live, for 
 the most part, upon small estates, and ride to jourt with 
 their saddle-bags, and dress carelessly. They d not culti 
 vate that suavity and repose which is the aifj >f the rich 
 planter ; they wear no velvet or lace ; they sp >ai: often un- 
 couthly, but with a rough eloquence whicL arouses. In 
 the West they are often mountain hunters, depending for 
 support, in a measure, on their rifles, clad in hunting-shirts 
 and deer-skin buskins. They have few family traditions, 
 and no portraits. Their ancestors could not fee Sir God 
 frey Kneller or Van Dyck. They breathe the winds of the 
 great mountains, hear the noise of the torrents ; the eagle 
 screams, from the clouds, above their lodges in the clefts of 
 the Alleghanies, and he is not more free and disdainful ol 
 control than themselves. These men not only do not stand 
 in awe of royalty they do not understand or think of it. It 
 has never come to molest them in their far mountain eyries, 
 and they care as little for the aristocracy of the lowland. 
 They listen, as in a dream, when you tell them of the char 
 iots, and gold plate, and the opulence of the Tidewater. 
 '!'"ey nod their heads, and tell you that your story is inter 
 esting: then thev play with tb^iv o-'-nut. i-ifles, and follow the
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 403 
 
 flight of an eagle with their eyes, and go, singing, up the 
 mountain, thinking only of the buck hunt on the morrow 
 When the planter of the East turns in bed to take his sec 
 ond nap, the hunter is following the deer over the breezy 
 hills, or dashing aside the waves of the Kanawha with the 
 paddle of his gum-tree canoe. The elegantly-clad cavalier 
 receives his guests at the door of his fine mansion, bowing 
 low as he assists the dames from their coaches ; the mount 
 aineer is telling stories to his comrades around the camp fire. 
 As the minuet commences, with its dazzling figures and state 
 ly music, the hunter falls asleep beneath the stars. These 
 men, the yeomen of the East and the mountaineers of the 
 West, form the second class almost ignorant of royalty, and 
 careless of its doings, but ready to march on it, and strike it 
 mortally whea it invades their territory, as they would a 
 wolf or a panther. But I mistake. Ten years ago this was 
 iust the picture. To-day these men have made the acquaint 
 ance of his Majesty and of Parliament. They have not said 
 much, but they have looked to their rifles. You will see 
 them in Williamsb'irg soon ; Goths and Huns in the streets 
 of Rome. 
 
 " I have said that the third class embraced the hangers- 
 on those men who watch events, and are prepared to side 
 with the strongest. They are factors, for the most part, who 
 have 'moneys' involved in the issue who do not wish to 
 quarrel with the planters, and await their action. They op 
 posed the Don-intercourse association of last year because it 
 injured their business ; they trade now in their patriotism, 
 and await the rising of the curtain. Enough of them. 
 
 " Well, now, friend," the stranger continued, " you see 
 the issue ; you see the elements which will enter Into this 
 struggle. I commenced by saying that the action of Dun- 
 more had combined these discordant elements; and I think 
 you comprehend what I meant. 
 
 "The great planters, the first class, love England and 
 their old traditions, but they are true Englishmen, and love 
 their personal liberty more. They are afraid of Democracy,
 
 404 MISS 
 
 but they arc more afraid of Parliament. They w^uld risk 
 their lives to preserve the legitimate action of the sovereign 
 from insult ; they will die before they'll bow to what is des- 
 potism. Well, the treachery of Dunmore has revolted tbia 
 class profoundly ; his insults have aroused their hot blood ; 
 they hate him, and hate the government which instructed 
 him. and are ready to strike him. They overmatch, lastly, 
 the pure royalists so immensely that this element is com 
 pletely paralyzed. 
 
 " The second class, the yeomen and the hunters, are 
 aroused, too that is, made to see that the time has come. 
 They now understand that their own is a popular sentiment 
 that, when they march, it will be with an ever-increasing 
 force as they proceed. They feel that the treachery of Dun- 
 more has matured all : they unite with the planters. 
 
 "The third class are accustomed to watch the times. 
 They see that th<$ liberty stock is rising. They begin to 
 understand that their debts to English houses will be abro 
 gated by a struggle with the mother country. They now 
 press forward, and are flaming patriots. They shout ' Lib 
 erty !* and then look round for applause. It is Dnnmore'a 
 treachery which has decided these men, too : they march 
 with the rest. 
 
 " Well, friend," added the stranger, raising his head, 
 " you now know what has taken place in your absence. 
 The tornado, long blowing, is beginning to roar ; royal au 
 thority trembles in the balance, and is weighed, and found 
 wanting. The fiery finger has traced the flaming letters on 
 the wall, Mene, mene, tekel, uphorsin I * God hath num 
 bered thy kingdom and finished it !' The monarch, in his 
 palace, already hears the roar of the unloosed waters. 
 Those waters commenced, a mere rill, a thread upon the ex- 
 pnnse of the land ; but they have rolled on ind gathered 
 strength ; from year to year they have increased ; at hist 
 they rush toward the sea, whose surges are lashed by the 
 tempest ! On the banks of the great stream a po r wan- 
 derer stands musing. It is myself, friend ! My part has
 
 MISS BONNTBEL. 404 
 
 been to follow it in its august flow from the source to re 
 move, when I could, the obstructions in its bed to widen 
 and clear out the channel. If I have assisted, thus, the in- 
 f.tnt stream of Liberty, I have not lived in vain. My mis 
 sion was to perform this service, and I have tried to fulfill it. 
 The stream rushes onward now, and I disappear. Hence 
 forth there is little for me to do but to throw myself into 
 the current and share its fate. Swallowed up in the billows, 
 lost in the ranks, I have, henceforth, my arm alone to offer. 
 Seek me here in the autumn of this year and, I predict, you 
 will not find me. Before that time, all will be decided ; 
 even now events rush to their fulfillment !" 
 
 As the stranger spoke, the neigh of a distant horse w&a 
 heard, and, bending forward, he listened. 
 
 " They are on their march !" he said. 
 
 " Whom ?" said St. John, rising. 
 
 " Wait ; you will see," and the stranger led the way to 
 the open window. 
 
 It was a clear, moonlight night, and the mellow radiance 
 slept peacefully on the roofs of the houses. No sound dis 
 turbed the deep silence except the murmur of the sea breeze 
 dying away in the distance. 
 
 But as St. John and the stranger leaned forth and list 
 ened, a second neigh, much closer than the first, was borne 
 on the night wind to their ears. 
 
 Then, in the deep silence, a measured tramp was heard, 
 sabers gleamed in the moonlight, and a body of men ad 
 vanced along Gloucester street, and turned into Palace 
 street. 
 
 At the head of these men rode a horseman wrapped in a 
 cloak, and it was his animal which had neighed. 
 
 From their lofty post the stranger and St. John witnessed 
 the silent advance of the company, and soon saw a light 
 glimmer in a window of the palace, before which the men 
 halted. 
 
 " Ah ! said St. John, " these are-^ 
 
 "Marine!* from the schooner Magdalen, which lies at Bur
 
 406 MISS BOKNYBBL. 
 
 well's Ferry on James river, yonder. The horseman 18 
 Captain Collins." 
 
 " What is their object ?" 
 
 " Look and listen, friend," said the stranger, " and you 
 will see." 
 
 St. John leaned further out and listened, a color for the 
 first time invading his pale cheek, and his eyes ardently 
 plunging into half darkness. 
 
 A colloquy seemed to be going on in front of the palace, 
 but this lasted for a few minutes only. Almost immediate 
 ly the noise of wheels was heard, and the chariot of Lord 
 Dunmore, drawn by six horses, and surrounded by his guards, 
 commanded by Lindon, drove slowly, and with apparent cau 
 tion, out of Palace street, and disappeared in the direction 
 of Montebello, the Governor's mansion, some six miles be 
 low Williamsburg. 
 
 "Do you understand ?" said the stranger, whose lips wore 
 an expression of the most withering scorn ; " do you know 
 what that means$ friend ?" 
 
 " Speak ! 
 
 " His Excellency flies to his country seat, leaving his 
 family behind !" 
 
 " Flies ! What is his fear ?" 
 
 " Listen and look !" 
 
 As the stranger spoke, he extended his hand in the moon 
 light, and St. John saw the troop of men march to the pow 
 J3r magazine, rapidly place fifteen or twenty barrels of 
 powder in carts, and then quickly retrace their steps in 
 the direction from which they had come. 
 
 " They are disarming the town !" cried St. John, starting 
 up, and drawing bis sword ; " give the alarm, friend, or they 
 will escape !" 
 
 And he threw himself toward the door, with flashing 
 eyes, and cheeks crimson with passion. 
 
 The heavy hand of the stranger violently arrested him. 
 St. John looked impatiently at the hand on his shoulder, 
 at the cold and collected face.
 
 MISS BOXM'BEL. 407 
 
 " Why do you stop rae ?" he said. 
 
 *' Because I do not recognize your right to forestall events 
 and embarrass the cause." 
 
 " Embarrass !" 
 
 " Yes. Can you misunderstand ?" 
 
 "Speak!" 
 
 " That powder is, in all, fifteen half barrels of fifty pounds 
 each. We have ten times the amount safely stored. It is 
 necessary that this powder should be removed. It was 
 foreseen " 
 
 " Foreseen !" ' 
 
 " By myself and others. Were you to arouse Williams- 
 burg now you would oppose some frightened burghers, half 
 asleep, to a band of armed marines, stimulated by drink. 
 The result would be unnecessary loss of life and defeat. 
 The injury to the cause is, however, the paramount thing." 
 
 " Injury !" 
 
 " Yes, friend," said the stranger, coolly, " I repeat that it 
 is in the first degree desirable that Lord Dunmore should 
 perfect this outrage. In a week you will understand me. 
 The powder is valueless the outrage is of immense value 
 to the cause ! Do you not comprehend the enormous im 
 portance of this blow of an armed encounter between the 
 Governor and the people, before an overwhelming force is 
 marched hither ? The great masses busy themselves little 
 about abstract principles, but every one will understand this 
 midnight robbery. In ten days Virginia will thrill to her 
 remotest borders with wrath and indignation. I would not, 
 for the whole English arsenal hi the Tower, have that pow 
 der obstructed have those men molested 1* Do you un 
 derstand now ?" 
 
 St. John fell back, murmuring. 
 
 " Let us now get some sleep, for the events of the mor. 
 
 row will need fresh arms, perhaps, friend," said the stran 
 
 ger ; "it is Dunmore who plays our whole game for us. 
 
 He is but i tyro ! for he 's staked the authority of hii 
 
 * Historical Illustrations-, No. XXXYIIL
 
 1.1)8 MISS BONNYBKL. 
 
 muster in Virginia against eight barrels of pc vder, and 
 he'll lose!" 
 
 With which words the stranger coolly resumed his seat. 
 
 St. John retired to his lodgings, making an appointment 
 to meet the stranger at the Raleigh at sunrise, and soon 
 the town was as silent as before. 
 
 The powder marauders, with their illustrious master, had 
 come and gone as silently as shadows. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 
 IN ARMS, AND CAPTAIN RALPH WATERS IN 
 
 ECSTACIES. 
 
 AT sunrise the stranger and St. John met in front of tho 
 Raleigh, and in fifteen minutes the intelligence of the re 
 moval of the powder had run like wildfire through the 
 town. 
 
 All Williamsburg fiew to arms. 
 
 Every moment the crowds at the corners increased, and 
 these crowds were harangued by orators of the common 
 people, who sprung up thus in an instant, and rode for the 
 moment upon the popular current. 
 
 Execrations directed at Lord Dunmore resounded upon 
 every side, and a hoarse murmur, rising at times into a roar, 
 indicated the depth of the feeling which this last outrage 
 had aroused and pushed into action. 
 
 As the morning drew on, the crowd ever grew more 
 dense and more furious ; for it was found, that in addition, 
 the muskets in the magazine had been deprived of their locka, 
 The gentlemen of the town, and some members of the Gov 
 ernor's council, in vain attempted to calm the tumult. 
 
 The people of Williamsburg were completely aroused, 
 and like most popular bodies, only waited for a leader to 
 proceed to acts of violence.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 400 
 
 Tins .eader presented himself in the person of a country 
 lawyer, who sprang upon a barrel-head at the door of a 
 shop and announced that the palace floor was covered with 
 muskets, and that Lord Dunmore had hastened to Monte- 
 hello to arm his negroes, and the Shawnee hostages brought 
 brick from the frontier. 
 
 The intelligence fell like fire upon gunpowder. A hoarse 
 roar issued from the crowd, and like an immense wave of 
 the ocean, it surged toward the palace, which was surround- 
 ed in an instant by the shouting and furious inhabitants. 
 
 At the front gate stood his Excellency's chariot, which 
 had just returned from Montebello, and as the multitude 
 rushed toward the spot, Lady Dunmore and her daughters 
 were just stepping into the vehicle. 
 
 Before they could do so, they were jostled aside by some 
 of the crowd, and violent hands were laid upon the bridles 
 of the rearing horses. The driver sat pale and trembling, 
 scarcely able to hold the reins ; and Lady Dunmore and 
 her daughters trembled too. 
 
 It was but an instant that they were thus subjected to 
 insult. 
 
 A sword flashed in the air a vigorous arm hurled back 
 the assailants, who were the mere scum of the multitude, 
 that vulgar froth, so to speak, which floats on the purest 
 waters and looking up, Lady Dunmore and her daughters 
 encountered the pale face of St. John, which was cold, but 
 fiery with indignation. 
 
 " Your ladyship need fear no violence," said the young 
 man ; " myself, and Captain Waters here, will see that you 
 are treated with respect. Before your ladyship is insulted 
 by any one, I '11 sheathe my sword in his heart." 
 
 And confronting the assailants, Mr. St. John met their 
 furious glances with a look which indicated that he was 
 both ready and willing to carry out his threat. 
 
 " That's tht word, Harry my boy .*' said Captain Wat? 
 erg, pushing through to his side. " Morbleu ! I '11 stand 
 by you there and her ladyship can proceed,"
 
 410 MISS BOHNYBEL. 
 
 Lady Dunraore, still trembling, got into the earn n go, 
 followed by her daughters, and assisted by Mr. St. John ; 
 and then the crowd opening, the chariot was permitted to 
 proceed. 
 
 St. John exchanged a glance with young Lady Augusta, 
 who thanked him with that grateful look for his devotion. 
 But he had only repaid her kindness to Blossom, when the 
 child nearly feinted, and was cheered by the girl. 
 
 The crowd thus permitted the Governor's family to 
 depart, disowning the vulgar assault of the understrappers ; 
 but the palace of the hateful Governor remained. 
 
 They seized all the arms, which were ranged in long rows 
 upon the floor ; and took prisoner the private secretary of 
 his Excellency. 
 
 Captain Foy looked around him for a moment like an 
 infuriated tiger cold, but burning with. rage. Then he 
 calmly went on with his writing. 
 
 " My dear Foy," said Captain Waters, as the tide of in 
 vaders flowed away, leaving them nearly alone, " do you 
 know that you really fill me with admiration ? Parbleu ! 
 we seem vulgar urchins beside you. I recognize my su 
 perior; and rather than see you assailed by the good people 
 of the town, I will die on the threshold of your apart 
 ment." 
 
 " Thanks, captain," said Foy coolly, " that sounds like a 
 comrade." 
 
 u It sounds true, my dear Foy. I have no idea of letting 
 some vulgar fellow run you through. I reserve that pleas 
 ure for mysolf." 
 
 Foy smiled sardonically. 
 
 " I think, from present appearances, you '11 soon have an 
 occasion, captain," he said ; " events are thickening, and 
 the pen yields to the sword." 
 
 " Certainly it does, and that 's right." 
 
 " I agree with you." 
 
 " The sword will serve his Excellency better than th 
 on, eh ?"
 
 MISS POXNYBEL. 411 
 
 " Such is my opinion, captain," said Foy, coolly. 
 
 " You confess, then, that the goose quill 's but a sorrj 
 tool that it has not succeeded ?" 
 
 " Succeeded, captain ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear Foy. It is obvious to all now that his 
 Excellency's chief rascal, Conolly, took advantage of the 
 confiding disposition of his lordship, and deceived him; 
 that his Excellency's treachery quite failed." 
 
 " Captain Waters !" 
 
 "My dear Foy!" said the captain with a polite air. 
 
 "It is perilous to speak thus of his Majesty's representa 
 tive !' 
 
 "Representative ! where?" 
 
 "In Williamsburg." 
 
 " If you refer to Dunmore, my dear friend, I reply 
 simply that he 's not here. Having abstracted I believe 
 that 's the polite word our powder, his lordship is amnsibg 
 himself making fireworks at Montebello, having doubtless 
 forgotten his wife and daughters." 
 
 " He is still the Governor, sir." 
 
 " Then we are unfortunate, for we 've a coward for a 
 ruler. Come, do n't think me rude, my dear Foy. I de 
 clare it to be my opinion that the man who runs away to 
 escape popular wrath, and leaves his family behind to meet 
 the shock which he knows will come this personage, I am 
 constrained to declare, in all simplicity, a coward ; and that 
 is worse than a traitor. His Excellency, I regret to say, ia 
 both." 
 
 " Captain Waters, do you consider it grateful to insult a 
 prisoner ?" 
 
 " Insult !" 
 
 " Yes, me sir ! w 
 
 "Insult you, my dear Foy, and at present? I would 
 sooner cut off my right hand, and have my ears nailed to a 
 pillory." 
 
 " Well, sir, this insult to his Excellency is an insult to 
 mi',"
 
 412 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 The captain stood dumbfoundered at this new view, and 
 the longer he reflected, the more just did it seem. 
 
 He drew back and sighed. 
 
 "My dear Foy," he said, " I am absent this morning, and 
 that never occurred to me. You see I was only jesting, and 
 I would n't hurt your feelings for the world. My real opii.ion 
 of his lordship is quite different. I regard him as the mo-lel 
 of a gentleman and a cavalier. In all the relations of Jilt 
 he shines preeminent ; he touches nothing which he do n't 
 adorn ; the Latin 's escaped me, if I ever knew it." 
 
 The same sardonic smile wreathed the corners of Foy's 
 mouth. 
 
 " I 'm glad your real opinion of his Excellency is different, 
 captain," he said. 
 
 " Different ! I should say it was. Could you think for a 
 moment, my dear comrade, that I attached any credit to the 
 vulgar rumors of the day ? The idea of a nobleman being 
 guilty of treachery and cowardice ! My amazement at this 
 charge is so great that I feel as if some one had cuffed me 
 on my head ! I '11 uphold his lordship as the grandest of his 
 order, and I 11 cram down the throats of his enemies their 
 accusations I" 
 
 A rather poor commentary upon the captain's sincerity 
 was instantly afforded. 
 
 The crowd had taken all the muskets, disarmed the serv 
 ants, and now they came to the apartment in which Foy 
 was under guard, muttering " traitor !" and a variety of 
 other criticisms of his Excellency. 
 
 No insult or violence was offered to Captain Foy, how 
 ever, and they even permitted him to retain his papers. 
 
 In the afternoon, the guard was withdrawn, and he was 
 alf liberty. The secretary received the intimation as coolly 
 as before, and continued his writing. 
 
 The palace and the grounds were by this time vacated, 
 and another portion of the inhabitants, who had armed them 
 selves to march and attack the Magdalen, and recover the 
 powder, returned to their homes,
 
 MISS BONNYJBEL. 413 
 
 Tim moderation of the popul.-ir excitement was duo to the 
 exertions of the members of the Governor's council, who 
 earnestly dissuaded the people from violence. They recom 
 mended a meeting of the town in its corporate capacity, and 
 the meeting was held at once. 
 
 The result was an address to his Excellency, in which the 
 Common Council represented that the " inhabitants of the 
 city had been that morning exceedingly alarmed by a re 
 port that a large quantity of gunpowder was, in the preced 
 ing night, while they were sleeping in their beds, removed 
 from the public magazine in the city, and conveyed, under 
 an escort of marines, on board one of his Majesty's armed 
 vessels lying at a ferry on James river ;" that " the maga 
 zine was erected at the public expense of the colony," for 
 arming the militia, " in cases of invasion and insurrection," 
 and they desired " to be informed by his Excellency, upon 
 what motives and for what particular purpose the powder 
 had been carried off in such a manner," and ended by re 
 questing that it might be " immediately returned to the 
 magazine." 
 
 His Excellency returned, verbally, the reply, that he had 
 heard of "an insurrection in a neighboring county," and 
 had removed the powder to a place of safety. Whenever 
 it was wanted, upon his word of honor, it should be de 
 livered in half an hour. He had removed it in the night 
 time to prevent any alarm, and was surprised to hear the 
 people were under arms ; he could not trust them with pow 
 der. That was all the reply. 
 
 On the next day, Captain Collins and some of his men en 
 tered Williarnsburg, and swaggered about the streets, and 
 in the evening the captain and Foy rode to Montebello, re 
 turning at twilight. 
 
 On the next morning, his Excellency sent word by one 
 of the magistrates that "if any insult were offered to Cap 
 tain Foy, or Captain Collins, he would declare freedom to 
 the slaves and lay the town in ashes, n adding that he coui(J 
 easily depopulate the county.
 
 414 MISS BONNTBEL. 
 
 Ills lordship finding this threat received without open ex 
 hibitions of resistance, then returned with his guards to Wil- 
 liamsburg. 
 
 On the next evening, Captain Foy was proceeding to 
 ward the palace when he met Captain Waters. 
 
 " Have you heard the news, my dear friend ?" said Wat 
 ers. 
 
 " N"o, captain," returned Foj, 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell you. That scoundrel, General Gage, who 
 represents his most Christian Majesty in Boston, has removed 
 their powder, as his Excellency kindly did ours. The result 
 has been a battle at Lexington and Concord, on the very 
 day that Captain Collins marched to Williamsburg and rob 
 bed the magazine. Can you conceive of such a rascally co 
 incidence, my dear Foy ?" 
 
 " Captain Waters !" said Foy, coloring, " are you aware, 
 sir, that you utter sedition ?" 
 
 " Sedition, my dear Foy ?" returned Waters ; " well, I 
 believe all Williamsburg is assisting me." 
 
 " All Williamsburg, sir ? 
 
 " Yes, my dear friend. The Raleigh 's in a flame from 
 the news, and it 's rapidly spreading. As I observed, the 
 general opinion is, that the removal of the powder through 
 out America was concerted done in obedience to orders 
 from home. Eh ? Was n't it, my dear Foy ?" 
 
 " Seek intelligence elsewhere, Captain Waters," said Foy, 
 passing on. 
 
 " Well, I will," said Captain Ralph, smiling ; " but let me 
 finish, my dear Foy." 
 
 " Proceed, sir." 
 
 " If the removal of the powder here, and in Massachusetts, 
 was concerted, you see " 
 
 " Woll, sir !" 
 
 " In obedience to orders from London n 
 
 " Suppose it was, sir !" 
 
 " Why, then, you see, I am cleared from any accusation 
 Of sedition, which is libel," said the captain, "IJis Excel-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 415 
 
 itr:cy said he removed it because there was an insurrection 
 ::i James City county ; now, if he really did so, in obedience 
 to general orders, without reference to the insurrection, why 
 it is obvious that his Excellency has willfully lied, and the 
 coincidence, as I said, is in every sense rascally. It 's no 
 libel, it 's the simple and plain truth, my dear Foy 1" 
 
 Met thus by a direct and unmistakable insult, ae gross as 
 it was pointed, Foy advanced a step and said, with a slight 
 flush in his pale face, 
 
 " Captain Waters, do you wish to visit the Fowey man- 
 of-war in irons ?" 
 
 " Not at present, my dear Foy," said the captain. 
 
 " Well, sir, if you wish to avoid it, I advise you to con 
 trol your remarks." 
 
 " What remarks ?" 
 
 " About his Excellency." 
 
 " I have said nothing wrong." 
 
 " You have charged him with falsehood, sir plainly !" 
 
 " Well, my dear Captain Foy, I think he has been guilty 
 of that." 
 
 " Captain Waters !" 
 
 " And of cowardice." 
 
 " Sir !" 
 
 " Treachery too, Foy," said Captain Waters, coolly, "and 
 my own opinion is, that you yourself have more or less 
 to do with both the falsehood and the treachery. You 
 see, I acquit you of the cowardice for old acquaintance 
 sake." 
 
 Foy's hand darted to the hilt of his sword, and thus driven 
 like a wild cat to the wall, by these repeated insults, ie 
 would in an instant have rushed upon his adversary. 
 
 Before his sword, however, leaped from its scabbard, he 
 heard a voice say, " His lordship sends for you, sir," and 
 turning round he found himself face to face with the old 
 usher in black velvet. 
 
 A flush of rage and disappointment threw a lurid light 
 Qpon the secretary's face, and, advancing within two steps
 
 416 MISS EONNYBEL. 
 
 of Waters, he said, between his clenched teeth, and in a low 
 hissing voice, 
 
 " We shall meet again, sir, and I '11 wipe out the insults 
 you have heaped upon me with your heart's blood. I prom 
 ise you that, sir !" 
 
 ." Good, good, my dear Foy !" said the captain, cheer 
 fully ; " that sort of talk really delights me 1" 
 
 " I 'm glad you like it, sir," said Foy, pale with rage. 
 
 "Like it? I believe you. It sounds like the sweetest 
 winds of summer to my ears. At last I shall learn the coup 
 de Rtinfels, and perhaps in return teach you the coup de 
 Waters, you see !" 
 
 " Well, sir, I '11 try and end your affectation and your 
 boasting 1" 
 
 " My affectation ! my boasting !" cried the captain ; " see 
 how an old comrade does injustice to a friend! You think 
 I boast, you think I affect ! when all the time I 'm moved 
 by a pure love of art." 
 
 " Well, sir, I hope to show you the art of splitting tongues, 
 and if I live I '11 perform that service for you." 
 
 " Split my tongue I" said the captain, cheerfully ; " see 
 here the coincidence of genius. That is just what I 've long 
 been wishing to do for you ! Your tongue is already forked 
 like a snake's, my dear Foy, but I wish to improve it still 
 further I" 
 
 It seemed that Captain Foy meditated again an instant 
 rush upon his enemy, but this idea was at once abandoned. 
 With a hoarse growl he turned away. 
 
 " A last word, my dear Foy," said the captain ; " let U8 
 exchange a parting assurance of regard. I have a real af 
 fection for yourself and his Excellency, and you may inform 
 him that in forty-eight hours we intend to knock his house 
 about his ears. We are no longer restrained by a sentiment 
 of politeness the family of his Excellency being absent. 
 Perhaps their presence made him a coward, and, now they 
 are gone, he may fight. He has an elegant-looking guard, 
 and a tall, ugly captain thereof, named Lindon, which I re-
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 4i7 
 
 gret, as I 'd like to spoil his beauty. I say, you can inform 
 his Excellency that we 're coming to pay him our respects, 
 our compliments, on the issue of the Indian affair, and to 
 return him our thanks for removing the powder out of reach 
 of our slaves. He says we are traitors, and may be cowards 
 well, 'birds of a feather,' you know. We think his Ex 
 cellency 's admirable company for such folk ! Go, my dear 
 Foy ! do n't keep his Excellency waiting ! He is doubtless 
 devising new benefits for the colony, and needs your valu 
 able assistance," 
 
 Foy walked away, shuddering with rage, but saying noth 
 ing ; and Waters added, with a laugh, as he disappeared 
 around the corner, 
 
 " Go on, my dear scorpion ; I'll soon draw your sting ! 
 the hours are ripening !" 
 
 With these words, the captain twirled his huge mus 
 tache, and, with an expression of radiant pleasure, sought 
 the Raleigh, which, truly, was in a flame with the news of 
 Lexington and Concord. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 A MEETING OF PATRIOTS. 
 
 INSTEAD of pausing to depict the excitement, the agita 
 tion, the fury, almost, of Williamsburg, just informed, by 
 expresses, of the events in the North instead of dwelling 
 upon this picture, which the reader may very well fancy for 
 himself, let us follow the captain, and see where he goes. 
 Perhaps we shall thus stumble upon something. 
 
 Just at twilight, Captain Waters mounted his horse, and, 
 issuing from Williamsburg toward the west, plunged into 
 the great forest as the shades of night descended. 
 
 He proceeded silently through the wood until he reached 
 the vicinity of the old field school house, and then di
 
 418 . MISS BONNYDEL. 
 
 mounting, tied his horse to the bough of a tree, ami 
 proceeded oil fast toward the building, in which a light 
 glimmered. 
 
 He passed a number of horses tied like nis own, and soon 
 came upon a figure which advanced from the shadow of a 
 tree, and hailed him : 
 
 " * Liberty' 's the word, eh ?" said the captain, shaking 
 Mr. Lugg by the hand. " How many are here, Lanky ?" 
 
 " A good many, captain," said Mr. Lugg. " Mr. Hamil 
 ton has just come." 
 
 " Captain Hamilton, say 1 for I'll vote for him." 
 - " What place will you take ? They speak of you for 
 captain." 
 
 ^ The rear guard next to the enemy. I '11 not go before 
 Jack." 
 
 "Well, captain, I wish they would make me quarter 
 master." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " I'm terribly hungry," and Mr. Lugg applauded his joke. 
 
 " You always were that, you rascal 1" said the captain, 
 cheerfully. " The amount of bacon, bread and beer which 
 you used to cost me was really immense." 
 
 " Oh, cap'en 1 that is, my dear captain," said Mr. Lugg, 
 correcting his defective pronunciation, and raising his head 
 with all the dignity of a freeholder, " we have forgotten 
 those early days, I think." 
 
 " You have," said the captain, twirling his mustache, 
 " and that is the consequence of a good action. It was all 
 owing to me that you secured that incomparable Donsy, 
 formerly pupil of his Highness, Mr. Tag, in this very house ; 
 and, after all my lies on that occasion, you wish to forget !" 
 
 " Oh, no, captain !" said Mr. Lugg, with earnestness, 
 " I 'II never forget all your goodness. Donsy is a good 
 wife, and I owe my getting her to you." 
 
 " Very well, Scaramouche, that is honest, and I 'm coming 
 f next week to ee the juvenile Lankys. Have they pine- 
 knot heads ?"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 41} 
 
 " Oh, captain ! but you talked of Tag." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, he's in there," said Mr. Lugg, j,oin'.ing to the 
 school house. 
 
 " You do n't say so ! A pedagogue ?" 
 
 " He was a soldier, you know, once." 
 
 " Yes, and a great rascal. Well, well, it *s a good sign 
 tvhen the riff-raff adhere to a cause. It proves that they 
 think we 're going to succeed." 
 
 " He talks mighty big," said Mr. Lugg. 
 
 " And will walk big until the enemy comes along, when 
 he'll run," with which words Captain Waters pioceeded to 
 the school house. 
 
 About twenty men were assembled there and TJncle 
 Jimmy Doubleday presided. Around him were grouped 
 Mr. Jack Hamilton, Mr. Tag, and a variety of gentlemen, 
 and in the corner a sable personage with goggle eyes and 
 clad in an enormous coat, squatted down, and moved his 
 midnight fingers to and fro on a fife. 
 
 Uncle Jimmy opened the meeting, which had waited, ap 
 parently, only for the captain, with an address setting forth 
 its object. 
 
 At that primitive period there were no short-hand report 
 ers, and we regret our inability to present more than the 
 heads of his discourse. 
 
 The late outrage the designs of England the schemes 
 of Dunmore the public excitement the march of Patrick 
 Henry on Williamsburg, with the men of Hanover, w r hich 
 the company now organizing was going to join the duty 
 of good citizens the blow that was to be struck, now or 
 never this was the train of Uncle Jimmy's remarks. It 
 seemed that they were very acceptable to the meeting; for 
 when the old gentleman made a final flourish with his 
 glasses, and sat down, a murmur of applause followed. 
 
 The gentlemen then rose and pledged themselves for 
 different numbers of men, to meet at the rendezvous the 
 next day. Then they Droceeded to the election of oificers.
 
 4'20 MISS BONNYBKL. 
 
 Captain Waters declared that he should vote foi Hamil 
 ton, peremptorily refusing to command. 
 
 He \v:is urged to change his determination , Vat refusing, 
 the meeting elected Mr. Hamilton, who returned thanks. 
 
 Other officers were then chosen, and lastly, the question 
 of the commissariat was raised. 
 
 At this juncture says the worthy author our old and 
 esteemed friend, Mr. Tag, slowly rose from his seat. Age 
 had not dimmed him in the least, or the pedagogue rostrum 
 staled his infinite vanity. He was still the brilliant mixture 
 of the soldier and the schoolmaster, the pedagogue and the 
 politician, the civilian and the warrior. Like Ulysses, the 
 worthy Tag had seen many " climates, councils, govern 
 ments*' and if not " honored of them all," had at least 
 been noticed, if >t were only at a cart-tail. 
 
 On the present occasion, the worthy Tag desired the 
 commissariat. He made a speech, declaring, of course, 
 that he could not accept it. He finally relented, however, 
 and announced that if his friends chose to confer the office 
 upon him, he should not feel at liberty to refuse it ; devo 
 tion to the public weal being the first passion of his soul. 
 His friend he might almost say, his noble friend Captain 
 Waters, knew that he was experienced in such things ; arid 
 often, in the Seven Years' War, they had slept together, in 
 the next couch he was sorry to say, to that viper, Captain 
 Foy. He had always distrusted that man from the first 
 he knew him to be a villain. In those complicated and en 
 tangled secret schemes which to the everlasting shame of 
 the English government, Lord Dunmore, with this man, 
 had projected" 
 
 Here symptoms of impatience on the part of the audience 
 developed themselves. 
 
 Mr. Tag therefore cut short his remarks by saying that 
 if the commissariat was bestowed upon him, he should be 
 much flattered. And then he sat down in t*e spot where 
 he and Lanky had encountered each other in old daya 
 sword against tongs
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 42J. 
 
 Lanky was opposed to him now, and Lanky was elected. 
 
 u Mas' Tag did n't do it dat time he did n't," issued in a 
 murmur of triumph from the corner; "tread on my coat- 
 tail, and knock me down and lam me berry glad to hear 
 it, Mas' Tag!" 
 
 Having made this remark, sotto voce, Mr. Crow subsided 
 into silence and darkness, running his fingers along the fife 
 and grinning. 
 
 The meeting had now concluded its business, and soon it 
 rose. 
 
 They had agreed upon a rendezvous early the next day, 
 at Banks' cross-roads. 
 
 " Morbleu /" said the captain, as he rode away with Hain- 
 ilton ; "'tis strange how the sight of that 'building affected 
 me. You know, Jack, it 's an old acquaintance !" 
 
 " Ah ! 
 
 " Yes," said the captain, sighing and smiling, " you must 
 have observed that amid all the excitement, I was quiet in 
 the midst of the enthusiasm, I was thoughtful. Do you 
 know why ?" 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 " Because I was often there in the merry old days when I 
 was courting Henrietta, you know, Jack," said the captain 
 smiling, and raising his fine and martial face in the moon 
 light. " It was there that I remember leaning through the 
 window, and swearing back at Tag, when I went to get 
 Donsy for Lanky Lugg. It was there that the noble Lanky 
 fought an encounter which I arrived just in time to wit 
 ness, and whisk away the maiden Donsy in my chariot, iti 
 defiance of his excellency, Mr. Tag, who had threatened to 
 whip her, and made her cry. Faith ! Lanky acted like a 
 hero that day, and would have demolished his enemy, but I 
 held him back. Strange how vivid all is! And now the 
 clownish boy is married to the crying girl ; and a new 
 generation thrusts the schoolmaster aside, and bestows its 
 trust on the scholars. That 's what I call the long result of 
 time and I think my mustache is growing gray !"
 
 422 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 The jovial soldier laughed as he spoke, but he sjghed, too 
 There is no one but feels, at times, this regret for the past 
 who does not gild thus the days that are dead ? 
 
 " Well, well, mon ami," added the soldier, " all that 's 
 gone, and the new days are here also a new generation. 
 Let us act, and not meditate. We're to meet in the morn 
 ing at Banks' cross-roads, where, formerly, I encountered 
 William Effingham, Esq. Well, I think there '11 be a rc?J 
 fight this time if not at the cross-roads, elsewhere. Let 
 iis hope so," and the friends rode on through the moonlight. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII. 
 
 A YOUNG SPY. 
 
 THE last person to leave the school house was Uncle Jim 
 my Doubleday, and the old schoolmaster saw that all was 
 secure before he departed. 
 
 He tried all the shutters, set back the benches, and, 
 finally, took the light and proceeded toward the door. 
 
 It was just at this moment that a voice behind him made 
 him suddenly start : 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Jimmy 1 Uncle Jimmy 1 do n't lock me in !" 
 said the voice, and Mr. Paul Effingham appeared from be 
 hind a desk in the corner where this worthy had concealed 
 himself. 
 
 " You !" said Uncle Jimmy, holding up his hands, " you 
 here, sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, Uncle Jimmy. Was it wrong ? I 'm a patriot, 
 you know, and wanted to hear," and Mr. Paul approached 
 the pedagogue with a winning smile, bent upon obtaining a 
 full pardon. 
 
 As for Uncle Jimmy, he gazed with austere surprise upon 
 the youthful patriot, and then, shaking his head 
 
 " Young man," he said, " what impelled you to this highly
 
 HISS BONNYBEL. 423 
 
 reprehensible course ? Young man, what did you do it for ? 
 More than one man and boy have hung for being spies. 
 What, sir, was your object ?" 
 
 " I 'm a patriot, you know, Uncle Jimmy," said the young 
 spy, " and Jim Crow told me you all were to meet here." 
 
 " You were present all the time ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And your parents ! your parents! young man, who ar3 
 now anxious about you ?" 
 
 "Oh, I often ride out in the evening, and it's not late. 
 You know, Uncle Jimmy, I was bound to know every thing, 
 I was. I 'm a patriot," and Mr. Paul assumed a wheedling 
 smile which made Uncle Jimmy turn aside his head and 
 smile, too. 
 
 " Young man," he said, turning again, with austere dig 
 nity, to Paul, " you have acted with extraordinary freedom 
 on this occasion. If I do not punish you, 't 'is from regard 
 for your worthy parents. Go, sir, and be home immedi 
 ately; as for our affairs, we can trust you, and let me 
 never " 
 
 " Trust me, Uncle Jimmy !" cried Paul, raising his head ; 
 " I should say you can ! I 'm the captain of the Cornstalk 
 regiment, sir I am !" and Paul placed his hand upon his 
 left hip with great dignity. 
 
 "Well, my child," said Uncle Jimmy, much mollified, 
 "I doubt not 'tis a patriotic company. Go, now, and 
 never repeat this indiscretion." 
 
 " I 'm going right off. Shag's tied under an oak in the 
 woods," said Paul ; " but I say, Uncle Jimmy.*' 
 
 " Well, my boy ?" 
 
 "Is Banks' cross-roads the place of meeting ?" 
 
 " Yes, why do you ask ?" 
 
 "I just wanted to know," said Paul, mysteriously. 
 "Good night, Uncle Jimmy. I'm very much obliged to 
 you for the holiday to-morrow ; we all are, and Blossom 
 says you 're very good." 
 
 " She certainly is, PauJ,"
 
 424 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Paul, patting on his hat ; " she 's a 
 real patriot, she is. Our union, Uncle Jimmy, will be a 
 happy one, and you shall be invited. Now good night, sir. 5 ' 
 With these words Mr. Paul bowed with dignity, and, with 
 extreme ceremony, disappeared. 
 
 Uncle Jimmy looked after him for a moment, and then a 
 smile diffused itself over the old features. 
 
 " Oh, he 's a proud one, is Paul," said Uncle Jimmy. 
 " With what an air he touched his little hat ! how high he 
 carried his head ! how grand he walked ! That boy would 
 march into the cannon's mouth, I think ! I have never 
 seen his equal." 
 
 Having thus expressed his admiration, Uncle Jimmy 
 locked the school house and proceeded homeward. The 
 forest was again silent, save for the hooting of a few-owl^ 
 and the notes of the whippoorwill, and the moon soaied 
 aloft in triumph. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVIII. 
 
 GENERAL EFFINGHAM IS CARRIED OFF BY A C1IARIOT. 
 
 ON the morning after the nocturnal meeting, and about 
 ten o'clock, a company of youths, some twenty or thirty in 
 number, were assembled in a glade of the forest, not far 
 from Banks' cross-roads. 
 
 A huge oak stretched its wide arms over their heads, and 
 a hamper, containing a variety of eatables, was reposing on 
 the mossy roots of the oak. 
 
 It was the spot where in former times the old Cornstalk 
 regiment had paraded, and pic-niced where the noble sol 
 diers had been cheered by the presence of the fair where 
 Mr. Crow gamboled where the drum-head court martial 
 had been rapidly dispersed by the inspiriting notes of th 
 Bowling Green banjo.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 425 
 
 That was a peaceful parade, however, and the only fat:il 
 weapons were the eyes of Kate Effingham and her friends 
 the only victims, Master Willie, and his rival, Tom Alston. 
 
 But, since the good year of '65, many things had taken 
 place, and now the great Cornstalk regiment assembled 
 anew, with far other designs than peaceful festivals. 
 
 Master Paul Effingham stood upon a stump and harangued 
 his followers. His remarks were to the effect that at last 
 the d:iy of liberty had dawned, that Virginians would never 
 be slaves, and to prevent this result he besought his associ 
 ates to enter into the war with vigor. 
 
 A cheer greeted these observations, and the youthful fol 
 lowers of the young patriot rallied round him, and declared 
 that they were ready. 
 
 They were of all ages under fifteen and above eight, and 
 were armed with old guns, which were far too heavy for 
 them, and should have been left at home for their fathers, 
 from whom the weapons had been filched. 
 
 Captain Effingham formed his men into a line, and then 
 separated this line into companies of three. 
 
 Then the order was given to march upon the hamper. 
 
 The soldiers obeyed this order, acquiescing, apparently, in 
 the opinion of their chief, that before they joined the forces 
 marching on Williamsburg, nature would call for refresh, 
 ment. 
 
 Guns were therefore abandoned, hats cast on the ground, 
 ond the Cornstalk regiment attacked the hamper with great 
 valor. 
 
 In fifteen minutes the basket was emptied, and turned 
 with its top upon the ground. 
 
 Captain Effingham finished a bun with dignity, and or 
 dered his men to their arms. The ranks were immediately 
 formed, Captain Effingham made another speech, and then 
 the noble regiment, full of ardor and patriotism, set forward, 
 at a quick step, toward Banks' cross roads. 
 
 But alas! for the designs of the patriots. They had just 
 readied the highway, and were marching in fino order,
 
 426 MISS BONNYBEL, 
 
 when a chariot rolled toward them, and this chariot, when 
 it reached a point just abreast of them, suddenly pausftd. 
 
 Captain Paul gave the order to present arms, which was 
 obeyed with soldierly precision. 
 
 But alas ! 
 
 From the window of the chariot, a fair head was thrust, 
 and Master Paul recognized his mother. 
 
 The young patriot's countenance fell, and his chin sub 
 sided on his breast. Arrested, thus, in his march, the regi 
 ment trod upon his heels. 
 
 " Oh, Paul !" said Madame Clare, " where in the world 
 are you going ?" 
 
 " To fight the enemy, mamma," returned Paul, with a 
 groan. " We are going to Banks' cross roads, the place of 
 meeting." 
 
 " Oh, my son, what an idea !" said his mother. " How 
 could you ?" 
 
 ** A patriot must do his duty, mamma," said Paul, rue 
 fully. 
 
 44 Yes, my son," said his mother ; " but you are much 
 too young. You distress me very much by these freaks, 
 Paul ! Come, now, and do not make me feel badly. Come 
 into the carriage, and go home, my son." 
 
 It was long before Paul would consent to this, and more 
 than- one " noble tear," as says the poet, bedewed his youth 
 ful eyes at his disappointment. Had the command come 
 from any other than his own mother, it is probable that 
 Captain Paul would have summoned his men to the rescue ; 
 but it was the voice of a beloved parent which besought 
 him ; it was the wish of one to whom he had ever paid obe 
 dience which arrested him. He turned a last look of agony 
 on his soldiers, and obeyed. 
 
 44 About, face! my friends," said Captain Paul, with dig 
 nity. " The commands pf our superiors must be obeyed. 
 It is proper that, as your captain, I should set you the ex 
 ample of obedience, and I must leave. Tom Jones, you can 
 march the regiment back," with which words Captain Pt\u/
 
 MISS BO.VNYBEL. 42V 
 
 slowly entered the carriage, and, we regret to ay, cried aa 
 it drove away. 
 
 Once deprived of their noble and courageous once left 
 alone without him who was the soul of their action once 
 paralyzed thus, and left desolate the Cornstalk regiment 
 no longer aspired ; they no longer had the heart to march 
 forward ; they disbanded, broke into groups, and went off 
 to play at something else than " soldiering.'* 
 
 The battle was not to have them in its tumult. 
 
 I have paused thus, our worthy author says, on the very 
 brink of great events to relate this little comedy of the past. 
 Why not ? It is not only in the immense events of* history 
 that the thoughtful mind looks to see the picture of the 
 times. The coloring of the bud is often brighter and more 
 delicate than that of the flower. "What I aim at in my 
 chronicle is a picture of the minds of men in old days ; the 
 movements of boys even arrest and absorb me. What 
 I 've told is a veritable incident, and I think it is worthy of 
 our notice. The child is the germ of the man, and, just as 
 the character of the seed determines the plant, so does the 
 character of the boy make the gray beard's. The children 
 whom we have seen thus ardently on their march were 
 those who nursed the young republic in its infancy who 
 braced their arms around it in the storm which came across 
 the seas to shake it. They stood around its cradle like a 
 phalanx of steel-clad warriors, and some of them fought for 
 
 it at Yorktown. At sixteen, ray friend Judge B * was 
 
 captain of a company; and almost before the beard of man 
 hood decked his face, our noble Washington was in charge 
 of the whole border. The mind ripened quickly in those 
 days, and bloomed early ; it was a noble, and chivalrous, 
 and high nature which thus tilled the breasts of children; 
 The roar of revolution made them old ; they were educated 
 by Henry and Washington ! For myself, there is nothing 
 connected with that period void of interest. I listen to 
 
 * The author here seems to refer to the late venerable Judge 
 Drooke, of the Court of Appeals.
 
 4'28 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 the great voices in council ; I listen to the voices of the 
 striplings, too. I see the great look on the stern brow of 
 the warrior ; I see, also, the flush on the cheeks of the boys. 
 In the great panorama of the revolutionary story there is no 
 figure unworthy of attention.* 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 
 
 TUB MABCH OF THE HANOVEBIAXS ON WILLIAMSBURO. 
 
 TUB removal of the gunpowder from the magazine in 
 Williamsburg sent a thrill of indignation throughout Vir 
 ginia. 
 
 It was the last and crowning outrage the keystone fin 
 ishing the arch of oppression the final blow at those 
 liberties which BO long had been insidiously attacked by 
 Dunmore. 
 
 In every county the inhabitants hastened to pass resolu 
 tions upon the outrage. Many of these have been preserved 
 others lost, or not recorded ; but what we have are 
 enough to show the spirit of the period. 
 
 Amelia county, William Archer, chairman, resolved, 
 first, on a general muster of the militia; next, that ench 
 member of the committee should provide " half a pound of 
 gunpowder and one pound of lead, a stand of arms and am 
 munition ;" and John Tabb and Everard Meade were ap 
 pointed to purchase " eight hundred pounds of gunpo'vder 
 and three thousand two hundred pounds of lead." Thus 
 Amelia alone furnished to the cause more powder than the 
 magazine had contained when it was robbed. 
 
 New Kent county resolved that the removal of the pow 
 der was " arbitrary," the governor's answer " evasive," thfxt 
 the rest of his lordship's conduct proved him "an enemy 
 
 * Historical Illustrations, No. XXXIX.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 420 
 
 of liberty and a zealous supporter of tyranny and despotism 
 over the people who had the unhappiness to live under lus 
 government." To this was added a resolution to raise in 
 stantly a company. 
 
 Gloucester county declared the reply of the governor 
 " unsatisfactory, disrespectful, and evasive," and offered 
 twenty-five pounds sterling for three hundred pounds of 
 gunpowder manufactured in Virginia ; fifty pounds sterling 
 for manufactures of woolen. 
 
 King William county contributed one hundred and 
 seventy-five pounds to the suffering citizens of Massachu 
 setts. 
 
 Sussex county declared the removal of the powder " an 
 act conceived in secrecy and brought forth in darkness," 
 and that the governor, by his action, had " forfeited all title 
 to the confidence of the good people of Virginia." The 
 members of the meeting promised to use every endeavor to 
 enlist volunteers. 
 
 Bedford county offered ten pounds sterling for twenty- 
 five pounds of sulphur. 
 
 Prince George county organized a committee of intelli 
 gence, whose duty it was to communicate with other coun 
 ties. 
 
 Henrico county declared the removal of the powder " an 
 insult to every freeman in this county" an action which 
 they viewed with " detestation and abhorrence." 
 
 Albemarle county spoke, in a letter, of the independent 
 company, to Colonel Washington : 
 
 "The company of Independents," they said, " will attend 
 in Williamsbnrg properly equipped and prepared to enforce 
 an immediate delivery of the powder, if not to be obtained 
 otherwise, or die in the attempt." The captain of the com 
 pany signed his name Charles Lewis. 
 
 These old leaves of the past have been preserved for us ; 
 the action of the other counties is lost. What it was we 
 know perfectly, tor the whole land was in arms, and \\\M 
 Valley especially, on fire. Old Frederick^ ever the fure-
 
 i() MISS UeN-XYBEL. 
 
 iiiost where the issue was one of blood, became the rally- 
 jug -point for the companies of the West. For half a 
 century, nearly,, the town of Winchester had been the 
 heart of the West the sentinel of liberty and Washing 
 ton had lived there, sending from this center his voice of 
 good cheer to the whole border. It was now to be the 
 rendezvous of men bent on attacking another enemy than 
 the savages to send forth its blood as before. 
 
 Fredericksburg lastly took that action which has made 
 her so famous surrounding her brows with a halo of 
 glory. The men of Fredericksburg declared that they 
 were prepared to defend the liberties of Virginia, and of 
 her sister colonies, " at the utmost hazard of ourselves and 
 our fortunes." And at the bottom of this declaration was 
 written in large letters, " GOD SAVE THE LIBERTIES OF 
 AMERICA !" 
 
 A week after the removal of the powder, seven hundred 
 men, completely equipped, were assembled at Fredericks 
 burg, ready to march upon the capital. Among these 
 were the " Culpepper Minute Men," in their green hunting 
 shirts, hats crowned with buck-tails, and belts stuck round 
 with tomahawks and knives. On their breasts were in 
 scribed, in white letters, Henry's words, "LIBERTY OR 
 DEATH ;" and their banner had for device, a coiled up 
 rattlesnake, with the words "DonH tread on me!" be 
 neath. 
 
 Thus the whole State was fully aroused, and the East 
 and West ready to march ; when a dispatch from Mr. 
 Randolph of the council reached Fredericksburg. 
 
 This letter declared that his Excellency had solemnly 
 promised, that the affair of the powder should be fully 
 accommodated. 
 
 The deliberation of the volunteers, upon the reception of 
 this letter, was long and excited ; and when the vote was 
 taken, opinions were found to be nearly equally divided. 
 At first, the men were fixed in their original purpose ; and 
 tin: fourteen companies of light horse, then encamped near
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 431 
 
 at hand, were ardently expecting the order to march. 
 Peace counsels prevailed finally, however, by a single vote, 
 and expresses were sent off to Caroline, Frederick, Berke 
 ley, Shenandoah, and other counties, to inform them of the 
 arrangement. 
 
 The volunteers then dispersed, entering into a mutual 
 pledge to be ready at a moment's warning, whenever the 
 standard was raised. 
 
 That moment was not delayed. 
 
 The troops separated on the 29th of April. On the 2d 
 of May, Patrick Henry summoned the Independent Com 
 pany of Hanover, to meet him at New Castle, on the 
 Pamunkey, in the same county. 
 
 Henry had seen, with bitter regret, the action of the 
 troops on the reception of the letter conveying the false 
 promises of Dunmore he had estimated those promises at 
 their just value he saw with anguish that the moment 
 when the whole land was aroused, was likely to pass by 
 unimproved. 
 
 He, too, had hailed the affair of the powder as an in 
 valuable blessing to the cause in which his whole soul was 
 wrapped. For ten years he had been endeavoring to 
 arouse Virginia to armed resistance, and thus, Dunmore in 
 committing this robbery, had cooperated with him, and 
 aided him. But now this same man was about to disarm, 
 with a promise, those men whom he had armed by an out 
 rage. A smile and a promise which he never intended to 
 keep, would delay the attack until an overwhelming force 
 was marched into Virginia. 
 
 Henry had thus no sooner heard of the action at Fred- 
 ericksburg, as we have said, than he hastened to assemble 
 the men of Hanover. To give more solemnity to his act, 
 he also convened the county committee which had just 
 separated. 
 
 They assembled in mass at his summons, and the orator 
 addressed them with all the powers of his wonderful elo 
 quence. In his burning words, the fields of Concord ana
 
 482 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 L'xington rose vividly before the auditors, floating in the 
 blood of Americans ; with passionate vehemence he stripped 
 from the ministerial designs their garb of concealment, of 
 specious promises and protestations, and showed them in all 
 their deformity. He declared that now or never when 
 this last outrage of Dunmore was still hot in the minds of 
 all that now or never the blow must be struck. He ended 
 by asking who would accompany him to Williamsbtirg, to 
 demand the restoration of the powder. 
 
 " The meeting was in a flame," says the historian ; " and 
 Captain Samuel Meredith resigning the command of the 
 Independents, Henry was unanimously chosen their leader, 
 Captain Meredith taking the post of lieutenant." 
 
 The company consisted of one hundred and fifty men, 
 and at once commenced its march for Williamsburg. 
 
 Forty-eight hours afterward the news spread like wild-fire, 
 and five thousand men were on their way to join Henry. 
 
 Let us not anticipate, however. 
 
 A body of sixteen men, under command of Colonel Parke 
 Goodall, ensign of the " Independents," was detached across 
 the river into the county of King and Queen, to demand 
 from the king's receiver general, there residing, the value 
 of the powder, about three hundred pounds sterling. 
 
 There is no reason to believe that Colonel Richard Cor- 
 bin, the receiver-general, was opposed to the cause of 
 liberty. Doubtless, like many others, it so happened that 
 he held an office under the vice-regal government at this 
 crisis, and hoped for a peaceful redress of grievances. 
 
 The orders to Colonel Goodall were to demand the value 
 of the powder, and, if this were refused, to take Colonel 
 Corbin prisoner, and bring him " with all possible respect 
 and tenderness," to Doncastle's Ordinary, about sixteen 
 miles above Williamsburg. 
 
 The detachment crossed the river on the same afternoon, 
 about twilight, and proceeded toward " Laneville" on the 
 Matapony, the lesidence of the receiver, which they reached 
 nearly at midn:ght.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. *38 
 
 Colonel Goodall, with that courtesy which characterized 
 the men of his period, determined not to arouse the family 
 until daybreak, reflecting that this nocturnal assault upon 
 ladies in their beds would be exceedingly terrifying. He 
 therefore stationed guards around the dwelling, and calmly 
 waited for the daylight. 
 
 At daybreak, the ladies of the family appeared, not with 
 out terror at the sight of the patrol, and to the courteous 
 demand of the colonel, replied, that the receiver was in 
 Williamsburg. If this declaration was doubted, however, 
 the house, they said, was open to a search. 
 
 Colonel Goodall replied courteously that such a proceeding 
 was wholly unnecessary ; that Mrs. Corbin's assurance was 
 enough. And then, without taking the proffered refresh 
 ments, ordered his men to continue their way to the Ordi 
 nary, where they were to join Henry. 
 
 The main body had proceeded through Hanover, and a 
 portion of New Kent, passing by the church of St. Peter 
 and the old Custis mansion, called the " White House," 
 where Washington was married, and ever increasing as 
 they rolled on like a flood, had reached finally Doncastle's 
 Ordinary. 
 
 Here at this tavern, which was also in New Kent, near 
 the boundaries of James City, Colonel Goodall joined his 
 chief; and here the company halted to refresh themselves. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. 
 
 fHK MEETING AT DONCASTLE'S OBDINABT. 
 
 AT the moment when Colonel Patrick Henry arrived 
 with his troop in front of Doncastle's Ordinary, the com 
 pany commanded by Captain John Hamilton made their 
 appenr.incck, at full gallop, coming to meet them.
 
 BONNYBEL. 
 
 In a few moments the two troops had dismounted- a host 
 of negroes ran to bait their weary horses and the men of 
 Colonel Henry and Captain Hamilton, respectively, pro 
 ceeded to fraternize and exchange congratulations. 
 
 Our friend Captain Waters and Colonel Henry seemed to 
 be old acquaintances. They exchanged hearty greeting, 
 and the captain seemed in high spirits. 
 
 " The sight of you is really good for sore eyes, my deal 
 colonel," he said ; " morbleu ! I think the cards at last 
 shuffled and dealt ! What 's the number of your men ?" 
 
 " About two hundred only, captain," said Colonel Henry, 
 drawing round him his inseparable old red cloak ; " but five 
 thousand I 'm told are marching to join us." 
 
 " Five thousand ! why, an army ! a host 1 With that 
 many, my dear friend, we will blow his Excellency sky 
 high." 
 
 " Yes, I think we could drive him away." 
 
 " ' Could !' What do you mean, colonel ?" 
 
 " Will,' then, if if unfortunately" 
 
 " If?" said the captain anxiously. " I 'in afraid of that 
 little word /, friend." 
 
 " So am I, captain." 
 
 " What does it mean in your mouth, mon ami f speak 1" 
 
 " Well, I meant to say that the result of our march 
 would probably be the rout of his Excellency and his 
 adherents if he does not defeat us by paying for the 
 powder." 
 
 And Colonel Henry's face assumed its old grim smile as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Paying," cried Captain Waters, " paying for the pow 
 der I" 
 
 " Yes, captain." 
 
 " Why, that would be dishonest ! it would be illegal, ray 
 dear colonel !" cried his companion. " Here this fellow 
 Dunmore first robs us of our property and then has the aru 
 dacity to offer us the value of the stolen goods ! You 
 eun't think of accepting such an offer!"
 
 MISS BONXYBEL. 
 
 ** I fear I must." 
 
 "Must! why?" 
 
 " The colony would not sustain rne in refusing . should 
 simply be deposed from my command, and the cnly result 
 would be that some one else's signature would be appended 
 to the receipt. I 'm not a free agent, captain. Colonel 
 Carter Braxton left me, some hours since, for Williarasburg, 
 and I promised to wait a certain time for him to go and re 
 turn ; you know, Colonel Corbin, the receiver, is his relative 
 Now he '11 come, I predict, and bring the money." 
 
 The captain's head drooped. 
 
 " What you say, my friend," he muttered, mournfully, 
 " has caused me the very keenest anguish. It seems to me 
 that the result will be the escape of the wolf, just when the 
 chase is in full burst !" 
 
 "Exactly, captain." 
 
 The captain remained thoughtful for a moment and 
 sighed. He seemed really overcome. 
 
 " And so your parole is given to Colonel Braxton, is it ?" 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes ; but in less than an hour I shall be released." 
 
 "Released?" 
 
 " The time fixed for his return will expire then, captain. 
 If he did not bring the money then, I told him, I should 
 march." 
 
 " You would march ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
 "And in less than an hour." 
 
 The colonel nodded. 
 
 " Morbleu /" cried the captain, "you delight me, my 
 dear colonel ! Then I'll have my good bout with Foy 
 yet." 
 
 "WithFoy?" 
 
 " With Mr. Secretary Foy. You see, my dear friend, 
 't is a little arrangement between us that, at the first open 
 hostilities, our swords shall cross. I'm positively sick 
 for the encounter, and now, since you assure me that you
 
 436 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 march in an hour, I think the chances are favorable for the 
 bout !" 
 
 Colonel Henry shook his head dubiously. 
 
 " I have a presentiment, captain," he said, " that Colonel 
 Braxton will return in time. He said the money would be 
 paid, and he 'd only to go for it, and you know he 's a man 
 of his word." 
 
 As these words were uttered in a melancholy tone, an 
 expression of deep disappointment came to the captain's 
 face. 
 
 " He'll return with the money." 
 
 " I 'm sure of it." 
 
 " Then all 's lost 1" and the captain let his chin fall on his 
 breast. He remained motionless and frowning for some 
 moments; but suddenly his frown disappeared, his head 
 rose : 
 
 " My dear colonel," he cried, " you made Colonel Brax- 
 ton a promise ; will you make me one, too ?" 
 
 " A promise ? What is it ?" 
 
 " Oh, 't is nothing unreasonable, my small request. Mbr- 
 bleu ! 't is most fair." 
 
 " Speak, captain." 
 
 " Do you wish valid payment for the powder if you are 
 compelled to receive payment ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Then promise me that you '11 only receive gold or Bank 
 of England notes no promises of payment of any descrip 
 tion from either his Excellency, or the receiver, or Colonel 
 Braxton." 
 
 Colonel Henry reflected, and the captain watched the ex 
 pression of his countenance with the deepest anxiety. 
 
 " Well," said the colonel, " I see no objection to prom 
 ising that, and I certainly shall refuse any promissory 
 notes." 
 
 " Good !" cried the captain ; " and now, my dear colonel, 
 I will not further intrude on you. I see my friends Hamil 
 ton and Effingham yonder coming to talk with you."
 
 MISS fiONNYBEL. 
 
 So speaking, the captain in :<L> th military salute, saun 
 tered easily away, and went out of the Ordinary. 
 
 He had no sooner readied the spot where his horse was 
 tied, however, than, leaping into the saddle, he set forward, 
 at full speed, on the road to Williamsburg. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXI. 
 
 TOE BOBBERY OF THE COACH OF TV^C KING'S EKCEIVEB- 
 GENERAL. 
 
 JUST an hour before the interview which we have just re 
 lated, a chariot, drawn by four fresh horses, and driven at 
 full speed, left Williamsburg by the road leading to New 
 Kent. 
 
 The speed of the coach, great as it was, however, did not 
 seem to keep pace with the feelings of its inmate. 
 
 The head of a gentleman about forty years of age, wear- 
 ing a long flaxen peruke and ample cocked hat, was thrust 
 from the window, and this head uttered, in an impatient and 
 huriied voice, the words, 
 
 " Faster ! faster ! make the horses gallop !" 
 
 The driver obeyed and laid his long lash on the backs of 
 the horses. 
 
 They started forward, at a gallop, and the coach whirled 
 along through the fields and into the forest with fearful ra 
 pidity. 
 
 At the end of half an hour the speed of the horses began 
 to abate, their strength to flag. The coach then proceeded 
 at a more moderate pace, apparently causing the gentleman 
 within great impatience. 
 
 He took from his pocket some papers, however, and 
 examined them carefully. Then he opened a large pocket 
 book of leather, and counted some notes of the Bank of 
 England.
 
 .86 MISS uoyNT~"\ 
 
 As he did so, he hoard, or thought he heard, the /apid 
 foot-falls of a horse behind the carriage. 
 
 He thrust his head from the window, and at the same 
 moment descried a horseman who rushed rapidlj toward 
 him, and drew rein beside the window. 
 
 The chariot was descending a gorge in the forest at 
 the moment, and had moderated still further its headlong 
 speed. 
 
 The stranger drew rein, and leaning one hand on the 
 edge of the window, said, 
 
 "Have I the honor to speak to Colonel Braxtou ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the occupant of the chariot ; " your business, 
 sir ! 
 
 " Order the coach to stop, colonel." 
 
 " Impossible, sir ; I am on urgent public business, and can 
 not tarry for a moment." 
 
 " Still it 's necessary, my dear colonel," said the enemy; 
 "give the order." 
 
 " I '11 do nothing of the sort, sir !" cried the other ; " drive 
 faster !" 
 
 These latter words were directed to the coachman, who 
 raised bis whip to strike the horses. 
 
 Before it descended the cavalier had rushed on his swift 
 horse to the head of the animals, and catching the leaders by 
 the bridle, made them rear and start sidewise. 
 
 He was immediately at the coach window again, and said, 
 coolly, 
 
 " Now, your money, my dear colonel." 
 
 " My money sir ! are you mad ?" cried Colonel Braxton, 
 in a fury. 
 
 "No, morbleu!" cried the enemy, "I'm perfectly sane! 
 I repeat that I want your money, my dear friend not your 
 money or your life, as the highwaymen say but the sum 
 which you bear from his Excellency !" 
 
 " You are insane !" cried the colonel, shouting to the 
 driver to lash his horses ; " you shall repent this outrage, 
 sir! begone!"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 4C9 
 
 The torses again darted forward, but the cavalier kept 
 his place at the carriage window. 
 
 " For the last time, your money, friend !" he said ; " mor* 
 bleu^ I shall not ask you again." 
 
 " You intend to rob me, then ? M 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 With a movement as rapid as lightning, Colonel Braxton 
 thrust his hand into the pocket of the coach and drew forth 
 a pistol. 
 
 lie leveled the weapon at his enemy and discharged it, 
 the bullet passing through the lappel of the horseman's sur- 
 tout. 
 
 " Ah ! well !" cried that gentleman, " you '11 do battle, will 
 you, friend ? But first I '11 secure what I want." 
 
 With these words the speaker suddenly extended his 
 hand through the window of the coach, and caught from 
 the other's grasp the three or four hundred pound notes 
 which he held. 
 
 " Now friend," he said, " this will suffice ! I had some 
 compunctions about proceeding, so irregularly, but you 've at 
 tempted my life, and I 'm quite easy ! Do n't discharge 
 another pistol at me as I go, or I '11 imitate you. I have 
 two in my holsters, and perhaps I shall blow out your 
 brains !" 
 
 With these words the speaker put spur to his horse, and 
 striking the coach horses as he passed, disappeared in the 
 forest. 
 
 With a face full of rage and amazement, Colonel Braxton 
 was borne onward, asking himself if he had dreamed this 
 outrage if he really, could be awake. 
 
 " Well," he growled, " 't is far more important to arrive 
 yonder in time, and I can easily give my note for the money. 
 Lash your horses !" 
 
 And in obedience to his order the driver again struck his 
 animals, which rapidly bore the vehicle to the Ordinary. 
 
 The Hanover company and the rest were drawn up before 
 the door, and Colonel Henry was just issuing forth to get
 
 44J) MIS3 UOXXYB'EL. 
 
 into the saddle. He paused, however, as the chariot flashed 
 up. 
 
 " Ah ! is that you, colonel ?" he said ; " you have come at 
 last." 
 
 "Yes," said Colonel Braxton, getting out of the chariot 
 and exchanging a grasp of the hand with Henry, "I have 
 come, on the part of his lordship, to pay for the powder." 
 
 " To pay ! 
 
 " Yes, its full value." 
 
 A grim smile came to the face of Colonel Henry, and he 
 hesitated, looking at his men. With a deep sigh he seemed 
 to decide. 
 
 " I am told we '11 have an army of five thousand men to 
 morrow," he said ; "still I promised to take the money, and 
 I must take it." 
 
 With these words Colonel Henry walked into the Ordi 
 nary, followed by Colonel Braxton. 
 
 " Pen and ink, landlord," he said ; " of course I shall give 
 a receipt." 
 
 " I must first premise that I was robbed on the route 
 hither," said Colonel Braxton. And he related the scene 
 on the road to Henry. Some of the company, who were in 
 the room, laughed heartily, and the same grim smile reap 
 peared on the face of Henry. 
 
 "In truth, he must have been a madman," he replied, 
 " and what you have said, colonel, materially alters the face 
 of affairs." 
 
 With these words Colonel Henry laid down his pen. 
 
 " Alters affairs ?" asked the other ; " how is that ?" 
 
 " Why, unfortunately, I gave a promise no later than half 
 an hour ago, that I would take only gold or batik bills in 
 payment. 'T is unfortunate, my dear colonel, but the prom 
 ise is given." 
 
 "To whom Heaven preserve us!" cried Colonel Brax 
 ton, in despair. 
 
 " To a friend Captain Waters by name." 
 
 <l Tall with a black moustache riding a black Arabian ?"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 411 
 
 " Yes, that is an accurate description of him." 
 
 " Why, he it was who robbed me !" 
 
 " Possible !" said Colonel Henry, with his former grim 
 smile ; " why, my dear colonel, he is a gentleman of large 
 landed estate, and I have always heard that he was honest." 
 
 " I say 't was he !" 
 
 " Captain Waters ?" 
 
 "Yes! Colonel Henry. 'Tis a c"eep-laid conspiracy, and 
 the object of this gentleman was plainly to paralyze me." 
 
 " If so, it was very reprehensible in the captain." 
 
 And the same sardonic smile wreathed the corners of the 
 iron mouth of Henry. 
 
 " Of course you will not suffer the affair to affect your 
 action." 
 
 " Unfortunately I 've promised to take gold or notes only, 
 colonel. I ana the veriest slave of my word." 
 
 " You then refuse my own obligation for the powder ?" 
 
 "I must perforce." 
 
 Colonel Braxton bit his lip, and looked both anxious and 
 irritated. But the expression of pain and regret predomi 
 nated. 
 
 " Of course, sir," he said, " I am not so discourteous as to 
 intimate you had any part in this. Your action, however, 
 supports Captain Waters' outrage, and the result will be 
 blood." 
 
 "It is unfortunate," said Henry, with the same iron calm 
 ness, and buckling on his sword. 
 
 Colonel Braxton knit his brows in anguish, and remained 
 thus silent and gloomy for some moments. 
 
 Then his countenance was suddenly illumined with joy, 
 and he hastened to his chariot, and immediately returned 
 with a small leather portmanteau. 
 
 From this portmanteau he drew a roll of bank notes. 
 
 "It is most fortunate, colonel," he said to Henry, "that 
 the events of the last few days have caused me so much 
 concern. I brought this money to Williamsburg to make a 
 payment on my own private account, and such was my jie-
 
 442 MISS BONSYUKL. 
 
 Ofcnpation that I quite forgot it until this momeuu 1 now 
 offer you, on the part of his Excellency, three hundred and 
 thirty pounds in Bank of England notes, in payment for the 
 powder. There, colonel." 
 
 And he laid the notes on the table. 
 
 Colonel Henry thereupon sat down, and spreading a large 
 sheet of paper before him, wrote the following receipt : 
 
 " Doncastle's Ordinary, New Kent, May 4, 1775. Re 
 ceived from the Hon. Richard Corbin, Esq., his Majesty's 
 Receiver-General, 330, as a compensation for the gunpow 
 der lately taken out of the public magazine by the Govern 
 or's order, which money I promise to convey to the Virginia 
 delegates at the general congress, to be, under their direc 
 tion, laid out in gunpowder for the colony's use, and to be 
 stored as they shall direct until the next colony convention 
 or general assembly, unless it shall be necessary, in the mean 
 time, to use the same in the defense of this colony. It ia 
 agreed that, in case the next convention shall determine 
 that any part of the said money ought to be returned to his 
 Majesty's said Receiver-General, that the same shall be done 
 accordingly. 
 
 " PATRICK HENRY, Jun. 
 
 ' Test. SAMUEL MEREDITH, PARKS GOODALL." 
 
 Colonel Henry had scarcely affixed his signature to this 
 paper, when the hoof-strokes of a horse resounded on the 
 road before the tavern, and the next moment Captain "Wat- 
 f.ra entered the apartment, his spurs jingling and his lips 
 smiling. 
 
 At sight of the money, however, and the receipt which 
 Colonel Braxton raised from the table and folded, this ex 
 pression suddenly changed. 
 
 " The money 's paid !" he cried ; " you do n't say the pow 
 der is paid for, nay friends!" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Colonel Braxton, with an angry flush : 
 " and your outrage hns failed -our robbery, sir "
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. % - Wtf 
 
 The captain was so much overwhelmed by this failure of 
 bis scheme that he scarcely heard the angry words addressed 
 to him. 
 
 His head drooped, his hands fell at his side, and from his 
 lips escaped the sorrowful words, 
 
 " Then Foy and myself will not meet !" 
 
 The captain sighed, and looked around mournfully. 
 
 "Ah ! well !" he said at length, " I '11 not be cast down ! 
 What 's not to-day may be to-morrow ! Let us wait 1" 
 
 Then turning to Colonel Braxton, the captain took from 
 his pocket the four hundred pound notes and returned them. 
 
 " You will pardon my little jest, my dear colonel," he 
 said, "as I freely pardon you the pistol shot which passed, 
 you see, close to my breast, spoiling my best coat my best, 
 parole cPhonneur ! It was only a little escapade of fun, an 
 ebullition of youthful spirits. I 'm getting old and I need 
 amusement. My object was simply to further a small pri 
 vate affair, which the march of our friends here upon Wil- 
 liamsburg would have suited admirably. I thought I had 
 provided for every thing well ! well \ The best schemes 
 sometimes fail the most honest intentions ! I suppose now 
 the chance of war 's at an end what unhappiness 1" 
 
 And the captain sighed in the midst of laughter. 
 
 Even Colonel Braxton, who was excellently pleased with 
 the result, joined in the laughter, and one would have 
 \ hought that these men were in a ball room, instead of on 
 the surface of a volcano.* 
 
 " So the affair is all over, and the tight will not take place," 
 said Captain Waters to Colonel Henry, as he got into the 
 saddle. 
 
 A grim smile wreathed the firm iron lips, and the man of 
 the red cloak replied, 
 
 "Let us wait; 'tis the momentary ebb of the wave, 
 friend I" 
 
 "The ebb?" 
 
 "Yes; the silence in the air the lull before the storm 
 * IJistorical Illustrations. No. Np.
 
 444 MISS BONNYBICL. 
 
 the retrograde movement of the great wave of revolution. 
 When that wave rushes forward again, as it will before you 
 can speak, almost, it will strike and overwhelm ! Then you '11 
 see the last scene of the last act of the tragedy the tragedy 
 of ' George III. in Virginia !' Farewell !" 
 And the trumpet sounded to horse. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXII. 
 
 HOW UNDON LEFT WILLIAMSBURG, AND WHOM HE CON- 
 VEBSED WITH AT AGINCOURT. 
 
 THE prophecy was destined soon to be fulfilled. Dun- 
 more vainly thought that compliance with the demands of 
 the Hanoverians, in the matter of the powder, would quiet 
 the colony and disarm revolution. 
 
 Things had gone too far; the times were ripe now, and 
 nothing could divert the storm about to burst. The Assem 
 bly was summoned, the Governor made a diplomatic speech, 
 with Lord North's famous " olive branch" proposal in hia 
 hand, but it was all of no avail. 
 
 Virginia was aroused in its whole length and breadth, and 
 arms were in every hand, soon, as we shall see, to be used. 
 
 Let us proceed, however, to relate the events which befell 
 the personages of our narrative, before we chronicle the 
 outburst of the storm. For, after all, it is a family history 
 which we relate the joys and sorrows of unhistorical per- 
 linages is our chief subject. 
 
 Let us follow now the events which brought all things to 
 an issue here too ; like the whole land, our small domain 
 bad its convulsion and its tragedy, and this we shall now 
 proceed to relate. 
 
 About three weeks after the scene which we have just 
 witnessed at Doncastle's Ordinary, Lindon one morning 
 presented himself before Lord Dunmore, and requested 
 leave of absence for a fortnight.
 
 MISS EONS Y BEL. 445 
 
 This leave was graciously accorded by big lordship, who 
 Shought he would have at present no use for his mercena 
 ries ; and on the same afternoon, Lindon mounted his horse, 
 and crossing the James at Bui-well's ferry, set forward in a 
 south-westerly direction over the main road of Isle of Wight 
 county. 
 
 Busy with the events beftlling our chief characters, we 
 have not been able to expend, upon this gentleman and his 
 affairs, that attention, which, in view of their connection 
 with our history, they demand at our hands. 
 
 Lindon had, time after time, renewed his addresses to 
 Bonnybel, an-i repulse seemed only to arouse still more 
 deeply the j rofound passion of his nature. Driven back 
 npon every occasion rejected time after time, and always 
 with increased coldness and decision by the girl he had 
 come at last to regard it as a single combat between them 
 for the victory, and in the depths of his heart he registered 
 a silent oath that he would conquer the girl's resolution or 
 die in the attempt. There was still another reason in ad 
 dition, which impelled him to persevere. 
 
 The large property which he inherited from his father, 
 had, by successive mortgages, been almost wholly alien 
 ated ; and such had been the success of the owner, that his 
 affairs were now hopelessly embarrassed. To preserve his 
 station, and not be turned as a beggar on the world, it was 
 necessary that he should look around him speedily for some 
 means of fortifying his position ; and this he found in a 
 marriage with Bonnybel. Were he to secure the hand of 
 that young lady, the wealth and influence of Colonel Vane 
 would be at his command ; and he could easily induce his 
 creditors to delay the threatened sale of all his property. 
 They had already forced him to sell nearly every servant 
 which he possessed ; and he was scarcely left now with a 
 handful. A union with Bonnybel was thus equally desirn- 
 ble in a business point of view ; and with passion and 
 cupidity working together, the whole energies of this mar,'fi 
 na.tu.re were put forth to attain his object;.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Let us follow mm, and see whither he goes. 
 
 About sunset, Lindon reached his house of " Agincourt," 
 which was a fine old mansion, erected upon a lofty bill ; and 
 as he rode up, the dying sunset gilded the roofs and the 
 many out-houses attached to the homestead. 
 
 With an air of fiery impatience which had become ha 
 bitual with him of late, he threw the bridle of his horse to 
 a rough-looking man, and said briefly : 
 
 " You have watched carefully, as I ordered you ?" 
 
 " Yes sir," replied the man, doffing his cap ; " she has 
 been rather more restive to-day, and I had some trouble, as 
 usual ; but I think she sees there 's no hope." 
 
 " That 's well," said Lindon ; " now order some dinner 
 for me, I 'm nearly broken down. Go 1" 
 
 The man touched his forehead, and Lindon entered .the 
 house. 
 
 It was elegantly arranged, and the furniture of the great 
 apartment which he entered, though rather too gaudy for 
 good taste, displayed every mark of wealth. 
 
 Lindon threw himself upon a velvet sofa, and ringing for 
 wine, which a servant brought him. upon a silver waiter, 
 took great gulps of the liquid, and then seemed to re 
 flect. 
 
 " Things are coming to a crisis," he muttered at length ; 
 " and if I act at all, I must act quickly. Those scoundrels 
 will sell me cut, if I do not prevent them ; and there 's but 
 one way now this marriage ! How can I achieve it ? 
 How conquer that diabolical resolution of a mere love-sick 
 girl, dreaming, I have no doubt, of tliat pale-faced hero, for 
 sooth 1 She loves him, and she scorns me I Curse him ! 
 he 's the stumbling-block in all my schemes, and eternally 
 opposes and conquers me ! Why did n't I run him through 
 the hen rt yonder, and so end him? Shall I now? He is 
 still weak from his sickness, and I could do it ! I'll think 
 about it !" 
 
 And with a heavy frown upon his brow, Lindon was 
 for some moments^ reflecting.
 
 BONNYBlCL. 44* 
 
 * No !" he growled, at length, with an oath ; " no ! curse 
 nim ! I'd like to put an end to his scheming; but what 
 good would that do? It would only make the marriage 
 more difficult, and I 've no time to attend to such things. 
 In a fortnight, perhaps, Dunmore will be driven from Vir 
 ginia, and I was a fool to attach myself to such j coward as 
 he is! I thought he would bolster me up, but he can't 
 protect himself from these canaille ! This fine hero, St. 
 John, this Lord Bolingbroke ! well, he shall escape me for 
 the present, though I shall not forget him. I must think of 
 something more important." 
 
 He was interrupted by the summons to the table, wh her 
 he proceeded and rapidly devoured his meal, washing it 
 down with large draughts of wine. He then returned to 
 the sofa, and, with knit brows, again reflected : 
 
 " Well, I m determined, at last !" he said, with a face 
 flushed by the thought in his mind more than by the wine 
 which he had drunk ; " it is the only way that 's left to me, 
 and I '11 do it and take the consequences! Now I '11 go and 
 see madame," with which words he rose, with a sinister 
 smile, from the sofa, and left the room. 
 
 He ascended the great stair-case, and, taking a key from 
 his pocket, opened a room directly over the one he had 
 just left. 
 
 It was a chamber elegantly furnished, and, in a corner, 
 sat Miss Carne, the Vanely seamstress. 
 
 The woman sat crouched down and leaned her elbows on 
 her knees. Her hair, falling in disordered masses on her 
 bosom, completely concealed her countenance the brows 
 resting upon her white and nervous hands. 
 
 As Lindon entered she half raised her head, and, when 
 she saw who her visitor was, raised it entirely erect. 
 
 The face thus revealed was scarcely recognizable. For 
 merly, this woman had been almost beautiful, and an ex 
 pression of tranquillity and content characterized her entire 
 appearance. Now, however, all this had disappeared. Her 
 face was haggard and furrowed by passion, and her dar 1 *
 
 448 "MT9S '-'^ 
 
 eyes burned witn a sullen and lurid flame which seemed to 
 flush up and glitter as she looked upon Lindon. 
 
 He entered with a sarcastic smile, and, approaching the 
 woman, said, satirically, 
 
 " How is my pretty bird to-day how is madarne the vul 
 ture ? Have my people supplied all her wants and com 
 plied with her wishes ?" 
 
 A lurid flash, brighter than the former, darted from the 
 eyes of Miss Carne. 
 
 " Madame seems silent," said Lindon in the same tone of 
 sarcasm. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 With cheeks flushed with wine, and a gait unsteady from 
 the same cause, Lindon drew nearer to the woman, and, at 
 last, placed one hand carelessly on her head. 
 
 Before he could complete the caress which he attempted, 
 the woman rose to her feet, with a spring like a wild cat, 
 and uttered a hoarse cry which was scarcely human. 
 
 " Do n't touch me I" she said. " Touch me at you peril !" 
 and, with bloodshot eyes, hair hanging in disorder, and 
 lips writhing with convulsive passion, she seemed ready to 
 spring upon Lindon and throttle him. 
 
 " Ah ! our pretty hawk is angry," he said, with a sarcastic 
 grin ; " our lady bird intends to show her claws. Come to 
 its deary deary won't let anybody hurt his turtle-dove," 
 and again he attempted to touch her hair. 
 
 With one bound the woman sprang to a table upon 
 v hich a knife had been left, and, clutching it, confronted 
 }ier persecutor. 
 
 Lindon regarded her, for a moment, with drunken grav 
 ity, and then said, soothingly, 
 
 " Come, do n't let us have any scenes." 
 
 "I wish to have none!" said the woman, hoarsely, "but 
 before you shall touch me I will plunge this knife into your 
 heart. I hate you! I detest you! The ver; sight of you 
 makes me sick !"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 449 
 
 " Ah ! does it said Lindon, approacning her cautiously 
 but with apparent carelessness. 
 
 " Yes 1 you tempted me to crime ! you took advantage 
 of my treacherous nature ! you made me the tool of your 
 villainy by appealing to my avarice, and now " 
 
 " You 've not even the .consolation of the reward, eh ?" 
 said Lindon, satirically; "is that your meaning?" and, 
 with the same air of carelessness, he approached nearer 
 still. 
 
 " Yes 1" said the woman, hoarsely ; " you made a devil 
 of me, and now you turn me loose without the money for 
 which I sold myself!" 
 
 " Turned you loose, my pretty bud ? Is n't that a alight 
 mistake ?" 
 
 And he drew nearer still. 
 
 " Yes !" said the woman, with sullen passion, " you are 
 right ! I am not free ; I am a prisoner here under a brutal 
 jailor." 
 
 " And can't go and tell the world of my depravity, eh ?" 
 
 "It shall know all yet, and you will be punished 1 If the 
 world does not do it I will 1" 
 
 And an angry clutch of the knife showed the meaning of 
 the speaker. 
 
 "Ah? You will?" 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 " You will punish me V* 
 
 "Yes!" I 
 
 " Perhaps stab me ?" 
 
 " If you tempt me 1" 
 
 " Well, I will !' 
 
 And Lindon, who had approached nearer and nearer ai 
 he uttered these words, suddenly sprang upon the woman, 
 and wrenching the knife from her grasp, broke the blade by 
 triking it on the table. 
 
 He then confined the wrists of the furious woman in his 
 own, and forcing her writhing form violently into a chair 
 said,
 
 450 MI3S BONKYBEL. 
 
 " Now. my pretty lady-bird, I 've blunted your claws ! In 
 future you had better watch better!" 
 
 He continued to hold her thus until she ceased strug 
 gling, and then finding her apparently subdued, released 
 his hold. 
 
 " My dear Madame Carne, or Madame In-What-Ever- 
 Other-Nanie-Thou-Rejoicest," he said, " you perceive that 
 after all I am more than a match for you in deviltry. It is 
 true I never could have accomplished what you did, and there 
 I accord you every praise. Your boldness and treachery and 
 cunning were admirable, and extort my highest admiration. 
 You effected your object, and I confess that the thousand 
 pound note which I promised you ought to have been forth 
 coming. You know it became absolutely necessary to con 
 fine you here afterwards, and here you will still remain un 
 til I 've finished a little affair which I may as well tell you 
 of as a friend. You can not report it, fortunately, and I 'm 
 ennuye this evening. Come, I '11 sit here and tell you all 
 about it !" 
 
 With these words Lindon coolly sat down opposite to 
 Miss Carne, upon whose countenance the sullen and lurid 
 look had taken the place of the fiery passion, and thus, re 
 posing gracefully, her persecutor spoke at length upon the 
 " little affair." 
 
 At ten o'clock he rose, and said, 
 
 " I think the thing looks promising ; do n't you ? You 
 know the old adage, ' faint heart never won a fair lady yet,' 
 and I need not tell so intimate a friend as yourself one so 
 well acquainted with my private affairs that 't is absolutely 
 necessary for me to take some acred young lady to wife. I 
 am determined to have this one, and I 've told you the means 
 I shall employ. Of course your thousand pounds will be 
 punctually paid, and I shall escort you gallantly to the sea 
 board, and see you depart. I trust 't will so end ; but per 
 haps you will not permit it. I see a gleam in your fair eyes 
 which may make it necessary to suppress you. Do you 
 know the meaning of that word ? I 've a fellow here who
 
 MISS BONNYUEL, 451 
 
 has an original genius for murder ; of course, however, 7 
 shall not employ him. You won't be revengeful, dear lady 
 bird, but profit by the thing and go away." 
 
 Having thus spoken in the same tone of mocking sarcasm, 
 Lindon yawned and declared his intention to retire. 
 
 The woman did not reply. Still crouching in her seat, 
 and looking at him fixedly with her bloodshot eyes, she re 
 sembled a panther about to spring. 
 
 Lindon rose and made her a low, mock, ceremonious 
 bow. 
 
 " I trust your ladyship will have pleasant dreams," ho 
 said, "and I now have the honor of respectfully bidding 
 you adieu." 
 
 As he closed the door and disappeared, the woman rose 
 to her feet, and with an indescribable expression of hatred, 
 looked at the spot where he had passed from her sight. 
 
 At the same moment the key turned, the heavy bolt was 
 shot into its place, and Lindon retreated, singing in a harsh 
 and drunken voice, a bacchanalian song. 
 
 The woman shook her clenched fist at the door, and will 
 lips convulsed by passion, muttered hoarsely, 
 
 " You said I was cunning wait and see !" 
 
 And her sinister eyes betrayed the fixed resolution whicl 
 she had made. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIIL 
 
 A GLANCE AT VANELT. 
 
 AT Vanely, as of old, sleeps the beautiful sunshine of the 
 tender May, and the flowers bloom as they did on that 
 morning of '74 when we opened the pages of our chronicle. 
 
 Again, as on that morn when Tom Alston and his friend 
 rode gayly up the hill, the leaves bourgeon and i loom the 
 winds laugh and dance onward as though singing, while the 
 great oaks rustle, the clouds float like white strips on au
 
 452 MISS BONNYBfiL. 
 
 ocean of azure, and the grass on the lawn is sprink.ed with 
 forget-me-nots, those stars of the earth in the spring. 
 
 Tli it sprint'', ;is in old years, has come in rejoicing, and 
 the domain of Vanely wakes up aad smiles, and puts on the 
 gala cost ume of the fine season. 
 
 Let us enter, for a moment, as we pass onward, nnd look 
 around us. 
 
 In his old chair, in the library with its oaken book cases 
 and table covered with volumes, sits our friend the good 
 colonel, with his gouty foot raitiedupon a cricket. He reads, 
 stopping at times to polish his spectacles, for the old gen 
 tleman finds age creeping on him. 
 
 By his side sits Bonnybel, engaged at some work, with f 
 aad smile on her fair face, which is still paler than before 
 But this paleness even adds to her beauty. She looks mon. 
 like a sweet phantom than a woman of flesh and blood, and, 
 when she raises her large violet eyes and smiles, her whole 
 countenance is so spiritual that an old painter might have 
 taken it for a type of Madonna. 
 
 Long hours pass thus, and then Mrs. Vane, Miss Seraphi- 
 na and Helen come in, and the family converse and try ta 
 cheer the girl. They evidently affect the merriment ot 
 spirit which they display, and it is meant to enliven her. 
 
 The father and daughter sit thus in the cheerful room 
 every morning, and here Bonnybel receives her visitors. 
 These visitors are Barry Hunter, Mr. Page, Mr. Rantou 
 and others, and often Tom Alston and Jack Hamilton come 
 to Vanely, though the former has, for some time now, teen 
 sick. 
 
 Miss Seraphina rather likes to be teased about Mr. Ham 
 ilton, and the color in Helen's cheek, when Mr. Alston is 
 mentioned, seems to indicate that the fruit has nearly fallen 
 by the " shaking." 
 
 At times, Bonnybel goes to the harpsichord and sings, 
 and her voice has the old tenderness and sweetness, but not 
 the joy. That contagious freshness aud inerriment which 
 once characterized it is gone, and it has a sad music in its
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 453 
 
 faint carol It is "Katlierine Ogie" which she sings most 
 frequently, and the ditty is so inexpressibly sad and touch 
 ing as she sings it, that tears more than once come to the 
 eyes of the auditors. 
 
 Thus the days pass on, and the current flows tranquilly 
 in the good old mansion from which we have been absent so 
 long. Political events make small stir there, though they 
 are spoken of frequently, and often the old colonel sup 
 presses an outbreak. He does not yield now to these pas 
 sionate impulses. He grows old. 
 
 One subject alone is never mentioned one name is never 
 uttered. But she thinks of him always. 
 
 What befell that personage, and, especially, what hap 
 pened to the girl, the two letters, which we now lay before 
 the reader, and the events which followed, will abundantly 
 show. 
 
 The crisis of the family history and the political storm 
 ripened and rushed into action nearly at the same moment. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 BOITNTBEL VANK TO HEK FEIKKD KATE 
 I. 
 
 , the 20th May, '75. 
 " How long it seems now since I 've written to my own 
 dear Kate ! I received, more than three weeks since, youi 
 kind, sweet letter, and only my unhappiness has prevented 
 me from replying. You may not consider this a good rea 
 son, but it is true. When we suffer little sorrows, and are 
 sad only, then we fly to our friends and unbosom ourselves, 
 and the act brings us consolation. This is not the case, I 
 think, when we are deeply wounded, as I am. I ask only 
 silence sind quiet, far nothing relieves me, not even writing 
 to my Kate 1
 
 454 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 ' But I'll not write so sadly. I will try and relate cheer 
 fully what has happened to us all. It is nothing, scarcely. 
 There is little that 's new. Papa continues to have guut, 
 but his health, I think, improves with the spring ; mamma, 
 too, seems stronger since the advent of May, and Helen and 
 Aunt Seraphina are as blooming as roses. My cheeks have 
 not reddened yet, as they will soon, I trust. The spring 
 will, doubtless, restore my strength and spirits, which, you 
 know, dearest, have not been good since well, let me not 
 speak of that sad subject again. Papa is going to send me, 
 in a day or two, to Mr. Burwell's. He thinks the fresh sea 
 breeze will quite cure me. 
 
 " I thought I would not write upon sad subjects, but I 
 can think of little besides that which my Kate knows about. 
 It continues to depress rne very much, and I will tell you 
 how it has been again brought up to me. Since the meet 
 ing at Mammy Liza's, of which I told you, I have seen him 
 twice, but we have never spoken. 
 
 " The first time was at Moorefield, Mr. Alston's, you 
 know, whither we went in the chariot to see Mrs. Alston, 
 Mr. Thomas' aunt. Our staying away was becoming abso 
 lutely marked, and so we went. As the chariot drove up to 
 the door, he had just mounted Lis horse to ride away. As 
 I afterwards discovered, he had been staying some days 
 with Mr. Alston, who is sick, and now returned to Williams- 
 burg. He passed within a few feet of the carriage, and made 
 us a low and ceremonious salute. I saw him distinctly, and 
 though still very pale, he looked stronger and more cheer- 
 ful. His arm was no longer supported by the scarf, and 
 seemed to have quite healed. 
 
 " I need not tell you, dear, how much I was rejoiced to 
 see him thus well again, and his sickness seemed even to 
 have added to that singular grace which, you know, has 
 ever characterized him. His air had lost none of its dignity, 
 and I observed that extraordinary smile as he passed a 
 smile which seemed now both happy and sad. All this I
 
 MISS BON N Y BEL. 45ft 
 
 descried as he passed quickly ; in a mon ent he was gone. 
 That is the first meeting. 
 
 " The second was the other evening, and at the old grave 
 yard, where his mother and father are buried, you know. 
 When you were last here, we visited it one afternoon, and, 
 you know, it lies down the vale, within sight of the upper 
 window of my chamber. I can see the distant oaks as 1 
 write. Helen and myself had gone out to take a walk about 
 twilight, and we extended it so far that the night caught us, 
 as we passed the old graveyard on our return. The moon 
 was shining, however, and we were not afraid, as we heard 
 the voice of Uncle Robin, on the hill near by, driving home 
 the cattle and singing one of his rude songs. The moon 
 light was nearly as bright as day as we came near the grave* 
 yard, and Helen went to the gate and looked in. You 
 know it is surrounded by an old brick wall, which is begin 
 ning to crumble, some of the bricks having been knocked 
 off by mischievous boys, and the enclosr.ro, in other places, 
 cracked by the roots of the trees forcinr/ r.p. 
 
 " Helen went to the old wooden it-? v which was closed 
 with a log laid against it, and peers'! through the bars. I 
 followed her, and for a moment w> stood thus silently gaz 
 ing at the tombstones. We wore about to return when sud 
 denly we heard a low sigh, ?jj3 a figure, which had been 
 kneeling in the shadow upcj the grave of Aunt St. John, 
 rose erect in the moonlight. We drew buck quickly into the 
 shadow of the great ^ak, for we were somewhat frightened, 
 as you may imagine. In an instant, however, I recognized 
 him, and my terror yielded to sorrow. He leaned upon the 
 tall tombstone in the moonlight, and rested his forehead on 
 the cold marble. I shall never forget his figure as he stood 
 thus. His right arm encircled the weeping willow cut on 
 the top of the stone, his long dark hair fell upon the white 
 surface, and only the movement of his breast proved that 
 he himself was not a form of marble. He remained thus for 
 about a quarter of an hour, and then, raising his head, looked 
 it) succession at every object in the gr.-iveyard, apparently
 
 456 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 bidding them larcwell, one after another. He then stooped 
 and plucked a wild rose from the turf on his mother's grave, 
 ntood looking at it for a moment, and then slowly passed 
 hrough a cleft in the wall and disappeared. We heard his 
 horse neigh from a copse near by, and then the sound of 
 hoof strokes dying gradually into silence. He was gone, 
 and we came home without a word I think Helen was 
 crying too. 
 
 " I thought I would write of these two meetings, my own 
 Kate, because it affords me a painful consolation to speak of 
 him. O, why will he leave us ? for he came to bid farewell 
 thus to his mother, I know, before going to foreign lands, 
 whither, I'm told, he would long since have gone but foi 
 the late trouble and the sickness of his friend, Mr. Alston. 
 He leaves many who love him, and ask only that he will 
 come back agwn. My wounded pride is no longer mistress 
 of me, and though he can never be the saoie to me, I should 
 love and cherish him still though I u( ver could be hid 
 wife. 
 
 " I am not happy. Please write and give me some com 
 fort, if you can. I must er i my sad letter now, dearest. I 
 will write you again fiorn Mr. Burwell's, whither I go, as 1 
 said, in a day or two. 
 
 " Much love to Willie, and farewell, dear. 
 
 "Your devoted 
 
 " BOJTNTBEL." 
 
 n. 
 
 FROM TUB SAME TO THE SAME. 
 
 " MB. BURWELL'S, Isk of Wight, the Id June, '75. 
 
 " IN my last letter, dear Kate, I told you I was coming 
 hither in search of some color for my cheek.-. I am sorry 
 to say I've not found it. I think the air's not as whole 
 some to me as that of Prince George, and in a day or two I 
 shall set out on my return to Vanely. 
 
 " I need not tell you that I ha\e received every kindness
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 457 
 
 and goodness from tne family. The Burwells are adinirab'y 
 cheerful and kindly, and I think Belle-bouche, as they still 
 call her, from some old jest, is a beauty, and as tendej- as 
 she's lovely. She delights us as usual for Bel Tracy is 
 here with stories about her ' youth,' as she c ills it with a 
 laugh, and certainly, from her own relation, Monsieur Belle- 
 bouche, if the name is proper, had a very difficult time in 
 his courtship. They began talking about these old scenes 
 one evening on the portico, when Mr. Movvbray and that 
 dazzling lady, his wife, Mistress Philippa, had ridden over 
 from their house, not far off, and I think the stories which 
 they repeated would make a lively comedy. There seemed 
 to be even more than Belle-bouche told, for she was going 
 on, laughing, when Mistress Philippa stopped her, and blush 
 ing deeply, prayed her to refrain. Mr. Mowbray turned his 
 fine head with a smile, and said, ' Silence was better,' after 
 which he went on talking with Mr. Nelson, from Little York. 
 How merry and happy all are, except myself! But that 's 
 envious, and I will not complain. 
 
 " This is all that I think of to tell you, dear, but I ve for 
 gotten the chief incident of all! Mr. Lindon and myself 
 had a violent scene yesterday morning, and we have parted 
 for the last time, I trust. He renewed his addresses, which, 
 you know, I have repeatedly rejected, and had the discour 
 tesy, when I simply said I could not accept his attentions 
 any further, to reply, that he would yet find the means to 
 make me change my resolution ! Can you imagine such 
 rudeness? It aroused all my pride, and I told him, with a 
 look as freezing as ice, that I despised his threat, and cared 
 nothing for him. I regretted it afterwards and do now I 
 mean my passion, but his tone was insufferable. The scene 
 made me sick all day, but I believe I have now quite recov 
 ered from it. I left Mr. Lindon in the parlor, and came up 
 stairs, and he soon went away. His abuse of him has for 
 ever ruined him in ray estimation. 
 
 " I must close, as the mail passes very soon, dear. Please 
 write to me a good long letter, such as rny Knto knows how
 
 458 MISS BONNIBKL. 
 
 to write. Direct to Vanely, where I shall be before you3 
 letter can arrive. 
 
 " Do not let my sadness grieve you, and we should trust 
 in our dear heavenly Father, who sends the clouds and the 
 sunshine in mercy. In him I put my trust. 
 
 " Much love to Willie I hope you enjoyed your visit to 
 the Hall, where Mr. Hamilton says he saw you. 
 
 " Good bye now, dear pray for me, as I do for you 
 night and morning. 
 
 " Your own 
 
 " BoNNYBEL." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXV. 
 
 LINDON SMILBS. 
 
 AT the moment when Bonnybel folded and sealed the 
 letter last laid before the reader, Lindon entered Williams- 
 burg from the south, riding at full speed, and casting a 
 glance toward the palace as he passed, halted in front of 
 the Raleigh tavern. 
 
 He threw his bridle to a servant, and ordering him to 
 hold his horse, and not take him to the stable, entered the 
 t vern. 
 
 To his demand, whether any one had asked for him, the 
 landlord respectfully replied that a gentleman giving his 
 name as Tag, had done so. 
 
 Where was he ? 
 
 In the room which his honor had directed him to be 
 shown to No. 6, second floor. 
 
 And preceded by a servant, Lindon quickly ascended. 
 
 He was met upon the threshold of tlie room by no less a 
 parsonage than Mr. Tag, unsuccessful candidate for tb 
 commissariat.
 
 MISS iJONNYBEL. 459 
 
 The door closed behind them, and remained closed for an 
 hour. 
 
 Then it opened, and Lindon gave orders to have dinner 
 served to him and his companion, cautioning the servant to 
 hnve " plenty of wine." 
 
 The servant bowed respectfully, and hastened to obey, 
 bringing, when he came again, half a dozen bottles of mine 
 host's best Rhenish. 
 
 The dinner went in and came out ; and still the two men 
 remained shut up together. 
 
 They remained thus until three o'clock in the afternoon, 
 when they issued forth and descended. 
 
 A second horse came to the door in accordance with 
 Linden's orders, and he and Mr. Tag got into the saddle, 
 setting forward immediately toward Burwell's ferry on the 
 James. 
 
 As they proceeded through the streets of the town, they 
 perceived that the whole place was in commotion. 
 
 Groups of men assembled at the corners, were discussing 
 with excited voices and gestures, something which seemed 
 to have profoundly aroused the popular mind. 
 
 As the two men pushed onward, and approached the em 
 bouchure of Palace street, this agitation grew greater and 
 greater the crowds still more numerous and the groups 
 were gathered more closely around those stump-speakers, 
 who give utterance at all times to the general sentiment, 
 rising like bubbles on the waves of commotion. 
 
 From the groups thus gathered around the excited speak 
 ers, hoai'se murmurs rose from time to time, and even 
 shouts were heard when some sentiment peculiarly accepta 
 ble was uttered, or some lengthened or fiery period brought 
 to a defiant close. 
 
 " What the devil are these canaille talking about ?" said 
 Lindon disdainfully to his companion ; " let us listen." 
 
 " Let us listen, sir." 
 
 They soon discovered. From his lofty position in tbe 
 saddle, Lindon looked down upon the excited figures of the
 
 460 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 speakers, swaying to and fro in the gusts of oratory ; anl 
 distinctly heard the words which they uttered. 
 
 The popular commotion was excited by a report just 
 disseminated, that Captain Collins, by the orders of hia 
 Excellency, Lord Dunmore, was marching at the head of a 
 company of his marines, to take vengeance on the city of 
 Williamsburg for the late outrages; intending to reduce 
 that city to ashes. 
 
 This was the sudden rumor which had drawn the popu 
 lation from their houses into the streets; and the sudden 
 nature of this sally, at a moment's notice, sufficiently proved 
 that the general feeling was as fiery as ever, and that every 
 one looked forward to critical events, and was prepared for 
 the issue. The specious words of his Excellency had not 
 deceived a single individual ; and Williarasburg had never 
 been so thoroughly on its guard, as it was when the pow 
 der affair was arranged. 
 
 It now rose en masse, as we have seen, at a word, and all 
 classes from the members of the House of Burgesses, 
 which assembled on the day before, to the humblest citizen 
 of the town all was violent coin motion and expectation. 
 
 More than one sinister glance was directed toward Lin- 
 don as he proceeded, for he was recognized as lieutenant of 
 the Governor's guard. But no violence was offered him, 
 nd he was allowed to proceed quietly. 
 
 " Fools !" he muttered ; " you are as fearful as children ! 
 You make bugbears and tremble at them ! With a single 
 company I 'd crush out your sedition, and teach you your 
 duty to the government 1" 
 
 In spite, however, of this lofty tone, Lindon hastened the 
 speed of his horse, and arriving thus, followed by Tag, at 
 the outskirts of the town, betrayed visible satisfaction at tho 
 event. 
 
 He looked back at the crowd which seemed gradually 
 diminishing, and then turning his head in front again, en 
 countered the gaze of a horseman coming into, as Lo waa 
 leaving, Williamsburg.
 
 MISS BONNYBEI,. 461 
 
 As he and the horseman exchanged low and ceremonious 
 salutes, a cold and sinister smile for a moment illuminated 
 Lindon's countenance ; and this smilo became one of tri 
 umph as the horseman passed on and disappeared. 
 
 That horseman was Mr St. John, who, having bid adieu 
 to his friend, Tom Alstou, now came to make his prepa 
 rations to leave Virginia, as he had said, " never to return.' 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVI. 
 
 THE TWO LETTEB8. 
 
 BONNYBEL had rightly supposed that nothing but the 
 sickness of Mr. Alston had detained Mr. St. John in Vir 
 ginia. That sickness having now yielded, he rapidly made 
 every preparation, and paid his adieus to the places, the 
 things, the personages of his youth. 
 
 She had chanced to meet him as he bade farewell to the 
 tombs of his mother and his father- that was the last and 
 saddest of all. From that moment his heart was dissevered 
 from the soil, and he no longer thought of any thing but 
 another land where he might forget his sufferings and hia 
 misfortunes. 
 
 It was on Friday, the second day of June, when the 
 young man entered Williamsburg, and on the morning of 
 Monday, the fifth, he was informed by a message from Cap 
 tain Fellowes of the " Charming Sally," that at twilight the 
 brig would sail for Europe. 
 
 He hastened to make the final preparations for his long 
 journey, and as this was to be his last sight of Virginia, he 
 sought all his friends to say farewell. 
 
 The stranger wa? absent, and he sought him in vain at 
 the well-remeniberiid place; with a sigh, he gave up the- 
 search and retired. 
 
 As he went toward the Raleigh, where his horse va.
 
 402 MISS BONNYBKL. 
 
 waiting, he met Captain Waters, who was strolling along 
 humming a song. 
 
 When he announced his intention of departing, the 
 worthy captain stood aghast, and then he plied every pos 
 sible argument to induce him to change his resolution. 
 
 We need scarcely say that these arguments were in vain, 
 and at the end of an hour the captain found *hat he had 
 simply expended so much breath in vain. 
 
 " Well," he said, " never have I seen such a perfect block] 
 Mark me, friend, you '11 regret this proceeding ! It is the 
 maddest thing, morbleu ! which I ever heard of 1" 
 
 "I know you think so." 
 
 " Parbleu ! I do think so ; but as you are determined, I 
 have no more to say." 
 
 " I know I have your good wishes, my dear friend, and I 
 believe you sincerely regret our parting. But believe me, 
 t is necessary for me to go. When I shall return I know 
 not." 
 
 " Basta 1" cried the captain, knitting his brows, " that 'a 
 the very thing ! If you were coming back soon 't would 
 Ve quite another thing, but I doubt if you '11 ever return !" 
 
 "And I too, my dear captain, most seriously. Well, well, 
 I must go. You would not ask me to stay if you knew 
 why I go. Tell your brother, whose relationship to you, 
 strangely enough, never occurred to me until lately tell 
 Mr. Charles Waters good bye for me." 
 
 " There it is ! you take this moment when he 's away. 
 He '11 be furious !" 
 
 And the captain frowned to hide his emotion. 
 
 " I would willingly defer my departure to see him," said 
 St. John, sadly, " but I have staid longer now than I intend 
 ed owing to Tom Alston's sickness. The ' Charming Sally' 
 sails at twilight with the wind." 
 
 " The ' Charming Sally ? 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You go in her ?" 
 
 " This evening.'*
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 468 
 
 * Captain Fellowes ?" 
 
 " Yes, that is the captain's name. What are you thinking 
 of?" 
 
 The captain's brows drooped, and a sigh shook lus 
 breast. 
 
 " I was thinking of old times, mon ami, and of other 
 faces. Pardon me, 't is a bad habit, and, morbleu I I must 
 break myself thereof. But again she rose before me as I 
 heard that name the old days all rushed back I saw 
 her, Beatrice, one whom you never knew, whom I loved ! 
 There ! there ! my mind wanders to another epoch. Let 
 us dismiss the subject." 
 
 St. John inclined his head. 
 
 " Yonder is Jack Hamilton," he said, gazing sadly at the 
 approaching figure, " I will bid him farewell again ; a long 
 farewell, for I shall never return." 
 
 And the young man smiled, but so sorrowfully that a 
 moisture came to the soldier's brilliant eye. 
 
 " Venire Sainte Gfris /" cried the captain, dashing his hand 
 across his eyes ; " do you know, comrade, you make me cry 
 like a baby with your sad way of talking ? Something 's 
 wrong with me or I never would feel thus." 
 
 " Something 's right with you, friend," said St. John, 
 again smiling, as he looked at the honest soldier; "'tig 
 your heart 1" 
 
 And leading Tallyho by the bridle, he went to meet Jack 
 Hamilton, whose face at sight of St. John clouded over, and 
 lengthened deplorably. 
 
 To all the protestations and persuasive arguments of his 
 friends the young man made brief replies. He must go ; 
 all was ended. 
 
 " Could any thing induce me to continue in Virginia," 
 he said, " 't would be the true hearts of men like you faces 
 I would not go away from but for an inexorable destiny 
 which drives me. You will think of me sometimes, though, 
 will you not?" he said, holding a hand of each. "Under 
 other stars I will think of you," and pressing the hands oi
 
 464 MISS BONNYBET,. 
 
 the two men, who looked at him with drooping "heads, 'ibe 
 young man made a movement to get into the saddle. 
 
 At the same moment he heard his name uttered by the 
 voice of a child, and, turning around, found himself accosted 
 by Blossom. 
 
 The child was almost breathless with the haste she had 
 used to reach him, and her bosom labored heavily for a mo 
 ment. Then, regaining her breath, she said, looking at Mr. 
 St. John with deep affection, 
 
 " You will not leave us, will you, sir ?" 
 
 " I must, my child ; I am glad I have met you. Take 
 my love and this kiss," he added, stooping and pressing his 
 lips to those of the child, " and pray for me." 
 
 The tears rushed to Blossom's eyes, and she clung to hia 
 hand obstinately. 
 
 " Oh, do not go !" she said, sobbing, " please do not go, 
 sirl" 
 
 " I must, my dear. 'T is written, as the Orientals say. 
 Farewell ! 
 
 Blossom seemed to be too much overcome to speak, but, 
 seeming suddenly to remember something, put her hand 
 into her pocket and took therefrom a letter. 
 
 " Papa told me to give you this or make Uncle Ralph 
 give it to you," she said, blinded with tears ; then, bursting 
 into sobs again, she cried, " Oh, do not go away 1 please do 
 not go away ! Papa said you were going away never to 
 come back. Oh ! please do not go !" 
 
 The young man smiled sadly, but shook his head. His 
 eye fell carelessly upon the letter, which seemed to be 
 double, and he tore it open. It was, in truth, two letters. 
 The first was in the hand-writing of the stranger, and con 
 tained these words : 
 
 "I have looked everywhere to find you, friend, having, 
 by a strange chance, received what I know is of importance 
 to you. 'T is a letter which, with this, I entrust to my 
 child, having an instant call away ; my foot is in the stirrup. 
 'T will reach you in time, however, I do not doubt, for
 
 m 
 
 Blossom has the unerring instinct of affection, to which 1 
 trust. 
 
 " You might remember that one night when you visited 
 me I opened my drawer, while you were speaking, and 
 drew forth a letter which I looked at with what probably 
 seemed to you discourtesy. That letter was, however, about 
 yourself, and others have reached me of the same tenor. 
 I have not spoken with you about these affairs, but I am 
 convinced, that, in the matter of your suffering, you are the 
 victim of some diabolical conspiracy and fraud. 
 
 " To the point now. I was traveling yesterday in Isle of 
 Wight county, post haste, when, just as I passed the resi 
 dence of the man Lindon, lieutenant of the guards, I was 
 accosted by a servant girl who delivered me the enclosed 
 letter, saying that her mistress bade her bring it me. On 
 a slip of paper was written, in a woman's hand, ' If you are 
 a friend of justice and right bear this to Mr. Henry St. 
 John, of Prince George county.' I took the letter, brought 
 it hither, and searched everywhere for you. I think it con 
 tains what most nearly concerns you, and, in giving it to 
 Blossom, I do best. You must, necessarily, visit Williams- 
 burg for preparations before your departure, if you depart, 
 and she or my brother Ralph will deliver it. 
 
 " I know not what the letter contains, but a presentiment 
 a sentiment I can not explain, bids me say to you, do not 
 leave Virginia till you see the woman who wrote that letter. 
 
 " I can add no more, friend. My horse neighs, and the 
 cause calls me. Every moment now is a century. Farewell 
 
 " C. W." 
 
 Mr. St. John finished the letter, and, looking from Blos 
 som to Captain Waters, and from the soldier to Hamilton, 
 with blank, wondering eyes, seemed for a time speechless 
 with astonishment at the contents of the stranger's letter. 
 
 Then, letting the paper fall, he turned over the other let 
 ter, which was securely sealed and directed to " Mr. Henry 
 St. John, Prince George county." 
 
 Mechanically, without looking at it intelligently, as it
 
 466 MTSS BONNTBET,. 
 
 were, he opened it aiid held it for some moments in hw 
 hand without reading it. Then his eyes fell upon the 
 sheet 
 
 No sooner had he read the first few lines, however, than 
 a fiery flush blazed on his cheeks, his hands grasped the let 
 ter so violently as almost to tear it asunder, and with his 
 distended eyes glued to the paper he ran over its contents 
 rapidly, and ending it, almost gasped for breath. 
 
 A deadly paleness invaded his countenance, a tremor ran 
 through his frame, and holding out the paper, he tried to 
 say to Waters and Hamilton, *' Read !" His dumb lips did 
 not utter a sound, however, and he stood thus like a statue 
 of marble. 
 
 Waters caught the letter and ran hastily over it. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVII. 
 
 THE UNBAVELINQ OF THE MESH. 
 
 THE letter was evidently written by a woman, and ran aa 
 follows : 
 
 " ME. ST. Jomr, 
 
 " The words which you are about to read come from 
 one who has been guilty of deception, treachery, forgery 
 and robbery, and therefore at first you may not give credit 
 to my statements. Before I have finished what I design 
 writing, however, you will give implicit credence to what 
 I say. 
 
 "I write this at Agincourt, the house of your enemy 
 and rival, Lindon, and I do so at the peril of my life. I 
 think I can bribe the servant who waits on me, however, 
 and whom her master has sold, and I shall run the risk. 
 The interview which I have just had with this man, and 
 his outrageous treatment, have made me resolve to hazard
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 46? 
 
 every thing, and I do not conceal the fact that my motive 
 in addressing you is wholly to take my revenge on him. 
 
 " The hours are long here, sir, and I have much time on 
 nay hands. I shall employ this leisure in revealing to you 
 the conspiracy which has made your life miserable, and yet 
 been of no benefit either to the one who conceived it or to 
 his tool myself. 
 
 " Listen, sir. I was born in Italy, and my parents having 
 removed to England, I was there brought up and well edu 
 cated. Then they came to Virginia, and within a year af 
 ter our arrival both my parents died, and I was thrown upon 
 the world without any fixed principles or regular employ 
 ment. I became finally a seamstress at Pate's shop in 
 Williamsburg, and here this man, Lindon, who had before 
 made nie unworthy proposals, came to seek me. He had 
 many conversations with me, and asked me if I had nerve 
 to undertake an enterprise requiring skill and secrecy ; if it 
 was done in accordance with his views and effected its ob 
 ject, he would pay me one thousand pounds. 
 
 " Follow me closely now, sir, in my narrative, and you 
 will see the steps by which your misery was effected. I had 
 always been avaricious and am now I would sell my soul 
 for money, and I do not conceal the fact. When Lindon 
 offered me the thousand pounds, I said I would do any and 
 every thing which he demanded. At first he made no dis 
 tinct promise, and it was only one night at the Indian Camp, 
 where I accompanied him disguised as a man, that he di 
 rectly offered me the large sum. 
 
 " Now, would you like to know Mr. Linden's project ? 
 He was in love with, or at least wished to marry, Miss Vane, 
 and you were his rival. He thought that if you were re 
 moved, or what amounted to the same thing, the girl's mind 
 poisoned against you, she would fall an easy pre} to his as 
 siduity or his wiles. My part was to go to Vanely and thus 
 poison the young lady's heart against you. Of course you 
 will hate and wish to strike me, perhaps kill me, after what 
 follows, but that is nothing. You had much better strike
 
 468 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 Lin don. Well, 1 at ouce set about my tcheme. One d.ay 
 the ladies came into the shop and I offered to work for them. 
 It is not often that seamstresses will go into the country, 
 and they readily accepted my offer. I remember seeing 
 you gazing from your window at the girl in a window of 
 Mr. Burwell's house on the night before I left town with 
 them in the chariot, and I half relented. But the sum of 
 money decided me. 
 
 " I went to Vanely and commenced my part almost im 
 mediately, but your duel and what followed it came too 
 soon. I waited. At last you went to Williamsburg to see 
 to the repairs of your house, and then I had a fair field, 
 Lindon had supplied me with some of your writing, and I 
 forged letters from you to the girl letters which gradually 
 grew lukewarm, then cool, then short and stiff. I inter 
 cepted every one which you really wrote to her. Her let 
 ters to yourself I suppressed, and this I easily effected, as I 
 carried the letter bag always to the servant and received 
 it from him. 
 
 " You came to see the young lady several times. On the 
 first occasion she treated you coolly; I watched through the 
 door. On the second, I had so poisoned her mind, that she 
 would scarcely look at you ; and, on this second visit, I 
 secured what I had often coveted, your signet ring. I 
 entered your apartment two hours after midnight, and stole 
 the signet from the toilet table. Then mastered by curiosi 
 ty to see how a man slept when his heart was breaking, I 
 approached your bed. You awoke, sprung up, and I had 
 just time to escape. You probably supposed that it was a 
 dream ; it was myself, sir. 
 
 " Well, having secured your signet, I had no longer any 
 fears. My proficiency in imitating hand-writing, which I 
 had learned at a common school in England, enabled me to 
 forge letters from you ; and the stamp of your motto on the 
 seal placed these letters beyond all doubt. I shaped the 
 contents of these letters so as to indicate a gradual change 
 of feeling on vour part. At first, lukewarm us I said, then
 
 MISS LON:;YDKL. 409 
 
 cool, then jesting and careless, then indifferent. I plnc< 1 
 one after another in the mail bag and under the forgeries. 
 I saw the young lady tremble and shrink, and her peace of 
 mind pass away, yielding to anger and despair until when 
 you came, she refused to see you. I could have killed my 
 self for my treachery, for she is as good as she is beautiful ; 
 but the accursed money controlled and mastered me. 
 
 " At last the end came. You wrote a letter which I well 
 recollect, for it bore the marks of the delirium which soon 
 attacked you. It commenced with the words, ' Is it wrong 
 for me to write to you?' and was written immediately afttr 
 that third and last visit, upon which occasion she refused to 
 see you, and you left abruptly. 
 
 " This letter very nearly reached her, for she seemed, by 
 a strange instinct, to suspect something, and now went forth 
 herself to meet the servant who brought the letters from the 
 office. On this evening I accompanied her, although she 
 tried to repulse me; and before she could take the bag, I 
 had it in my own hand. I slipped your letter up my sleeve, 
 and presented to her the one which I had forged and held 
 ready, the post-mark and every thing down to the rumpling 
 of the edges, being perfectly feigned. In that letter I made 
 you declare that you had been too hasty, and would think 
 more serionsly before you undertook to marry ; and I saw 
 her tremble and turn pale as she read it. 
 
 " It was my reply which you read. She wrote none 
 pride succeeded agony, and she permitted her heart to break 
 in silence without speaking. I wrote the answer, in which 
 I declared, in the character of the young lady, that your 
 letter was 'strange;' that the alterations in your manor 
 house concerned only yourself; and ended, by breaking off 
 the engagement. I next heard that you were sick she 
 visited you in your sleep and then you went away, and all 
 was over. I had accomplished my object I had played my 
 part and I had even done U so adroitly, that she felt an 
 honorable scruple against uttering a word to the family. 
 Her sister endeavored in vain to extort from her any thing
 
 470 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 contained in my letters, and I doubt if to tnis TL Dment she 
 has told any thing. Her pure and noble nature was true to 
 itself through all ; and though her heart was broken, she 
 did not speak. I had thus conquered by fraud, treachery, 
 and robbery, a young girl's heart conquered, by appealing 
 to that immense weakness of woman, pride and I went to 
 my master, after your departure, and asked for my reward. 
 
 " What do you suppose, sir, was his reply ? He denied 
 that he had ever made any such arrangement with me ; and 
 when I threatened, in my wrath and disappointment, to ex 
 pose his part in the matter, he took advantage of his power 
 and made me a close prisoner here, in his house of Agin- 
 court. Here I have remained since the month of October 
 last, the prisoner of this man, who either watches over me 
 himself, or employs a brutal jailor, who has twice struck me, 
 as if I were a slave or a mad woman. 
 
 " Well, sir, I have now informed you of the means which 
 I used to destroy your happiness, and I have shown you 
 that my treachery resulted in no gain. I am about to make 
 some amends for my crime by informing you of a scheme 
 which intimately concerns your peace of mind. Lindon 
 came hither to my apartment yesterday, and, in a spirit of 
 bravado, laid before me, at length, a design which he will 
 surely accomplish. 
 
 " It is his intention to waylay Miss Vane, who is now 
 upon a visit to Mr. Burwell's, in this county, and who de 
 signs soon to return. His intention, I say, is to waylay her 
 carriage, and bring her here to this place by force. Once 
 here, a hedge parson, named Tag, is to marry her to Lin 
 don, and the whole scheme will be complete. 
 
 " I write these lines, as I said, that, through your instru 
 mentality, I may have revenge upon this man. I hate him 
 with a deadly hatred, and, if I have my revenge, you may 
 do any thing you please with me. I care not. 
 
 " LUCREZIA CARNE. 
 
 " P. S. Since writing the above, Lindon has come again., 
 He designs to accomplish his object upon Monday, the 5tl)
 
 MISS BONNTBEL. 47\ 
 
 of June, when, he has learned, Miss Vane sets out on her 
 return." 
 
 These were the words which made St. John turn pale and 
 crimson, and his eyes blaze as with lightning. 
 
 Captain Waters had scarcely read five lines before St. 
 John seized the letter and pointed hoarsely to the last para 
 graph, then to the' postscript. 
 
 " To-day is the fifth of June !" cried the young man, as 
 Waters and Hamilton looked at the letter with wondering 
 eyes, " and it is past noon already !" 
 
 Captain Waters, without a word, pointed to the young 
 man's horse, and then hastened into the Raleigh for his 
 own. Hamilton followed him. 
 
 In fifteen minutes the three men left Williamsburg at a 
 furious gallop, and, on fire with excitement, struck the spurs 
 into their horses and took the open highway to the south. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIII. 
 
 PIKE AN D STORM. 
 
 THEY rapidly crossed the river, plunged into the forest, 
 and fled straight across the country in the direction of the 
 point which they wished to reach. 
 
 St. John was well acquainted with the district, and chose, 
 with unerring precision, the shortest roads. 
 
 Leaning forward in his saddle, the young man seemed 
 to be devoured by a terrible passion, and, at every bound, 
 he struck his horse furiously with the spur, and shouted 
 hoarsely to him, as though he were a human being. 
 
 Tallyho responded nobly to his master's will, and the man 
 and the animal fled onward like a single body. 
 
 The captain and Hamilton were at St. John's side. Kid- 
 ing Selim, that noble Arabian who, in old days, had dis
 
 472 MISS BO> 7 NYBEL. 
 
 tanced the best steeds of Virginia, and whose speed age had 
 not diminished, leaning over, as did St. John, and impelled 
 by the same passion which drove his friend on like a tem 
 pest, the worthy soldier kept pace with the most furious 
 rush of his companion, and strained his eyes forward into 
 the distance. 
 
 " We '11 kill our horses, if necessary," said the young man, 
 hoarsely, " but we '11 arrive !" 
 
 " We '11 arrive !" repeated the soldier and Hamilton, and 
 they plunged their spurs into their animals. 
 
 The three horses ran neck and neck, and, passing now 
 like shadows over the soft, sandy road, they resembled 
 phantoms intent upon some weird enterprise of darkness. 
 
 It was not long before actual darkness came to add veri 
 similitude to the idea. The west, which had been clear an 
 hour before, now filled with black clouds, and, from these 
 clouds, piled up in huge ebon masses, fringed by the crimson 
 of sunset, flashes of lightning began to gleam, illuminating 
 the whole heavens with their lurid splendor. 
 
 One of those brief but terrible storms which visit Vir 
 ginia at this season, was lowering, and the mutter of thun 
 der, every moment growing louder, showed that the tempest 
 was near at hand. 
 
 The cavaliers still pushed on at headlong speed, without 
 uttering a word. The hot mouths of the horses were nearly 
 touching, the clouds of foam, from their burning nostrils, 
 mingled and fled away in the gathering darkness. 
 
 " If they are married when we arrive, I '11 make the new 
 wife a widow !" cried the young man, through his clenched 
 teeth, in a voice hoarse with passion. " I '11 plunge my 
 sword into his heart, as I would into a dog's." 
 
 "And I!" added Hamilton. 
 
 " Good !" said the captain. 
 
 " Faster ! faster !" howled the young man ; " every in 
 stant is a lifetime !" 
 
 And he plunged his spur anew in " Tallyho," who leaped 
 tea feet and quivered.
 
 MISS "SONNY BEL. 473 
 
 Hamilton and the captain were at the side of their friend 
 till. 
 
 "How far?" said Hamilton. 
 
 " Five miles only ! Come I" 
 
 As the young man spoke, a dazzling flash darted from the 
 black clouds, and a roar of thunder, like the discharge of a 
 battery, shook the forest. 
 
 The startled animals snorted, and fled on beneath the 
 overshadowing boughs of the forest more rapidly. 
 
 For a quarter of an hour no word was spoken, no sound 
 was heard, but the rumbling of thunder, and the rapid hoof- 
 strokes of the horses. 
 
 Suddenly they issued forth into the open country, and St. 
 John stretched out his hand and said, hoarsely, 
 
 " There is the house ! 
 
 " Where ?" said the captain. 
 
 " There, rising over the woods ! Faster !" 
 
 And the young man struck his horse, with his clenched 
 hand, on the neck. 
 
 The captain looked in the direction indicated, and saw a 
 large edifice, embowered in foliage, and gilded now by the 
 lurid rays of the bloody sun flashing from beneath the 
 thunder cloud as it sunk from sight. 
 
 " Is that Lindon's ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes ! how 's your horse ?" 
 
 " Quite fresh yet !" 
 
 " And mine 's nearly dead, but that 's nothing." 
 
 They fled on. 
 
 The storm, which had been long gathering, now seemed 
 about to burst. Vivid flashes of lightning succeeding each 
 other with rapidity, illuminated the darkness, and the very 
 earth seemed shaken by the warring tl under, which crashed 
 down like the rush of an ocean. 
 
 The frightened horses rather flew than ran, and their 
 coats, bathed in sweat and foam, showed the immense ex 
 ertion they had undergone. 
 
 Another woods wtis passed through, and just as darkness
 
 474 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 and storm descended, the three men drew up before th 
 edifice. 
 
 A vivid blaze of lightning struck the great elm at the 
 door as they checked their foaming horses, and splintered it 
 from top to bottom. 
 
 At the same moment a blinding torrent of rain descended, 
 and the three men threw themselves from the saddle and 
 rushed forward. 
 
 In another moment they stood in the great hall of the 
 house, and their eyes penetrated into the large apartment. 
 
 Had not the captain laid a violent hand on the shoulder 
 of St. John, the young man would have burst into the room. 
 
 The sight was enough to arouse him. 
 
 With his back to the door, Lindon stood with one arm 
 round Bonnybel, who seemed nearly fainting in front of 
 the couple, Tag, the miserable hedge-priest, with an open 
 prayer book in his hand, was reading the marriage serv 
 ice. 
 
 Two rough-looking men stood by as witnesses, and in a 
 corner, bowed down upon a chair, old Cato, the Yanely 
 coachman, was ringing his hands and crying like a child. 
 
 Suddenly the words resounded, " If any man can show 
 just cause why this couple may not lawfully be joined to 
 gether, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold 
 his peace." 
 
 A scream from the girl, so piercing and full of anguish 
 that it rose above the very roar of the storm, sent a shudder 
 through the frames of the auditors without, two of whom 
 held back the third, whose eyes glared like a madman's as 
 he looked. 
 
 "O, no! no!" cried the girl, struggling to disengage 
 herself from Lindon's arm ; " he brought me here by force ! 
 I was seized and dragged here ! I will die before I become 
 liis wife I" 
 
 The girl had scarcely uttered these words, and still 
 writhed to get free, when St. John broke from his com 
 panions and tlire'v himself, like .1 wild beast, upon Lindon
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 4YI 
 
 So tremendous was the blind passion of the young man, 
 that, great as was the strength and bulk of his adversary, 
 he was hurled to the ground like a child St. John falling 
 with his enemy, locked in a mortal embrace. 
 
 At the same instant the captain and his companion rushed 
 with drawn swords upon the accomplices, who, uttering 
 cries, retreated before them hastily and disappeared in the 
 darkness. 
 
 St. John's struggle with Lindon was not protracted. The 
 infuriated man caught a pistol from his belt, and placing the 
 muzzle on his enemy's breast, drew the trigger. The mur 
 derous weapon hung fire, and a blow on the head, from the 
 sword hilt of St. John, made him relax his grasp, and fall 
 back stunned and senseless. 
 
 St. John rose to his feet, pale and bleeding from a wound 
 in his temple, and seeing the girl totter, at the moment, to 
 ward a chair, he placed his arm round her, and prevented 
 her from falling. 
 
 She clung to him in an agony of terror, with the wild 
 agitation of a child who flies to a protector, and at the con 
 tact of those arms, at that face again laid near his own, the 
 young man felt a thrill of bitter delight run through his 
 frame. 
 
 " 0, take me away !" she sobbed ; " take me from this 
 dreadful place ! O, I shall die if I stay here longer !" 
 
 " That is true," said a low voice ; " truer than you think. 
 The house is on fire !" 
 
 And Miss Carne, standing on the threshold of the apart 
 ment, pointed with her finger to the adjoining room. As 
 she did so, a sudden gust of smoke and flame invaded the 
 one which they occupied. 
 
 " In five minutes escape will be cut off!" cried the pale 
 woman, and she disappeared in the hah 1 . 
 
 St. John raised the girl in his arms like a child, and just 
 as the flame rushed roaring upon them, bore her forth into 
 the storm, the whole broadside of the edifice bursting intc 
 flame.
 
 476 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 " T is a horrille death " cried Hamilton ; " he's senseless 
 and M 
 
 "Look!" shouted Waters, "the dog 's come to his wits !" 
 
 In truth, Lindon seemed to have recovered completely, 
 for in the midst of the brilliant space, upon which torrents 
 of rain descended, lit by lightning flashes, he appeared sud 
 denly, pale, furious and despairing. 
 
 Looking around him with the air of one who is demented, 
 he shook his clenched hand at his enemies, uttered a horrible 
 oath, grasped at his belt, where no sword hung, and leaping 
 upon one of the horses, disappeared at headlong speed, like 
 a fury, in the darkness. 
 
 The wild vision had scarcely vanished in the forest when 
 another spectacle attracted the attention of the shuddering 
 group. 
 
 It was a woman at one of the loftiest windows who half 
 threw herself out, driven, it seemed, by the scorching flame. 
 The cry which she uttered was awful in the intensity of its 
 terror. Suddenly, however, she disappeared, and returned 
 with a cord which she affixed rapidly to the sill. Then, 
 holding between her teeth a casket, she swung by this cord 
 safely to the top of the great portico, slid with incredible 
 agility along the moulding, and fell to the ground, from 
 which she rose and disappeared like Lindon in the storm. 
 
 It was Miss Carne, who had broken open the coffers of 
 her enemy .and escaped. 
 
 As she disappeared, the whole house became one great 
 mass of hissing and crackling flame, and this flame roared 
 for hours without cessation, wall after wall falling with a 
 crash until the ruin was complete. 
 
 Bonnybel had long before been assisted into the Vanely 
 chariot, which old Cato got ready with nervous haste. Es 
 corted by the three gentlemen it was now proceeding rap. 
 idly toward Prince George through the last mutterings of 
 the storm. 
 
 Faint and weak, scarcely realizing that the scene through 
 which she had just passed was not some hideous dream, the
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 477 
 
 joung lady ttlt herself borne along, hour aftr hoai, until, 
 at last, she saw the welcome walls of Vanely, which began 
 to loom out indistinctly in the first gray glimmer of dawn. 
 
 The gentlemen who escorted her resembled dusky shad 
 ows as they assisted her from the chariot. She felt a letter 
 placed in her hand, heard some murmured words, and then 
 one shadow only remained at her side. 
 
 Captain Waters and St. John set out at once for Wil- 
 liamsburg in pursuit of Lindon, who had bent his steps 
 thither. 
 
 " Time enough afterward for explanations," said St. John, 
 as they departed at full gallop ; " come, captain, and see me 
 excute my private vengeance 1" 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIX. 
 
 THB END OP THE DRAMA. 
 
 THE speed of their horses was so great that the two men 
 entered Williamsburg as the sun was rising. 
 
 The leagues seemed to have fled from beneath the feet of 
 the animals the gray, glimmering landscape had flitted by 
 like a dream. 
 
 As they rushed onward toward the town which gleamed 
 before them now, they heard a measured and yet confused 
 noise, at times rising to a roar almost. Something impor 
 tant was evidently taking place. 
 
 The hoofs of the horses clashed on the stones ; the riders 
 leaned forward in the saddle to see what was going on. In 
 an instant they were in the midst of a shouting and tumult 
 uous crowd. 
 
 The capital seemed convulsed. 
 
 The crowd which had thronged the streets three or four 
 days before seemed nothing in comparison with the fiery
 
 476 MI8S BONNYBKL. 
 
 multitude which now surged to and fro from the colleg* to 
 the capitol from the palace of the governor to the old 
 magazine. This last was the center from which radiated 
 the shouts and cries the heart from which the hot blood 
 flowed. 
 
 The whole population seemed driven to fury. The two 
 men heard that hoarse and somber roar which accompanies 
 the movements of an enraged multitude, as it does the toss 
 ing of the sea when lashed by tempests. 
 
 At one spot, before the old magazine, the excitement 
 seemed to culminate. Here the huge waves of the crowd 
 rolled to and fro, surrounding, with their tumult and uproar, 
 the form of a man who succeeded in standing erect only by 
 leaning on the shoulders of two others. 
 
 This person was pale and bleeding from a wound in the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Mbrbleu ! something strange has happened I" muttered 
 the captain ; "let us find out," and he addressed his question 
 to one of the crowd. The information was soon obtained. 
 Dunmore had affixed concealed spring guns at the door of 
 the magazine, and the wounded man, in opening the door, 
 had received a full charge of slugs in his shoulder and 
 breast. 
 
 The face of the soldier flushed like fire, and his hoarse ex 
 clamation was added to those of the crowd, which every 
 moment seemed to lash itself to greater fury. 
 
 "Ah, well!" he growled, bringing round the hilt of his 
 sword ; "the moment comes at last ! we will fight, friend ! 
 Listen to that roar, like the growl of a lion at bay ! And 
 look yonder !" 
 
 St. John followed the pointed finger, and saw that the 
 Governor's guards, mounted and fully equipped, were drawn 
 up before the gate of the palace. Two loaded cannon were 
 directed point blank upon the furious multitude. 
 
 St. John pushed his horse through the agitated mass, and 
 riding up to the cannon, followed close by Waters, said t/v 
 on.9 of the men who recognized hinij
 
 M1S8 BONNYBEL. 4?t* 
 
 ' Where is your captain Mr. Lindon ?" 
 
 The man whom he addressed looked strangely at him, and 
 replied with the single word, 
 
 " Within." 
 
 " Come friend," cried St. John, throwing himself from his 
 horse, the bridle of which he hastily affixed to the wall ; 
 " let us enter 1 Our game is not here !" 
 
 " You are right !" growled the captain, dismounting 
 quickly ; " my game too is there it is Foy !" 
 
 And they hurried onward to the palace. It was in the 
 wildest confusion. The servants were hastening in every 
 direction with affrighted looks, and there was no one to an 
 nounce them. 
 
 St. John heard the voice of Dunmore, however, in the 
 great apartment which he knew so well ; and without cere 
 mony threw open the door. 
 
 As he did so, Captain Foy, who was rushing out, struck 
 against him . The secretary was armed to the teeth. A 
 heavy saber rattled against his horseman's boots, and hia 
 leather belt was stuck round with pistols. His somber 
 calmness had all disappeared. His dark eyes burned with 
 ferocious excitement, and a sort of audacious pride; his 
 cheek flushed with the thought of the coming contest. As 
 he rushed by toward the hostile crowd, he seemed filled 
 with the gaudium certaminis. 
 
 He scowled and then smiled with grim satisfaction, as he 
 recognized the two men ; and then in a martial and strident 
 voice, 
 
 " Come, Captain Waters 1" he said ; " the moment has 
 arrived. The pen yields to the sword as I promised you !" 
 
 A flush of joy rushed to the martial features of Waters, 
 aud leaving the side of his companion, he rushed after Foy. 
 
 " I will be with you in an instant !" said St. John. " I 
 have my own game too. In a moment or Lindon will es 
 cape !" 
 
 And as the two men disappeared, he hastily entered the 
 apartment of the Governor.
 
 40 MI8S BONNTBEL. 
 
 But ho recoiled from the threshold. 
 
 At the sight which greeted him, he turned pale and trem 
 bled ; a cold sweat burst from his forehead, looking around 
 as though seeking for some means of escape from the spec 
 tacle which riveted his staring, and horror-struck eyes. 
 
 Stretched on a sofa opposite the table of the Governor, 
 lay the dead body of Lindon, clearly relieved against the 
 red damask of the couch. 
 
 His haughty features were deadly pale his heavy brows 
 were knit into a frown of rage and despair his entire frill 
 and waistcoat were bathed in blood ; and looking again, the 
 young man saw that his bosom was completely torn to 
 pieces. 
 
 St. John recoiled in irresistible horror. As he did so, 
 Dunmore, who was surrounded by his crouching and terror- 
 stricken family, rose wrathfully to his feet. 
 
 ** So you come, like a vulture, to croak over death 1" he 
 cried, hoarse with passion and agitation ; " you scent the 
 carrion, and rush toward it 1" 
 
 The young man was speechless with horror and disgust 
 at the spectacle, and the words of Dunmore. He could not 
 speak. 
 
 " You do not answer 1 you pretend ignorance 1" cried the 
 Governor, looking at the dusty garments and horseman's 
 boots of St. John ; " you would say that the death of this 
 person was unknown to you ! Well, I '11 soon explain that, 
 sir ! I placed guns to defend the arms of his Majesty in 
 the magazine, from the rioters of this capital and province. 
 For what reason I know not, nor do I care, Mr. Lindon 
 went thither, and met with the accident that resulted in his 
 death ! I suppose you will say that it was all my fault 1 I 
 say it was his own. He deserted me, and met his reward." 
 
 St. John almost recoiled from the speaker, as he had done 
 from the dead body with a sentiment of awful horror and 
 disgust. Then his mind's eye, with a lightning-like glance, 
 saw Lindon again rushing, without his sicord, from the burn 
 ing house he imagined the unfortunate man flying to WU
 
 MISS BONNYEEL. 461 
 
 liamsburg he saw nim stop at the magazine, the key of 
 Which he carried, to procure a sword ; he heard the tre* 
 mendous explosion, and saw them bear the shattered and 
 bleeding body to the palace. 
 
 " Yes, he met with his proper reward 1" repeated Dun- 
 more, with wrathful agitation ; " you do not answer, sir. 
 Am I not to hear your highness' insults ?" 
 
 St. John had no time to reply. A roar, like that of a 
 great dyke giving way to the rush of waters, rolled in from 
 the street. The crowd had just discovered several barrels 
 of gunpowder, buried beneath the floor of the magazine, 
 with trains attached ; and this new enormity, in addition 
 to the rest, made their anger perfect fury. 
 
 As the menacing thunder reverberated, the ladies of the 
 Governor's family rose to their feet with irrepressible terror. 
 Trembling like aspens pale, fear-stricken, overwhelmed > 
 they looked toward the door, and awaited a repetition of 
 the sound. 
 
 Their panic was shared by the Governor. His courage 
 seemed to give way, his cheek grew pale, and turning to 
 ward the man whom he had just insulted, he faltered out, 
 
 " These people will tear us to pieces 1" 
 
 St. John looked away from the speaker with a curl of th 
 lip which he could not repress ; his gaze fell upon the ladies, 
 and he saw Lady Augusta, the friend of Blossom, gazing in 
 to his face, with so helpless and beseeching a glance, that 
 his heart melted in his breast. 
 
 " Fear nothing, madam," he said, replying in words to 
 the look, and bowing with grace and ceremonious courtesy ; 
 " the men of Virginia do not make war on women. I will 
 preserve you from insult with my life, if that is necessary." 
 
 And turning to the Governor, 
 
 " I place myself wholly at your Excellency orders," ha 
 said, u and I think that the ladies should leave the palace." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! and I, too, sir ! I, too, will go ! I will no 
 longer remain where my life is threatened !" 
 
 The oung man did not wait for more. He rushed through 
 
 r;
 
 482 MISS 
 
 the palace to the stables, with his drawn sword, compelled 
 the terrified servants to attach the horses to the chariot ; in 
 ten minutes it stood at the rear entrance of the palace. 
 
 The ladies were ready with a few hastily-gathered jewels 
 and articles of clothing, and quickly got in with the Gov 
 ernor. 
 
 Lady Augusta entered last, and St. John long remembered 
 the sweet look of gratitude which she bestowed upon him, 
 
 " Thanks, Mr. St. John," she said, hurriedly pressing his 
 hand ; " you are truly a gentleman. We may never meet 
 again, but I will always remember you !" 
 
 And, whether by design or accident, she dropped one of 
 her small gloves at his feet, which he raised and placed in 
 his bosom, ^ith a low bow of thanks and farewell. 
 
 The door closed the coachman, trembling with fear, 
 lashed his terrified horses ; they started at a gallop, and the 
 chariot disappeared at the moment when another roar shook 
 the palace. 
 
 St. John hastened to the great gateway saw a wild, ter 
 rible tumult was mounted, and spurring his animal into the 
 melee, before he knew it, almost, the guards of the Governoi 
 had charged the crowd. 
 
 The veins of the young man seemed to fill with fire in 
 stead of blood ; his eyes blazed with indignation as the 
 trampling troopers bore down on the unarmed mass; his 
 sword flashed in the sun, and digging the spur into the 
 quivering sides of his animal, he rushed upon Captain Foy, 
 who, raging like a wild beast at bay, led the guards in their 
 -charge. 
 
 But suddenly another adversary was opposed to Foy an 
 adversary who cried, as his horse reeled through the mass, 
 
 "Now for the Coup of Reinfels!" 
 
 Then St. John saw, raised above the heads of the crowd, 
 two men dash together with a noise like thunder two 
 swords gleamed aloft the combatants grappled, as it were, 
 for an instant, breast to breast, face to face, and then, as the 
 sudden blast of a trumpet, and the sound of galloping
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 483 
 
 fesounded from the other end of Gloucester street, the corn- 
 bat came to its termination. Captain Waters rose erect, with 
 his hat slashed in two, and the blood flowing from a slight 
 wound in his temple; Captain Foy dropped his saber, and 
 I inning deadly pale, fell forward on the neck of his horse. 
 His opponent's weapon had passed through his body. 
 
 The trumpet and galloping horses announced a companj- 
 from the county of James City, and they came on now witl' 
 shouts and cries ; the guards were seen to waver and fall 
 back. When it was known that their captain, Foy, was 
 disabled, they lost heart, and looked around in despair. 
 Then finally, as the horsemen swept on, they recoiled and 
 fled, with a last look toward the palace, from which they 
 seemed to have expected succor. The chariot of the Gov 
 ernor was seen ascending, at full gallop, a distant hill, and 
 in that direction they now directed their flight, pursued by 
 the victorious shouts of their enemies. 
 
 Foy glared at his adversary for an instant, like a wounded 
 wolf, with indescribable hatred and rage ; his dark eyes 
 burned like coals in his pallid face, and he gnashed his teetli 
 with a sort of helpless fury. Then turning his horse's head, 
 and shaking his clenched hand at his enemies, with a last 
 exertion of strength, he dug the spur into his horse and fled 
 reeling. His unconquerable spirit seemed to supply him 
 with strength to remain in the saddle. His black horse 
 darted onward on the heels of the rest the flying hoofs 
 resounded for some moments on the stones then, bearing 
 away his famt and reeling rider, the wild animal disappeared 
 from all eyes. 
 
 As Foy thus vanished, an immense roar of victory re- 
 sounded, and borne on by the tumultuous and shouting mul 
 titude, St. John found himself suddenly by the side of the 
 commander of the reinforcement. It was the stranger. 
 But no longer the stranger of the past, in his plain citi 
 zen's accoutrements the man of the pen. It was now the 
 man of the sword. His belt was filled with pistols, a long 
 broad -sword clashed against his heavy boots ; with his white
 
 484 MISS BONNYBKL, 
 
 and nervous hand, as supple and hard as steel, he reined ic 
 the fiery and plungiug animal which he rode with a grasp 
 of iron. 
 
 Bis pale face was slightly flushed, his lips compressed with 
 icy resolution, his dark, haunting eyes, blazed with a steady 
 flame. 
 
 As his horse and that of St. John came in Collision, the 
 young man found his hand enclosed in the vice-like grasp 
 of the stranger's. 
 
 " We meet again, friend," said the stranger, in his collect 
 ed voice, which sounded low and clearly in the midst of the 
 immense tumult ; " I told you that events were ripening 
 that the storm rushed on. We'll see now! it has come! 
 hear its thunder ! You will soon see its lightning !" 
 
 " Yes," replied St. John, gazing with absorbing interest 
 at the pale martial face, " yes ! the tongue and the pen are 
 about to yield to yield to the sword, as you said." 
 
 "They have yielded ! They disappear!" cried the stran 
 ger, with a glance of fiery joy and pride. " We have found 
 what we wanted the sword!" 
 
 " You have found it ? found the leader ?" 
 
 " Yes ! the man who will lead us to glory and victory ! 
 He is already elected general in chief of the armies of North 
 America 1" 
 
 "His name?" 
 
 " George Washington !" 
 
 As though in response to the utterance of the name, a 
 deafening cheer rose above the multitude, making the horses 
 start and rear. 
 
 The flag of St. George the banner of England which 
 had waved above the magazine, was seen to drop. Then, 
 obeying the strength of the hundred hands which caught 
 the ropes, it slowly descended, amid the shouts of the great 
 crowd. 
 
 In an instant it had disappeared. It was trampled be 
 neath the feet of the roaring muHitude, and torn into a 
 thousand shreds.
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 485 
 
 " Look, friend !" cried the stranger, with glowmg eyes, 
 u see the banner of England trodden down and torn to 
 pieces ! See the beginning of the end ! the advent of war 
 and revolution ! The hour has struck ! the day dawned ! 
 The old world has passed away behold all things from 
 henceforth become new !" 
 
 The triumphal roar of cannon seemed to reply to the 
 words the Revolution had indeed begun. 
 
 CHAPTER XC. 
 
 A SUMMER DAY AT "FLOWER OF HUNDREDS.* 1 
 
 WITH the scenes which have just been narrated our his 
 tory might very well end, but perhaps by so terminating 
 it, we should leave too much to the imagination of the 
 reader. 
 
 We shall therefore add a few words in relation to Mr. St. 
 John, the family at Vanely, and some other personages of 
 the history. 
 
 The stranger had not used the money which the young 
 man deposited in his hands " for the cause." He never for 
 a moment had any such intention, and soon after the de* 
 parture of St. John for the Indian wars, had entrusted tht 
 entire sum to Colonel Vane, with a statement of the circum 
 stances under which he had received it. 
 
 The old gentleman had been ignorant of the young man's 
 return to Williamsburg, Bonnybel having never spoken of 
 their meeting at the graveyard, and thus there had been 
 no communication between the two gentlemen. 
 
 Soon after the flight of Dunmore, however, and when St. 
 John went again to Vanely, and dissipated with a word 
 the long misunderstanding, the old gentleman returned the 
 twenty thousand pounds, and in the presence of the young 
 man, burned, smiling, the deed by which he had conveyed
 
 486 MISS BONNTML. 
 
 to Colonel Vane all his servants. One thing only remained 
 to be done to repurchase " Flower of Hundreds" from Mr 
 Smith, the factor and in this St. John did not experience 
 any difficulty. The worthy factor was quite content to re 
 ceive back the money, with interest, having found that resid 
 ing at " Flower of Hundreds" was neither in consonance 
 with his habits, which were those of a town-dweller, or his 
 interests, which made his presence necessary in Williams- 
 burg. The young man, therefore, found himself reinstated 
 in his fathily mansion the owner again of his patrimonial 
 acres, as though he had never left them, or parted with them. 
 
 We need scarcely say that the cloud which had obscured 
 his relations with Bonnybel had wholly disappeared. Per 
 haps they loved each other even more dearly than before 
 for the woful misunderstanding which had taken place. 
 There was now no obstacle to their union, and they were 
 accordingly married in the autumn of the same year. Two 
 other marriages took place on the same evening at Vanely. 
 Miss Seraphina gave her hand to the inconsolable widower, 
 Jack Hamilton, whose business at Vanely now lay with the 
 lady no longer with Colonel Vane. And Helen rewarded 
 the long and persevering suit of honest Tom Alston, whose 
 " shaking" had at last brought down the fruit. 
 
 On the same morning Mr. St. John had been invited to 
 the wedding of James Doubleday, Esq., who was about to 
 espouse the lady for whom he had only a " Platonic regard," 
 and we may add that there were present at Vanely, in the 
 party of Captain Waters and his wife, who possessed but a 
 single failing, two young people who, perhaps, looked for 
 ward to the day upon which they, also, would be married. 
 
 These young persons were Paul Effingham, Esq., son 
 and heir of Champ Effingham, Esq., of Effingham Hall, and 
 Miss Beatrice Waters, otherwise called Blossom, daughter 
 of Charles Waters, -Esq. 
 
 " The son of Champ and the daughter of Beatrice !" mur 
 mured the captain, as his shoulders drooped and his yef 
 grw dreamy ; " what a singular world I"
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 487 
 
 At the door, on a chair set for her, was Mammy Liza ; 
 and, when the ceremony was over, Bonnybel went to her 
 and put her arms around her neck and kissed her. It ia 
 the fashion in our country, gentle reader. 
 
 So the festival passed, with its joy, and merriment, and 
 uproar, and bright eyes, and smiles, and true love was re 
 warded. 
 
 St. John did not remain many days with his bride. He 
 again girt on his sword, exchanged his buckled shoes fo: 
 heavy horseman's boots, and went to join the troopp ~'&s& 
 were marching against Dunmore. He was present at the 
 battle of "Great Bridge," where the raw volunteers of Vir 
 ginia defeated the grenadiers of a crack English regiment, 
 at the burning of Norfolk, and at the terrible tragedy of 
 *' Gwynn's Island," from which, driven by General Andrew 
 Lewis, the victor at "Point Pleasant," and now arrayed 
 against him who had endeavored to betray him, Lord Dun- 
 more, abandoning his mercenaries and armed slaves, took 
 flight, leaving thus, happily for ever, the soil of the land 
 which he had tried to enslave. 
 
 St. John fought throughout the Revolution, and was 
 known to enjoy the confidence and warm personal regard 
 of the friend of Colonel Vane, the great leader of the armies 
 of America. He only visited his estates in Virginia occa 
 sionally ; but, after Yorktown, returned thither to go away 
 no more. The gun-burnt soldier hung up his sword on the 
 wall of " Flower of Hundreds," and sank back to the place 
 of a "Virginia planter. 
 
 Need we say that a beautiful face appeared at the door as 
 the aged " Tallyho" neighed joyfully at the great gate ? 
 that a form flitted, rather than ran, over the emerald grass, 
 and, in an instant, was weeping in the arms of the soldier ? 
 and soon his knees were clasped by two little urchins with 
 sunny curls, and a lovely child, fast r pening into beautiful 
 girlhood, threw her arms around his neck, and sobbed foi 
 joy upon his bosom. 
 St, John revered the familiar old hall in the midst of
 
 488 MISS BONNYBEL. 
 
 a joyful paean from a multitude of Africans with grinning 
 and delighted faces ; and then the old chariot from Vanely ' 
 was descried ascending the hill, the day of his return hav- 
 itg been announced in a letter. The honest old colonel 
 limped forth with grimaces and warmly pressed the hand 
 of the young man. Old Cato did the same with evident 
 satisfaction, and good Aunt Mahel placed her thin arrna 
 around him and gave him a kiss and her blessing. 
 
 They were happy in the cheerful old mansion, thus \+- 
 united, and we leave them as we found them smiling. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF THE MB. 
 
 So it ends, my simple old chronicle; my poor dim- 
 colored picture of the men and women, habitudes and cos 
 tumes of the days of the Revolution. 
 
 Twas an unknown land, and a forgotten generation which 
 I attemped to describe ; the terra incognita of old Virginia ; 
 the race of giants, looming now, as it were, through mists, 
 or the smoke of battle ; the race which played such a great 
 and noble part in the drama of those days which tried men's 
 souls. 
 
 I wished my pages to embody, if that were possible, 
 some of the secret influences which bore on great events 
 to paint the humble and unnoted source of the great stream 
 of revolution, ever increasing, and, at last, overthrowing 
 all which stood before it. To paint, too, the gallant youtha 
 and lovely maidens their gay love encounters, in the old, 
 old, days their sorrows and joys their sighs and their 
 laughter their whispering voices, heard still, as we read 
 the yellow old letters of the far away Past ! What is it 
 that comes up before the page as we read ? Is it a ghostly 
 daughter, a glimmer of bright eyes, a beautiful shadow of 
 tomething flitting and impalpable, as delicate as a reverie or
 
 MISS BONNYBEL. 48$ 
 
 dream ? I read trie dim words, and lay down the sheet, 
 and think, with smiles, of the gallant protestations of gal 
 lants long dead as dead as the maidens whom they toasted 
 long ago. Damon is gone this many a day, and Celinda 
 sleeps with the roses. The Philanders and Strephons, the 
 Mays and the Cynthias are " white as their smocks/' or 
 their ruffles and so cold 1 
 
 Whither have you flown, O maidens of a dead genera 
 tion ? There was a time when you smiled and sighed ? 
 when your frowns or your laughter plunged the gallants 
 into misery or exuberant delight. Will you come no more 
 back if we call to you, and sigh for you ? Will you still re 
 main silent and cold when we adjure you ? 
 
 Alas I yes. For you are the stars of another generation. 
 It is fourscore years since you shone in the skies you will 
 shine no more to the eyes of mortals. You have crumbled 
 to dust beneath emerald sward ; from your white maiden 
 breasts grow flowers. You played your merry parts be- 
 neath the old colonial skies, and then went away to heaven ; 
 and now we, your descendants, in another age, read of your 
 happy faces with such pensive smiles ponder so wistfuUy, 
 as we follow the old story the story which chronicles the 
 beauty and goodness of the dear, dead maidens of the Past ! 
 
 But I am dreaming. I look on the landscape from my 
 shady old porch, and only see the faces of Bonnybel and 
 her lover of Blossom, and Tom Alston, and Kate Effing- 
 ham. I linger still in the haunted domain of my memory, 
 or my fancy, if it please you. I press the warm hands, 
 hear the musical voices ; but they die away as I listen. The 
 colors all fade the laughter is hushed no more the gay 
 jest rings careless and free t is a company of ghosts which 
 I gaze at ; fading away into mist. 
 
 A glimmer a murmur they are gone 1
 
 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 " Last evening the Right Honorable the Countess of Dunmore, with 
 Lord Fincastle, the Honorable Alexander and John Murray, and the 
 Ladies Catherine, Augusta and Susan Murray, accompanied by Cap- 
 tain Foy and hia lady, arrived at the palace in this city, to the great 
 joy of his Excellency the Governor, and the inexpressible pleasure 
 and satisfaction of the inhabitants, who made a general illumination 
 upon the happy occasion, and with repeated acclamations welcomed 
 her ladyship and family to Virginia." Virginia Gazette. 
 
 " Lady Dunmore is here a very elegant woman. She looks, 
 speaks, and moves, and is a lady. Her daughters are fine sprightly, 
 sweet girls. Goodness of heart flashes from them in every look. 
 How is it possible . . . my Lord Dunmore could so long de 
 prive himself of those pleasures he must enjoy in such a family ?" 
 Lift of Gouvernew Morris. 
 
 n. 
 
 " I have since been informed by Colonel Lewis that the Earl of 
 Dunmore (the King's Governor), knew of the attack to be made up 
 on us by the Indians, at the mouth of the Kanawha, and hoped our 
 destruction. This secret was communicated to him by indisputable 
 authority." Colonel John Stuarts Narrative. Deed Book No. 1, in 
 Ormbrier OlarVs Office Va. 
 
 m. 
 
 To-night another illumination makes the new capital of "Virginia 
 blazo. The one hundred and twenty-sixth birth-day of a member of 
 the House of Burgesses, whose eyes beheld the scene we have de 
 scribed, has been heralded and welcomed with the roar of cannon, 
 and the shouts of a great nation. To-day the equestrian Waabingtou 
 of Crawford was uncovered, and greeted with that acclaim which
 
 492 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 hails the great work of a great genius. The member of the Bur 
 gesses Colonel Washington, from Fairfax is, in history, and men's 
 nearts and memories, the foremost man of all this world. His Ex 
 cellency Lord Dunmore is forgotten, or remembered only for con 
 tempt So time at last makes all things even. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A. gentleman profoundly read in the private history, BO to speak, 
 of the Revolution, stated to us, not long since, that nothing had as 
 tonished him more, in the course of his researches, than the extraor 
 dinary quickness and fidelity of the expresses at this period. The post 
 was slow and unreliable, but news was widely and expeditiously dis 
 seminated in spite of the fact. In a letter from R. K. Meade to Gen 
 eral Everard Meade, his brother, dated April, '75, the writer says 
 that the intelligence of the battle of Lexington has just come from 
 Boston, " by an express who must almost have flown." 
 
 V. 
 
 It may be thought that the costumes here spoken of, as in other 
 portions of the volume, are heightened in brilliancy by the fancy of 
 the writer. To show that the sketches are truthful, a curious descrip 
 tion of an elaborate painting of Washington's wedding is appended. 
 The writer declares that the main figures are taken from " the original 
 pictures of Colonel and Mrs. Washington, the one of the date of 1772, 
 by Peale, and the other of 1759, by Woolaston," and then proceeds 
 
 " The scene is laid in the ancient parish church of St. Peters, coun 
 ty of New Kent, colony of Virginia, time, 6th of January, 1759. 
 
 " In the foreground, and near the altar, appears the Rev. Dr. Mos- 
 som, the officiating clergyman, in full canonicals; he is about to pre 
 sent the marriage ring. The bridegroom is in a suit of blue and sil 
 ver, lined with red silk embroidered waistcoat small clothes gold 
 shoe and knee buckles dress sward hair in full powder. The brid* 
 in a suit of white satin rich point-faced ruffles pearl ornaments in 
 her hair pearl necklace, ear-rings and bracelets white satin high- 
 heeled shoes, with diamond buckles. She is attended by a group 
 of ladies, in the gorgeous costume of that ancient period. Near to 
 the bridegroom is a brilliant group, comprising the vice-regal Gov 
 ernor of Virginia, several English army and navy officers, then on 
 colonial twice, with die very elite of Virginia chivalry of the old
 
 HISTORIC/ HiUSTEATlONS. 493 
 
 regime. The Governor is in a suit rf scarlet, embroidered with gold, 
 with bag wig and sword the gentlemen in the fashion of the time. 
 
 " But among the most interesting and picturesque of the personages 
 in the various groups is Bishop, the celebrated body servant of Brad- 
 dock, and then of Washington, with whom he ended hia days, after 
 service of more than forty years. 
 
 " This veteran soldier of the wars of George II. forms a perfect study 
 in the picture. His tall, attenuated form and soldierly bearing, as 
 with folded arms, and cocked hat in hand, respectfully he approaches 
 the bridal group, gives a touching interest to the whole scene. He 
 is in a scarlet coat, and is booted and spurred, having just dis 
 mounted, and relinquished the favorite charger of his chief to a groom. 
 Through the large folding doors of the church is seen the old-fashioned 
 coach of the bride, drawn by six horses, also the fine English charger 
 bequeathed to Washington by Braddock, after the fatal field of the 
 Monongahela. From the account of the marriage, handed down 
 from those that were present at its celebration, it appears that the 
 bride and her ladies occupied the coach, while the provincial colonel 
 rode his splendid charger, attended by a brilliant cortege of the gay 
 and gallant of the land. Such was Washington's marriage in 1759." 
 
 This splendor, in costume and personal adornment, remained un 
 changed up to the time of the Revolution. Dress then shared the 
 change in every thing else. 
 
 VL 
 
 For fear that some portions of the costume of Miss Bonnybel, aa 
 here described, may be regarded as merely of our own invention, we 
 append an "Invoice from England to a Virginia lette," communicated 
 by a gentleman of Havover county to the Norfolk Argus, February, 
 1858: 
 
 A fashionable laced cap, handkerchief, tucker and raffles SSI 00 
 
 A fashionable brocade suit 1* W 
 
 Spuirstays. 8 
 
 Iblnesilk petticoat * 
 
 1 scarlet cloth under petticoat ' W 
 
 1 pair blue satin shoes, buckled and full trimmed. ~ 1 ! 
 
 Iftoop l M 
 
 I pair blue silk stockings 
 
 A fashionable silver girdle, 1 ; 1 fan, 1 - 9 *> 
 
 8408 
 
 It will be seen that hoops and scarlet petticoats are by no meant
 
 494 HtoTOUICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 original discoveries of the fair maidens of to-day, and even Nwe stock 
 ings existed a hundred years ago. 
 
 vn. 
 
 " Much credit is due to the ladies for the part they took in OOF as 
 sociation, and it does honor to their sex, for no sooner were they 
 made acquainted with the resolutions to prohibit the use of tea, after 
 the 1st of June, but, before the day came, they sealed up the stock 
 which they had on hand, and vowed never more to use it till the op 
 pressive act, imposing a duty thereon, should be repealed. May their 
 example be followed by all the ladies on this continent I" Virginia 
 Gazette, June 2, 1774. 
 
 vm. 
 
 The gentleman here spoken of seems to have been Mr. Richard 
 Bland, of Jordan's, the author of the celebrated " Inquiry," and fam 
 ous among the old members of the House of Burgesses. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The child of whom Mia Vane thus speaks was evidently the late 
 Hon. John Randolph, of Boanoke, so remarkable for his powers of 
 oratory. 
 
 The gentlemen here mentioned appear to have been those cele 
 brated patriots and leaders, Archibald Gary, Edmund Pendleton, 
 fend Henry TazewelL 
 
 XL 
 
 The gentleman alluded to was Mr. Thomas Jefferson, afterwardi 
 President of the republic. 
 
 xn. 
 
 It would appear that Mistress Effingham failed to comply with this 
 request. The verses may be found in the poet's corner of the old 
 " Virginia Gazette."
 
 HISTORICAL ILLUSfSATIOWS. 495 
 
 xm. 
 
 u 
 
 1 The fair in Eichmond town begins the second Thursday in May 
 The purse will be run for the first day of the fair by any horse or 
 gelding, carrying weight for age, according to the rules of racing. 
 Certificates will be expected for the ages of the horses, &c. Any 
 horee under size will be allowed weight for size. All horses, &c., to 
 be entered with James Gunn, the day before. 
 
 " N. B. Any person that is inclined to start a horse, may become 
 a subscriber by sending a line to James Gunn." Virginia Gazette. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Prom this it would appear that the Vanes were of the noble family 
 of the Vanes, or Fanes, as it was sometimes spelt, earls of Darlington. 
 Their arms may be found in the " Book of Peerages." 
 
 XV. 
 
 The lady here alluded to is evidently that Miss Rebecca Burwell 
 whom Mr. Thomas Jefferson, in his college correspondence, now pub 
 lished, mentions under the names of Belinda ; and, spelling the name 
 backward in Greek, AdwAe/3, and in Latin, Gctmpana in die, Bell in 
 Day. She married Mr. Jaqueline Ambler, the exemplary Treasurer 
 of Virginia. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Thomas Jefferson, his co-worker, says of Henry : " He was as well 
 suited to the times as any man ever was, and it is not now easy to 
 say what we should have done without Patrick Henry. He was far 
 before all in maintaining the spirit of the Revolution. , . . Hi 
 eloquence was peculiar, if indeed it should be called eloquence, for it 
 was impressive and sublime beyond what can be imagined. . . . 
 On one or two occasions I have seen him angry and his anger was 
 terrible ; those who witnessed it were not disposed to rouse it again. 
 . . . After all, it must be allowed that he was onr leader ; . . 
 he left us all far behind." 
 
 . . . " He is by far the most powerful speaker I ever heard,' 
 says George Mason. " Every word he says, not only engages, but 
 commands the attention, and your passions are no longer your own 
 Then he addresses them."
 
 *96 HISTORICAL tLT^STRATTOJBTS. 
 
 ..." Mr. Henry," says Jefferson, " certainly gave the fin! 
 impulse to the ball of the Revolution." 
 
 xvn. 
 
 This chair is now in the House of Delegates, at Richmond. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 " On the afternoon of the day on which he offered his resolutions, 
 he might have been seen passing along the street, on his way to his 
 home in Louisa, clad in a pair of leather breeches, his saddle-bags on 
 his arm, leading a lean horse, and chatting with Paul Carrington, who 
 walked by his side." Jfr. Qrigshfs " Convention of 76." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " He was always plain in his dress, and disliked changes in the fash 
 ions. ' Here,' said he to a friend, holding up his arm and display 
 ing the sleeve of a coat the worse for wear ; ' here is a coat good 
 enough for me, yet I must get a new one to please the eyes of other 
 people.' .... He was wont to tell, with great zest, an inci 
 dent that happened in the yard of Prince Edward court house, just 
 before leaving the county to take his seat in the federal Convention, 
 in Richmond. An old fox-hunter gave him a sharp tap on the shoulder, 
 and said to him, ' Old fellow, stick to the people ; if you take the back 
 track, we are gone I' " Mr. Qrisgby's " Convention of 76." 
 
 XX. 
 
 " That mysterious and almost supernatural transformation of ap 
 pearance, which the fire of his own eloquence never failed to work 
 in him." Wirfs Life of Henry. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " His perfect mastery of every fact connected with the settltjment 
 and progress of the colony, had given him the name of the Virginia 
 Antiquary. He was a politician of the first class, a profound logiciac
 
 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Kid was also considered as the first writer in the colony." Wirt 
 Henry. 
 
 " I am an old man, almost deprived of sight" Bland? a speech m 
 <he Convention of 75. 
 
 The traits here referred to are all historical. 
 
 xxm. 
 
 Jobn Marshall, afterwards Chief Justice of the United Static, was 
 it the battle of" Great Bridge" not then twenty-one. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Taken all hi all, he was the ablest man in debate I hare ever mat 
 with." Jefferaoria Memoirs. 
 
 ' ' He had that silvery voice \yox orgenteo), of which Cicero maket 
 such frequent and honorable mention. ... A perennial stream 
 of transparent, cool, and sweet elocution." Wvrfa Life of Henry. 
 
 ' His person was of the first order of manly beauty, his voice clear 
 and silver-toned, and under perfect control ; and his manners were so 
 fascinating as to charm all who came in contact with him. . . . 
 Ht had that intuitive love of prescription, which was a marked trait 
 in the character of almost all the eminent lawyers to whose exertions 
 the liberties of England were indebted for their existence. . . . 
 He was called on, not by one party, but by both parties, to fill all 
 the great posts of the day, the duties of which he performed with 
 masterly skill. . . . He may be regarded as yet only in the be 
 ginning of his wonderful career." Mr. Gfrigaby's " Convention of 
 76." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " He was nearly six feet high. . . . Exposure had deepened 
 the tints of a light-brown complexion. . . . His portrait . . 
 may still be seen at Clermont As yon look upon it you perceive 
 that his dark eyes have that peculiar expression, half sad, half severe 
 which is seen in the eyes of the painter Giotto, the shepherd boy, 
 whom Cimabue found in the recesses of the Alps, tending sheep, and 
 who, like Mason, when he was summoned from his forest home made
 
 498 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 in era in -the History of his art. . . . The Declaration of Rights 
 is indeed a remarkable production. . . . It is the quintessence 
 of all the great principles and doctrines of freedom, which had been 
 wrought out by the people of England frou the earliest tunes. . . 
 It received the applause of the generation which hailed its birth, ana 
 of those generations which have passed away, and will receive the 
 applause of those to come. It stands without a model in ancient or 
 in recent times." Mr. Qrigsby's " Virginia Convention of 76." 
 
 " VIRGINIA, G-UNSTON HALL, June 3d, 1781. 
 " DKAB GEORGE, 
 
 . . . " God. bless you, my dear child 1 and grant that we may 
 again meet, in your native country, as freemen ; otherwise, that we 
 never see each other more, is the prayer of 
 
 " Your affectionate father, 
 
 " Or. MASON.' 
 
 u I recommend it to my sons, from my experience in life, to prefer 
 the happiness and independence of a private station to the troubles 
 and vexations of public business ; but if either their own inclinations, 
 or the necessities of the times, should engage them in public affairs, I 
 charge them, on a father's blessing, never to let the motive of private 
 interest or ambition induce them to betray, nor the terrors of poverty 
 and disgrace, or the fear of danger or death, deter them from assert 
 ing the liberty of their country, and endeavoring to transmit to thoir 
 posterity those sacred rights to which themselves were born."- Ma- 
 ton's WiU. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Gary barely reached the middle stature. He received, mainly 
 from his indomitable courage, the soubriquet of ' Old Iron.' The face 
 of Gary, in youth, was remarkably handsome ; his features small and 
 delicately chiseled, his eyes of that peculiar brightness which may 
 yet be seen in all his race. . . . He was a descendant of Lord 
 Hunsdon, and was himself, at the time of his death, the heir apparent 
 of tha barony. He delighted in blooded horses and improved breeds 
 of stock. . . . When the scheme of a dictator was talked of in 
 the Assembly , . . the friends of the measure were in favor of 
 Patrick Henry. Bitterly opposed to such a scheme, . . . Colonel 
 Gary . . . met the half brother of Henry in the lobby of the 
 House, and accosledhim, 'Sir, I am told that your brother wishes
 
 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 499 
 
 to be dictator. Tell him, from me, that the day of his appointment 
 shall be the day of his death, for he shall find my dagger in his heart 
 .xjfore the sunset of that day.' " Mr. Grigsby'a " Convention of '76." 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 " Richard Henry Lee was hi person tall and well proportioned , 
 Us features bold and expressive, nose aquiline ; the contour of his 
 face noble. He had lost, by an accident, the use of one of his hands, 
 and was sometimes styled ' the gentleman of the silver hand.' This 
 hand he kept covered wtth a black silk bandage, but leaving his 
 thumb free. Notwithstanding this disadvantage, his gesture was 
 preeminently graceful . . . His eloquence flowed on in tranquil 
 magnificence, like the stream of nis own Potomac." Campbetta Vir 
 ginia. 
 
 xxvm. 
 
 Wher I first saw Mr. Henry, which was in March, 1773, he wore 
 a peach-blossom colored coat, and a dark wig, which tied behind, 
 and, I believe, a bag to it, which was the fashion of that day." 
 WtrfsLtfe. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " And this day, at ten o'clock, the honorable members of the late 
 House of Burgesses met, by agreement, at the long room in the Ral 
 eigh tavern, in this city, called the Apollo, when the following agree 
 ment was unanimously entered into by that patriotic assembly." 
 Letter from Williamsburg, 27th May, 1774, in Purviance's u Narra 
 tive of Events which Occurred in Baltimore town, &c." 
 
 "Yesterday, between three and four o'clock, p. M., the Right 
 Honorable the Earl of Dunmore sent a message to the Honorable the 
 House of Burgesses, by the clerk of the council, requiring their im 
 mediate attendance in the council chamber, when Ms Excellency 
 Bpoke to them as follows : . . . 
 
 " This evening there is to be a ball and entertainment at the capi- 
 tol, given by the Honorable the House of Burgesses, to welcome Lady 
 Dunmore, and the rest of the Governor's family, to Virginia." Vir 
 ginia Gazette, Mny 27<A, 1774.
 
 600 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATTOmU 
 
 XXX. 
 
 , Gth, April, 1776. 
 ..." 1 conjure you as you value the liberties and rights of the 
 community of which you are a member, not to lose a moment, and 
 in my name, if my name is of consequence enough, to direct the com 
 manding officer of your troops at Annapolis, immediately to seize the 
 person of Governor Eden ; the sin and blame be on my head. I will 
 answer for all to the Congress. . . . God Almighty give us wis 
 dom and vigor in this hour of trial 
 
 "Dear air, 
 
 " Yours, most affectionately, 
 
 11 CHARLES LIE." 
 Purvfancc'a Narrative 
 
 " Many proofs are preserved of the general anxiety of the other 
 colonies as to the course of Virginia. The Maryland committee 
 ' flatter themselves with great hopes, from the well-known spirit and 
 zeal of the gentlemen of this province, one of the most ancient, ex 
 tensive and prosperous in America, and hitherto foremost in the as 
 sertion of American rights. . . . Much depends upon the deter 
 mination of Virginia, which we shall anxiously expect.' The men 
 of Boston write to the Marylanders : ' The accounts you give us of 
 the spirit and magnanimity of the people of Virginia, confirm us in 
 the opinion we have ever had of that ancient colony, of whcee dis 
 interested virtue this province has Lad ample experience.' " Pw- 
 viance's Narrative. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 u Yesterday being the Day set apart by the Members of the late 
 House of Burgesses, as a Day of Fasting, Humiliation, and Prayer, 
 devoutly to implore the Divine Interposition for averting the heavy 
 Calamity which threatens Destruction to the civil Rights of America, 
 the same was accordingly observed by the Inhabitants of this Place, 
 who repaired to Church and heard an excellent Sermon preached oy 
 the Reverend James Marye, from Psalm xii., Verse iii. Help, Lord, 
 for the godly Man ceaseth, for the Faithful fail from among the Chil 
 dren of Men. The Reverend Mr. Wilson read Prayers." 
 Gazette, June 2d, 1774.
 
 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 501 
 
 LETTER FROM FREDERICKSBrRQ. 
 
 " Enclosed you have the Boston Trade Act, and a resoJvt ft oui 
 House of Burgesses. You will observe that it is confined to the mem 
 bers of their own House, but they would wish to see the example 
 followed through the country, for which purpose the members, at 
 their own private expense, are sending expresses, with the resolve, 
 to their respective countiea Mr. Massie (the minister of Fairfax), 
 will receive a copy of the resolve from Colonel "Washington, and 
 phould a day of prayer and fasting be appointed in our county, please 
 to tell my dear little family that I charge them to pay a strict atten 
 tion to it, and that I desit-e my three eldest sons and my two oldest 
 daughters may attend church in mourning, if they have it, aa I believe 
 they have." Charge Mason to Martin Cocklurn, May 26, 1774. 
 
 xxxm. 
 
 . . . u I do not know of any of the chiefs besides the Cornstalk, 
 bnt the Bine Jacket, a Shawnee chief, who was known to be at the 
 Governor's camp, on the 9th of October, and in the battle on the 10th. 
 On the day of battle, Dunmore and a Captain O'Connolly (Conolly), 
 were walking together, afterwards a noted tory. The Governor ob 
 served to him that Lewis had hot work about that time of day. He 
 evidently intended General Lewis' army to be cut ofij and if you 
 could see Colonel Stewart's narrative, it would convince you and 
 every other man that the battle at Point Pleasant was the first blood 
 shed in the revolutionary war." Letter from Colonel Lewis, son of 
 ffie General, in CampbeWs History of Virginia. 
 
 The proof of Major Conolly's collusion with Dunmore, and their 
 treachery, crowds the records of the war of 74 See Jacob's Account, 
 and many others. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 u Whatever resolves or measures are intended for the preservation 
 of our rights and liberties, will be reserved for the conclusion of the 
 session. Matters of that sort here are conducted and prepared with 
 a great deal of privacy, and by very few members, of whom Patrick 
 Henry is the principal/ 1 George Mason to Martin Oockburu, of fbir- 
 faoc, Wittiamsburg, May '26ih, 1774-
 
 502' mSTOBICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " This elaborate production displays a profound knowledge of th 
 nistory and constitutional rights of the colony. It breathes a fiery 
 spirit of defiance and revolution ; and the splendor of elevated decla 
 mation, in some of its passages, is not inferior to Junius. . . . 
 Owing to the authorship of it, Lord Dunmore, it is said, threatened 
 Mr. Jefferson with a' prosecution for treason, and his name was en 
 rolled in a bill of attainder, commenced in one of the Houses of Par 
 liament, but never consummated. Among the proscribed were Pey 
 ton Randolph, John Adams, Samuel Adams, John Hancock and Pat 
 rick Henry." Campbell! s Virginia, page 148. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " General Lewis, upon learning the enemy's approach, lit his pipe, 
 and immediately sent forward the main body of his army, a detach 
 ment of Augusta troops, under his brother, Colonel Charles Lewis, 
 and another of Botetourt troops under Colonel Fleming." Campbell t 
 History of Virginia, page 143. 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 " This gallant and estimable officer, when struck by the fatal ball, 
 fell at the foot of a tree, when he was, against his own wish, carried 
 to his tent, by Captain Morrow and a private, and died in a few 
 hours. His lost was deeply lamented." Campbetts Virginia, page 
 143. 
 
 xxxvm. 
 
 " Patrick Henry desired," says Mr. Wirt, in his Life, " that the 
 blow which must be struck, sooner or later, should be struck at once. 
 These sentiments were then avowed by him to two confidential 
 friends (Colonel Richard Morris, and Captain John Dabney), to 
 whom he further declared that he considered the outrage on the 
 magazine a most fortunate circumstance, and as one which, would 
 rouse the people from north to south ''
 
 HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 508 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " When the British were about landing on James river, and York- 
 town was peculiarly exposed, General Nelson, then hi arms against 
 them, was obliged to send Mrs. Nelson, with an infant three weeks 
 old, to the upper country. When near Williamsburg, she met a com 
 pany of youths, some of them mere boys, armed with their guns, and 
 marching down to fire at the enemy.- On meeting the well-known 
 old English coach, they halted and presented arms to Mrs. Nelson, 
 wishing to show her all honor. She received their salutation very 
 courteously, but perceiving among them two of her own sons, mere 
 boys at the preparatory school, she directed the coachman to stop, 
 and, opening the door, requested them to enter the carriage. Morti 
 fying as it must have been to them, they were too much accustomed 
 to obey to think of refusing. Taking them with her, she sent them 
 to Philadelphia, to complete their education, placing them under the 
 care of Mr. Rittenhouse." Bishop Headers " Old Churches of 7ir~ 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Colonel Carter Braxton was chiefly instrumental in persuading 
 Henry to halt at Doncastle's, and in negotiating the settlement of the 
 affair. . . . Finding that Henry would not disband without re 
 ceiving the powder, or compensation for it, Mr. Braxton returned to 
 Williamsburg and procured from his father-in-law, Gorbin, the 
 deputy receiver-general, the amount demanded, and delivering it to 
 Henry, succeeded in warding off the threatened blow. In this pa 
 cific course he coincided with the moderate counsels of Pendleton, 
 Nicholas, and Peyton Randolph. He was an active member of the 
 Assembly and the convention that met in Richmond, . . . one 
 of the Committee of Safety, . . . elected a delegate to Congress 
 in the place of Peyton Randolph, . . . and was a signer of tin 
 Declaration of Independence.' GcmpbeUs Virginia. 
 
 THB END*
 
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