. 
 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 32E 73fl 
 
EGBERT GRAHAM. 
 
 A 
 
 Sequel to, anir toniinuaiira of ".fink." 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "ERNEST LINTVOOD," "COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE," "PLANTER S 
 NORTHERN BRIDE," "LINDA," "EOLINE," " RENA," ETC. 
 
 Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price One Dollar and Twenty- 
 Jive cents, or in two volumes, paper cover, for One Dollar. 
 
 READ WHAT SOME OF THE LEADING EDITORS SAY OF IT: 
 
 "The thousands who read Linda, or, the Young Pilot of the Bello 
 Creole, will make haste to procure a copy of this book, which is a sequel 
 to that history. Like all of this writer s works, it is natural and graphic, 
 and very entertaining." City Item. 
 
 "A charming novel; and in point of plot, style, and all the other char 
 acteristics of a readable romance, it will compare favorably with almost 
 any of the many publications of the season." Literary Gazette. 
 
 "We cannot admire too much, nor thank Mrs. Hentz too sincerely for 
 the high and ennobling morality and Christian grace, which not only per 
 vade her entire writings, but which shine forth with undimmed beauty in 
 the new novel, Robert Graham. It sustains the character which is very 
 difficult to well delineate in a work of fiction a religious missionary. All 
 who read the work will bear testimony to the entire success of Mrs. Hentz." 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 MRS, CAROLINE LEE HENTZ S OTHER WORKS. 
 
 T. B. Peterson having purchased the stereotype plates of all the writings 
 of Mrs. Hentz, he has just published a new, uniform and beautiful edi 
 tion of all her works, printed on a much finer and better paper, and in far 
 superior and better style to what they have ever before been issued in, (all 
 in uniform style with Robert Graham,) copies of any one or all of which 
 will be sent to any place in the United States, free of postage, on receipt of 
 remittances. Each book contains a beautiful illustration of one of the best 
 scenes. The following are the names of these world-wide celebrated works 
 
 LINDA ; or, THE YOTJNG PILOT OF THE BELLE 
 CREOLE. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price 
 One Dol., or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "We hnil with pleasure this contribution to the literature of the South. 
 Works containing faithful delineations of Southern life, society, and 
 
 (i) 
 
ii MRS. HENTZ S WORKS. 
 
 scenery, whether in the gnrb of romance or in the soberer attire of simple 
 narrative, cannot fail to have a salutary influence in correcting the false 
 impressions which prevail in regard to our people and institutions ; and 
 our thanks are due to Mrs. Hentz for the addition she has made to this de 
 partment of our native literature. We cannot close without expressing a 
 hope that Linda may be followed by many other works of the same clasa 
 from the pen of its gifted author." Southern Literary Gazette. 
 
 "Mrs. Hentz has given us here a very delightful romance, illustrative of 
 life in the South-west, on a Mississippi plantation. There is a well-wrought 
 love-plot; the characters arc well drawn ; the incidents are striking and 
 novel; the denouement happy, and moral excellent. Mrs. Hentz may 
 twine new laurels above her Mob Cap. " Evening Bulletin. 
 
 "Remarkable for the deep interest of the plot and touching beauty of its 
 well-told incidents; some of our newspaper editors, indeed, pronounce it 
 the lest story ever published. This is certainly high praise, and from our 
 knowledge of Mrs. Lee Hentz s ability, as an accomplished writer, we have 
 no doubt the praise is well merited." American Courier. 
 
 COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or, THE JOYS 
 AND SORROWS OF AMERICAN LIFE. With a 
 Portrait of the Author. Complete in two large volumes, 
 paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "This work will be found, on perusalby all, to beone of the most exciting, 
 interesting, and popular works that has ever emanated from the American 
 Press. It is written in a charming style, and will elicit through all a 
 thrill of deep and exquisite pleasure. It is a work which the oldest and 
 the youngest may alike read with profit. It abounds with the most beauti 
 ful scenic descriptions ; and displays an intimate acquaintance with all 
 phases of human character; all the characters being exceedingly well 
 drawn. It is a delightful book, full of incidents, oftentimes bold and 
 startling, and describes the warm feelings of the Southerner in glowing 
 colors. Indeed, all Mrs. Hentz s stories aptly describe Southern life, and 
 are highly moral in their application. In this field Mrs. Hentz wields a 
 keen sickle, and harvests a rich and abundant crop. It will be found in 
 plot, incident, and management, to be a superior work. In the whole 
 range of elegant moral fiction, there cannot be found any thing of more 
 inestimable value, or superior to this work, and it is a gem that will well 
 repay a careful perusal. The Publisher feels assured that it will give 
 entire satisfaction to all readers, encourage good taste and good morals, 
 and while away many leisure hours with great pleasure and profit, and be 
 recommended to others by all that peruse it." 
 
 THE PLANTER S NORTHERN BRIDE. With illus 
 trations. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, 
 600 pages, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, $1._25. 
 
 "It is unquestionably the most powerful and important, if not the most 
 charming work that has yet flowed from her elegant pen ; and though evi- 
 
Ill 
 
 dently founded upon the all-absorbing subjects of slavery and abolitionism, 
 the genius and skill of the fair author have developed new views of golden 
 argument, and flung around the whole such a halo of pathos, interest, and 
 beauty, as to render it every way worthy the author of Linda/ Marcus 
 Warland, Rena/ and the numerous other literary gems from the same 
 author." American Courier. 
 
 "We have seldom been more charmed by the perusal of a novel; and we 
 desire to commend it to our readers in the strongest words of praise that 
 our vocabulary affords. The incidents are well varied; the scenes beauti 
 fully described; and the interest admirably kept up. But the moral of the 
 book is its highest merit. The Planters Northern Bride should be as 
 welcome as the dove of peace to every fireside in the Union. It cannot be 
 read without a moistening of the eyes, a softening of the heart, and a miti 
 gation of sectional and most unchristian prejudices." N. Y. Mirror. 
 
 "Themostdelightful and remarkable book of the day." Boston Traveler. 
 
 "The characters are finely drawn, and well sustained, from the begin 
 ning to the end of the work." Boston Morning Post. 
 
 "Written with remarkable vigor, and contains many passages of real 
 eloquence. We heartily commend it to general perusal." Newark Eagle. 
 
 RENA ; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. 
 Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol., or 
 bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "The Snow Bird elicits a thrill of deep and exquisite pleasure, even 
 exceeding that which accompanied Linda/ which was generally admitted 
 to be the best story ever written for a newspaper. That was certainly high 
 praise, but Rena takes precedence even of its predecessor, and, in both, 
 Mrs. Lee Hentz has achieved a triumph of no ordinary kind. It is not 
 that old associations bias our judgment, for though from the appearance, 
 years since, of the famous Mob Cap in this paper, we formed an exalted 
 opinion of the womanly and literary excellence of the writer, our feelings 
 have, in the interim, had quite sufficient leisure to cool ; yet, after the 
 lapse of years, we have continued to maintain the same literary devotion 
 to this best of our female writers. The two last productions of Mrs. Lee 
 Hentz now fully confirm our previously formed opinion, and we unhesi 
 tatingly commend Rena/ now published in book form, in beautiful style, 
 by T. B. Peterson, as a story which, in its varied, deep, and thrilling in 
 terest, has no superior." American Courier. 
 
 MARCUS WARLAND; or, THE LONG MOSS 
 SPRING. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price 
 One Dol., or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 " Every succeeding chapter of this new and beautiful nouvellette of Mrs. 
 Hentz increases in interest and pathos. We defy any one to read aloud 
 the chapters to a listening auditory, without deep emotion, or producing 
 many a pearly tribute to its truthfulness, pathos, and power." Am. Courier. 
 
 "It is pleasant to meet now and then with a tale like this, which seems 
 rather like a narrative of real events than a creature of the imagination." 
 N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
iy MRS. HENTZ S WORKS. 
 
 EOLINE ; or, MAGNOLIA YALE. Complete in two 
 volumes, paper cover, price One Dol., or bound in one 
 volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "We do not think that amongst American authors, there is one more 
 pleasing or more instructive than Mrs. Hentz. This novel is eo 6 ual to any 
 which she has written." Cincinnati Gazette. 
 
 "A charming and delightful story, and will add to the well-merited re 
 putation of its fair and gifted author." Southern Literary Gazette. 
 
 HELEN AND ARTHUR. Complete in two volumes, 
 paper cover, price One Dol., or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "A story of domestic life, written in Mrs. Hentz s best vein. The de 
 tails of the plot are skilfully elaborated, and many passages are deeply 
 pathetic." Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 LO YE AFTER MARRIAGE ; and other Stories. Com 
 plete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol., or bound 
 in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 " This is a charming and instructive story one of those beautiful efforts 
 that enchant the mind, refreshing and strengthening it." City Item. 
 " The work before us is a charming one." Boston Evening Journal. 
 
 THE BANISHED SON; and other Stories. Complete 
 in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol., or bound in 
 one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 The Banished Son seems to us the chef d oeuvre of the collection. It 
 appeals to all the nobler sentiments of humanity, is full of action and 
 healthy excitement, and sets forth the best of morals." Charleston Weekly 
 News. 
 
 AUNT PATTY S SCRAP BAG, together with large ad 
 ditions to it, written by Mrs. Hentz, prior to her death, 
 and never before published in any former edition of this 
 work. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One 
 Dol., or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "We venture to assert that there is not one reader who has not been 
 made wiser and better by its perusal who has not been enabled to treasure 
 up golden precepts of morality, virtue, and experience, as guiding princi 
 ples of their own commerce with the world." American Courier. 
 
 2^- Copies of either edition of any of the foregoing works will be sent 
 to any person, to any part of the United States, free of postage, on their 
 remitting the price of the ones they may wish, to the publisher, in a letter. 
 
 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 
ROBEUT GRAHAU AT TUB TOMB OF HIS MOTHElt 
 
ROBERT GRAHAM, 
 
 A SEQUEL TO "LINDA." 
 
 BY MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE," THE PLANTER S NORTHERN 
 BRIDE," "LINDA," "REN A," "ERNEST LIN WOOD," ETC., ETC. 
 
 Ask me not why I should love her: 
 
 Look upon those soul-full eyesl 
 Look while mirth or feeling move her, 
 
 And see there how sweetly rise 
 Thoughts gay and gentle from a breast 
 Which is of innocence the nest 
 Which, though each joy were from it fled, 
 By truth would still be tenanted!" Hoffman. 
 
 The sweetest joy, the wildest joy is love; 
 The taint of earth, the odor of the skies. 
 Is in it." Bailey s ITsstus. 
 
 $ I) t 1 a b 1 1 p I) t a : 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET, 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 PARRY & MCMILLAN, 
 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON AND CO. 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 Printed ty T. K & P. O. Collins. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE following pages contain a sequel to the history of 
 " Linda and the Young Pilot of the Belle-Creole." Those 
 familiar with the previous scenes of her life will need 
 no key to understand the allusions to the past. A few 
 words of explanation, however, may not be thought 
 superfluous as introductory to the present work, for it 
 may fall into the hands of some to whom it would other 
 wise be obscure and imperfect. 
 
 Mr. Walton, the father of Linda, when she was a 
 very young child, married the mother of Robert Graham, 
 a cruel and despotic woman. As a means of securing 
 the fortune of the young heiress, she resolves upon her 
 marriage with her son, then a headstrong and passion 
 ate boy. The persecution which Linda endures on this 
 account, the manner in which she escapes them, the 
 unconquerable passion of her step-brother, the heroism 
 and gallantry of Roland Lee, the young pilot, whom 
 she afterward marries, and the conversion of Robert 
 Graham, are the leading incidents in the history of 
 Linda. 
 
 We trust those who remember them will read witl 
 nterest the continuation of her eventful career ; and w 
 entreat those who are strangers to her early history, to 
 turn to the pages on which it is recorded before perus 
 ing the life of Robert Graham, that the triumph of 
 religious principles, exemplified in his character, may 
 be fully understood. 
 
 M150882 
 
ROBERT GRAHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MOONLIGHT rests upon Pine Grove. The tall trees, whose 
 number and stateliness give name to the darkly-shaded place, 
 lift up their green tuft-knots to the skies, and the live oaks, 
 with their long sweeping drapery of gray old moss, stretch 
 their druid arms before the white-walled mansion. 
 
 Beneath the solemn shadows of the oaks and pines, a tall 
 figure walks, pensive and lonely, its outlines alternately silvered 
 by moonlight and darkened by shade ; but they may still be 
 recognised as the unrivalled lineaments of Robert Graham. 
 
 Years passed under the burning sun of an Indian clime have 
 not dimmed the splendour of his manly beauty, or even dark 
 ened the whiteness of his marble brow. He has been on a holy 
 mission, and if the face of the prophet shone, after being forty 
 days on the mountain with the God of Israel, it is not strange 
 that one, who had been for three years in daily, hourly inter 
 course with his Maker, should bear on his countenance the re 
 flection of His excellent glory. 
 
 Yes! Robert Graham, having returned once more to his na 
 tive land, sought the home of his boyhood, and the grave of 
 his mother. His last act before embarking for a foreign clime 
 was the erection of a monument to her memory, a twin obelisk 
 to that which marked the spot where the mother of Linda was 
 laid. Thither he now bent his footsteps, through the long 
 dewy grass which overgrew the path in rank luxuriance. 
 Negroes shun the place of graves, believing it thronged with 
 the spirits of the dead; and it may be questioned if the gate 
 
 5 
 

 
 .ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 which led into this enclosure had been opened since Robert 
 closed it on the evening of his departure. The damp weeds 
 clung to his feet, and impeded his steps. A weeping willow, 
 planted by her husband, swept its long branches over the grave 
 of the first Mrs. Walton, and Linda s hand had set out a beau 
 tiful white rose tree, which was now full of neglected blossoms. 
 At this moment it was snowing down its fragrant petals on the 
 dark green turf, and the night wind, as it drifted the light flakes 
 here and there, sighed softly in the mourner s ear. Yes, Ro 
 bert stood there, a mourner a brotherless, sisterless mourner 
 over the remains of her, who, though harsh and cold to all the 
 rest of the world, had loved him, even to idolatry. He knew 
 that she was odious to many, unlovely to all; that no blessings 
 hallowed her death-slumbers; that no tears embalmed her 
 memory, or kept it green and blooming in the heart. But 
 surely she deserved to be mourned by him whom she had so 
 fondly, so exclusively loved. Kneeling down by the marble 
 column, and pressing his temples against the cold surface, he 
 wept in the desolation of his soul. The stillness of the hour, 
 the solemnity of the spot, the melancholy splendour of the night, 
 the memories of the past, the isolation of his own destiny, all 
 weighed upon his heart, and crushed it down to earth. He 
 tried to lift his thoughts heavenward, but like the broken wings 
 of a bird, they fluttered, incapable of rising. 
 
 Never before had he been so fully conscious of the solitari 
 ness of his position, never had he so yearned for human sym 
 pathy and kindred love. There are moments when the firm 
 hands of Faith let go the sustaining anchor, and her lifted eye 
 droops toward the dust; when devotion ceases to exalt, and hope 
 to cheer; when the claims of the soul seem lost in the clamours 
 of the craving, famishing heart. No food to fill the aching 
 vacuum there. No fountain opened in the desert of life, to 
 glake the unquenchable, burning thirst. 
 
 No one who had seen the young missionary, surrounded by 
 his Indian proselytes, his eyes flashing, his cheeks glowing with 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 7 
 
 a Christian s enthusiasm and a martyr s zeal, so full of energy 
 vitality, and fire, would have recognised the same in the pale> 
 subdued, and sorrowing man kneeling by that marble tomb. 
 
 It was not of his mother alone he thought. The one great 
 sorrow of his life was awakened, and the wound that he be 
 lieved time had healed, opened and bled afresh. Every thing 
 reminded him of her whom he had loved so unwisely, so wildly, 
 and so idolatrously. The dreams of his boyhood, the hopes 
 of his manhood, revived and bloomed with momentary bright 
 ness, only to be blighted by the cold breath of reality, and 
 swept rudely away. He thought he had learned to look upon 
 Linda as the wife of another, to love her as a sister, to esteem 
 her as a friend; but this one moment of self-abandonment, 
 when the memories of years were concentrated in one pulse of 
 the heart, convinced him, that though religion kept in vassal 
 age the wild elements of human passion, they still existed in 
 all their breadth, and length, and strength. 
 
 During three years he had devoted himself, heart and soul, 
 to the conversion of the heathen. He had spent his days in 
 toil and his nights in prayer. In the spirit of a sublime self- 
 sacrifice, in the strength of a holy, earnest purpose, he had la 
 boured, forgetful of himself in the mighty interests which he 
 had espoused. In all this time, he had never yielded to the 
 tempter s power. He had never loosened the girdle of self- 
 denial ; but with the word of inspiration in his hand, and its 
 eloquence on his lips, he had gone on from strength to strength, 
 and from glory to glory. Where were inspiration, strength, and 
 glory now ? Plunged in the gulf of memory. He was no longer 
 the heaven-dedicated apostle, but the solitary, heart-stricken 
 man. 
 
 "Where are the voices of home?" he cried, rising and 
 gazing around him through the soft, glimmering, silvery atmo 
 sphere, while a slight shiver ran through his frame. 
 
 "Is this the joy of return ? This the wanderer s welcome 
 back ; after years of absence, to his native land ? Loneliness 
 
8 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 loneliness ! I seem to see the ghost of my former self gliding 
 amid the shadows, multiplying as I gaze, like the images re 
 flected from a broken mirror." 
 
 A noise at the gate caused him to turn his head. He could 
 not help starting; for just above the white paling, a large, 
 dark, ferocious-looking head rose, huge and massy as that of 
 the Egyptian sphinx. He gazed one moment, then, with a 
 feeling of joyous recognition, he sprang toward the gate. 
 
 " Bruno, Bruno !" he cried; " you have not then forgotten me." 
 
 A quick, eager, continued barking was the reply, while the 
 great, quivering paws, pressing on the upper bars of the gate, 
 endeavoured to accelerate his motions as he opened it. The mo 
 ment he came in contact with his master s person, he bounded 
 up in the air, as if about to leap on his neck and embrace him 
 with his shaggy paws then crouching to the ground, he 
 licked his feet, laid his warm cheek heavily upon them, and 
 turning his eye obliquely upward, looked in his face with the 
 most earnest and intense expression. 
 
 Robert stooped down and patted the head of his dumb friend 
 again and again. His chilled heart grew warm, while meet 
 ing these demonstrations of affectionate remembrance. Next 
 to his fleet black horse, he had loved the magnificent Bruno. 
 He was associated with Linda in his memory, who delighted 
 in petting the noble brute. He passed his hand involuntarily 
 round its neck, almost expecting to feel the withered leaves of 
 the garlands with which she used to wreath his lion hair. 
 The large, dark-brown eyes of the dog fixed upon him, seemed 
 to ask after her, whom he had so faithfully guarded, and so 
 affectionately loved. 
 
 "She is gone," said Robert, in answer to the beseeching 
 glance; "we are alone, Bruno. The world is a lone place, 
 Bruno, when there are none left to love us." 
 
 As Robert uttered these words, he found himself surrounded 
 by a group of dark, smiling faces, whose expression belied the 
 truth of the assertion. The loud barking of the dog had 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 9 
 
 roused the inmates of the nearest cabins, and the cry of " The 
 Master is come !" resounded through the walls. The young 
 minister had become an object of reverence as well as love, to 
 those who had once regarded him with terror and aversion, 
 and they crowded round him with demonstrations of joy and 
 welcome, almost as boisterous as Bruno s. The missionary 
 labours to which he had devoted himself consecrated him in their 
 eyes. In imagination they beheld his brow encircled with the 
 halo of the saint and the crown of the martyr. At first they 
 thought they ought not to call him " Master Robert," as in old 
 time; but habit triumphed over religious awe, and they were 
 astonished to find how natural and easy it sounded. 
 
 Again a warm gush of emotion flowed into Robert s lonely 
 heart, like the waters of the tide over the barren sands. Un 
 grateful being that he was! There were some objects of in 
 terest and affection left. His dog remembered and loved him. 
 The negroes remembered him, and greeted him with enthusi 
 astic joy; and looking up to the visible glory, he thought of 
 Him the Invisible, who remembered and loved him, and he 
 no longer felt alone. 
 
 The barred doors were thrown open, the shutters unclosed, 
 and a light-wood fire kindled in the long-darkened fireplace. 
 The late silent yard was alive with human beings. Robert 
 threw himself into an easy chair, drawn up toward the fire ex 
 pressly for his accommodation, and gazed around on the old 
 familiar walls. Bruno, seated in the opposite corner, followed 
 every motion of his master s eyes, as if sympathizing with the 
 feelings they expressed. 
 
 It was an autumnal evening, and the contrast of the chilly 
 night-air abroad, and the warmth diffused from the blazing 
 pine-knots, was inexpressibly grateful. The occasional crack 
 ling of the fire had a sociable, comfortable sound, and the 
 reflection of the glow on the polished and shining floor was rich 
 and cheering. Linda s piano stood exactly where it formerly 
 did, between the two front windows, covered with a scarlet cloth, 
 
10 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 embroidered with black. The very songs he had last heard 
 her play lay upon a little music-stand, under the window. On 
 a small work-table, where she was accustomed to sit, a basket 
 made of the dark-brown cones of the pine tree, and lined with 
 satin, was placed just where it was years ago. The same pic 
 ture adorned the walls but how different they seemed ! Those 
 of Mr. Walton and his mother were covered with black crape, in 
 dicating the death of the originals. This mourning closed some 
 what and softened the glaring colours and rude outlines of the 
 portraits, and as they were surrounded by massy gilded frames, 
 they were considered highly ornamental. There was one of 
 Linda hung above the piano, in the costume of a shepherdess, 
 with a crook in her hand and a lamb at her feet. It was taken 
 while she was a school-girl, during the vacation she passed at 
 home, by the same itinerant artist who had executed the other 
 pictures. The painter considered it the most splendid mani 
 festation of his genius, and had lavished on it an exuberance 
 of taste that would have impoverished the great Italian mas 
 ters. A blue skirt, with a pink bodice; a straw hat, trimmed with 
 golden-coloured riband, and twined with a garland of varie 
 gated flowers, formed a costume whose gaudiness was enhanced, 
 not relieved, by a background representing the most gorgeous 
 sunset, behind clouds of crimson, purple, and orange. Had 
 Linda been at home at the time of its completion, she would 
 have checked this lavish profusion of colours; but she had 
 only sat for the face, leaving the rest to the imagination of the 
 artist. With merry laughter she greeted the caricature when 
 it first met her sight, but begged it might be removed to the 
 lumber-room, or put up in the corn-fields to frighten away the 
 birds. Mrs. Walton resented the petition, declaring it a per 
 fect likeness, only somewhat flattered; and as long as Linda 
 remained, it served as an excellent foil for her own loveliness. 
 Now, the beautiful original was not by to vindicate her out 
 raged charms, Robert gazed upon it with indignation and dis 
 gust. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 11 
 
 u Tis mockery, tis sacrilege," he exclaimed; and starting 
 up, he took down the picture, resolving to banish it by morn 
 ing light, and turned its face to the wall. He felt better after 
 he had done this, and the angel painted by memory smiled 
 from the inverted frame. 
 
 The annunciation that a carriage was winding up the avenue, 
 iven by one of the excited negroes, sent him again into the 
 open air. The hour was so late, and the mansion-house had 
 been so long closed, that this annunciation had a startling 
 effect. He could think of but one visitor, and his heart beat 
 wildly, as he stood and watched each revolution of the wheels 
 which brought the travellers nearer to the gate. He was so 
 much agitated, that he could scarcely command his voice so 
 as to call away Bruno, who was barking most vociferously in 
 front of the horses. A faint scream from the carriage con 
 vinced him, that if it contained Linda, she was accompanied 
 by a female companion, for she would never shriek at the bark 
 -of Bruno. 
 
 The carriage stopped at the large gate at the entrance of 
 the yard, and Robert rapidly approached it. The door opened, 
 and a gentleman descended, or rather bounded down the steps. 
 With both hands extended, he sprang toward Robert, exclaim 
 ing* 
 
 " Robert Graham, how I rejoice to see you! Do you not 
 know me ? Have you forgotten your old college chum, Henry 
 Bellenden?" 
 
 " Forgotten him, no!" cried Robert, returning the cordial 
 grasp of his hand with one of equal warmth. " When I for 
 get him, may my right hand forget its cunning. Welcome to 
 Pine Grove, sad and deserted as it is. But you are not alone." 
 
 "My sister is with me," replied Bellenden. "Poor girl! 
 she is not very strong, and is completely jaded out by one long 
 day s journey. Julia," added he, jumping upon the lower 
 step, and taking a young girl by the hand, whose figure, 
 shawled, bonneted and veiled, was completely shrouded, 
 
12 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 "Julia, this is my friend, Robert Graham, of whom you have 
 heard me so often speak/ 
 
 As the little muffled figure bent forward in response to the 
 bow with which Robert acknowledged the introduction, Bel- 
 lenden caught it in his arms, as if it were an infant. 
 
 " Don t make a baby of me, brother/ said a sweet-toned 
 voice behind the veil; "I can walk, you know I can." 
 
 "You said just now you were too tired to breathe, and I am 
 sure walking is a more laborious operation than breathing," 
 replied her brother, placing her on the threshold of the man 
 sion, which they had just reached. The blaze from the room 
 illumined the hall, where several bright-faced negro girls waited 
 to usher them into the parlour. The young girl, releasing her 
 self from her brother s arms, stepped lightly forward, as if 
 anxious to prove that there was an elastic principle within un 
 bent by fatigue, but the moment she beheld the easy chair, she 
 sank into its depths, with an audible " Thank heaven I" 
 
 Minta, one of aunt Judy s well-trained handmaids, assumed 
 the station of honour behind her chair, asking her if she should 
 not take her bonnet and shawl. The close vicinity of the 
 negress, as well as her polite assiduities, seemed to disconcert 
 the young traveller, for she shook her head, drew her veil closer 
 over her face, and shrunk back still farther into the soft-cush 
 ioned chair. Thus baffling the gaze of curiosity, she sat lean 
 ing her head on her hand, which was so small, so white, and 
 so beautiful in its outlines, it seemed a pledge of the loveliness 
 of her features. 
 
 " You must pardon me," said Bellenden, " for having in 
 truded upon you at this late hour so unexpectedly and so un 
 ceremoniously. The truth is, we are poor benighted travellers, 
 looking for a place of rest. I knew you lived in this country, 
 and came far out of my way to seek you; but did not know 
 your locality, till a few miles back, when I was inquiring for 
 the nearest house of entertainment, I was told I must ride 
 twelve miles farther, unless I stopped at Mrs. Walton s, or Mr. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 13 
 
 Graham s, rather. Was it Mr. Robert Graham ? I asked. 
 Yes, Mr. Robert Graham ; but he was absent, he was gone 
 to India. Perhaps I could get admittance, however, for the 
 overseer and negroes were here, and if I announced myself as 
 their master s friend it would be sufficient/ Think of my 
 joy, my gratitude, when I beheld your well-known figure ap 
 proaching the carriage j for though I think you are taller and 
 much altered since we parted on the steps of the Rotunda, there 
 is something about Robert Graham which distinguishes him 
 from all others." 
 
 Here he again seized the hand of Robert, and shook it with 
 true college vehemence. 
 
 " POM are unaltered," replied Robert, scanning with a glance 
 of pleasure the bright, animated countenance, slight, spirited 
 figure, and intellectual bearing of his friend. " I never saw any 
 one retain so remarkably their youthfulness, even boyishness of 
 appearance." 
 
 "No reflection, I trust, on the inferiority of my size to 
 yours," said Bellenden, looking down on himself, and then 
 upward to Robert s loftier height, while a slight shade passed 
 over the beaming good-humour of his face. "The truth is, 
 Graham, I do not like this extreme youthfulness of appearance. 
 I would give half a kingdom, were it mine, for a little of your 
 unvalued height." 
 
 "I may have some advantage over you in a crowd," said 
 Robert, " but not at the fireside, not at the bar, not in any 
 scene where mind prevails over matter. But I hear the bell 
 that summons us to supper. I hope you are prepared to sit 
 down with a traveller s appetite. Will not Miss Bellenden 
 throw aside her bonnet and shawl ? She will find a warm cup 
 of tea or coffee the best antidote to fatigue." 
 
 He advanced toward the chair as he spoke, where she laii 
 guidly reclined, and stood by it, waiting her motion. 
 
 "Come, Julia," said her brother, "you will not detain our 
 host from the table, for he tells me that, like ourselves, he has 
 19 
 
14 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 just arrived from a long journey. I do believe she is asleep," 
 he added, bending over her, and lifting the veil from her 
 face. 
 
 "No, indeed/ said she, "only resting/ then rising, with 
 a light, graceful motion, she threw back the large crimson 
 shawl which enveloped her, untied her bonnet, which the wait 
 ing Minta eagerly received, and raising both hands, smoothed 
 back the fair hair, which, disordered by the jolting of the car 
 riage, fell too shadingly over her brow. It is impossible to 
 conceive of a complexion more transccndently fair, and the 
 soft redundance of locks of paly gold seemed literally to gild 
 this fairness. She might have looked too pale, too delicate, 
 but the glow of the fire-light was warm upon her cheek. With 
 the hand of a fairy, the foot of a Cinderella, and the form of 
 a sylph, she combined, in appearance, the innocence of child 
 hood with the grace of womanhood. Henry Bellenden glanced 
 at Robert, as his sister emerged from her transient eclipse, as 
 sured the gaze of admiration must be riveted on her beauty. 
 But there was something in the expression of his dark and se 
 rious eyes that baffled his scrutiny, something he could not 
 fathom. It was a " tablet of unutterable thoughts." 
 
 " I do not care for supper," said Julia, placing her hand on 
 her brother s arm, " but I will go with you." 
 
 " You will care now, I am sure," said Henry, when they 
 were ushered into a room as brilliantly lighted as the parlour, 
 perfumed with the warm odours rising from a table covered 
 with every thing that could tempt the most desiring appetite, 
 for the negroes had been expecting their master, and reserving 
 for him the luxuries of the plantation. "Why, this is a feast 
 worthy of the gods, and I for one am prepared to do it jus 
 tice. I never tasted finer coffee. It is perfectly inspiring. It 
 imparts to the blood a generous fervour, and is only equalled 
 by a goblet of Samian wine. Do you remember, Graham, 
 that noble punch-bowl, in which we were wont to pledge each 
 other at our college suppers, and which the class bequeathed to 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 15 
 
 me on its breaking up ? I have it still. I carried it home 
 with me, at the risk of its being broken in a thousand pieces, 
 and on any great or glorious occasion I bring it forth, and 
 hallow the memory of auld-lang-syne. Ah, college days, col 
 lege days, Graham ! The wine of life sparkled bright then 
 on the beaker s brim, and we had not touched its lees/ 7 
 
 " Methinks the wine still sparkles in your brimming cup/ 
 said Robert, as he met the bright, genial expression of Hen 
 ry s warm blue eye. " It has not begun to effervesce." 
 
 t( Between those college days and the present moment," re 
 plied Henry, and the warm light of his eyes grew suddenly 
 cold, " there has been time for empires to wax and wane, though 
 but a few fleeting years. What changes, then, may have taken 
 place in the heart of men !" 
 
 There was a pause after this remark, which no one seemed 
 disposed to break. Julia balanced her teaspoon on the edge 
 of her cup, without tasting its contents. She looked weary and 
 disconcerted, and shrank with evident embarrassment from the 
 profuse civilities of the servants. It was not strange that a 
 young girl should feel oppressed with embarrassment on find 
 ing herself in the house of a stranger, the host a young and 
 unmarried man, without mother or sister to welcome her, not 
 a single white female for her companion and friend; and when 
 that young girl was an invalid, yearning for sympathy and 
 tenderness, and cherishing home-cares, it would have been 
 stranger still, if she had not felt the desolation of home-sick 
 ness, which now banished her appetite and quenched. her thirst. 
 She was, moreover of Northern birth, and her unaccustomed 
 eye had not yet become reconciled to the dark-hued Africans 
 who surrounded her like the shadows of night. She thought 
 of the gentle mother and loving sister whom she had left in 
 her own bright home, and longed to be alone, that she might 
 cry herself to sleep, like the homesick child she was. Yet 
 she shrank from the anticipated loneliness of her chamber, and 
 vainly wished that they hud continued travelling the whole 
 
16 ROBEKT GRAHAM: 
 
 moonlit night; then she would not have been separated from 
 her brother. Every inexperienced young traveller in a strange 
 land can understand and sympathize with her emotions, and 
 never was a being more governed by the circumstances of the 
 present moment, more impulsive in her feelings, or more sensi 
 tively delicate, than Julia Bellenden. 
 
 When Henry, in the warmth and anxiety of fraternal love, 
 suggested a journey to the South, and a sojourn during the 
 winter in some of its sweet orange bowers, far from northern 
 snows and eastern blasts, she was almost wild with delight. 
 She was willing to travel all the world over with Henry; and 
 a visit to the land of flowers, was something of which she had 
 dreamed, but never expected to realize. She was reconciled 
 to the fragility of constitution which made it necessary for 
 her to shun the deadly blasts which sweep over the Atlantic 
 coast she was buoyed up by the most gladdening hopes. 
 Like all of ardent temperament, she was doomed to meet 
 with disappointments, which she was unwilling to acknow 
 ledge. She had expected, as she advanced on her journey 
 towards the South, to find her path literally strewed with 
 roses, and every wildwood and " bushy dingle" resonant with 
 the songs of birds, and radiant with their plumage. She ex 
 pected, too, to find in the home of strangers the warmth and 
 affection of her own. 
 
 More than once, during her journey, she had experienced 
 the 
 
 "Yearning anguish of the stranger s heart;" 
 
 and wished she had never left the shelter of her native home; 
 but she had not yet rested in one of those tropical bowers 
 where the spirit basks in the beams of perpetual summer. 
 She was still a bird of passage, and her wings were fluttering 
 (or a downy nest. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE room appropriated to Julia s accommodation was the 
 one occupied by Linda after her return from school. An air 
 of youth, purity, and freshness breathed through the apart 
 ment. The white muslin drapery, relieved by festoons of 
 rose colour; the carpet, with its pattern of roses, denned on a 
 groundwork of shaded green ; the decorations of the mantel 
 piece and toilet, reminded Julia of her own home-chamber, 
 and she felt that the spirit of womanhood lingered there, 
 though its presence was wanting. 
 
 " This was Miss Lindy s room," said Minta, smiling with 
 gratification, as she noticed the approving glance of Julia. 
 
 "And who was Miss Linda?" asked the young traveller. 
 
 "La! don t you know?" exclaimed the girl, with a look 
 of unaffected astonishment: "she was my young mistress; 
 and the beautifullest, and sweetest, and smartest young lady 
 there ever was in the world." 
 
 " Is she dead ?" asked Julia, in a saddened tone. 
 
 "Oh! mercy, no; she s married, and lives way off, down 
 the river, in Louisiana; and such a time as she had of it, 
 with old mistress and young master, fore she went off, nobody 
 ever did have this side o Jordan. But he ain t now what he 
 was then, Master Robert ain t, by a long deal; he s another 
 sort of a person from what he used to be, since he got re 
 ligion." 
 
 Julia s interest and curiosity were awakened by the re 
 marks of the negro; but she thought it indelicate and dis 
 honourable to take advantage of the loquacity of a servant, 
 and become familiar with those family secrets which should 
 be sacred from the stranger s knowledge. She repressed the 
 
18 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 questions that rose to her lips, and endeavoured to show, by 
 her silence, an indifference she was far from feeling. She 
 spoke of other things; but it seemed that the chain of associa 
 tion connected with Linda was wound round every object, 
 however remote, in the negro s mind, and drew her back with 
 irresistible power. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better not speak of these things to a 
 stranger," at length she said; " your master may not 
 like it." 
 
 " Why, everybody knows it," replied Minta, laughing : 
 " they didn t know nothing else, for a long time. Taint no 
 secret, no more than the Bible is. If twas, I wouldn t say 
 nothing, to save my life." 
 
 Julia, having satisfied her conscientious scruples, no longer 
 resisted the communicativeness of her attendant, and, while 
 the dark " bower-maiden" assisted her in preparing for rest, 
 she yielded her ear to the thrilling story of Linda s per 
 secutions, sufferings, and flight. It was scarcely possible 
 for even the exaggerating imagination of a negro to enhance 
 the romantic interest of such a history, and Minta s tongue 
 grew more eloquent as the attention of her auditor became 
 more riveted and intense. She prolonged her task, brushing 
 the soft luxuriance of Julia s long, fair hair, till it shone like 
 burnished gold, and watching, with triumphant delight, the 
 flush of excitement dawning on her pale cheek, at a narrative 
 so " passing strange, so wondrous pitiful." 
 
 When Julia retired to her couch, she could not sleep. She 
 would scarcely have felt more excited, had she occupied the 
 blood-stained chamber of Holyrood Palace, or the secret bower 
 of the fair and poisoned Rosamond. The light from the sink 
 ing blaze of the chimney flickered on the walls, making fan 
 tastic shapes, which mingled strangely with the phantoms of 
 her own kindled imagination. The image of the terrible step 
 mother stalked round her bed, fixing on her those hard and 
 stony eyes, that sunk into her soul like rocks in a fountain s 
 
A SEQUEL TO LIXDA. 19 
 
 depths. Then Robert Graham, not as she had seen him, sub 
 dued, lofty, and serene, but in his indomitable pride and fiery 
 passions, " bright as the sun, and terrible as an army with 
 banners," flashed upon her his powerful and mysterious eyes. 
 Linda, the young and persecuted orphan, the beautiful heir 
 ess, so wildly and romantically beloved, whose burning tear 
 had so often bathed the pillow her own cheeks now pressed, 
 and whose lonely sighs had echoed from those very walls, ap 
 peared embodied before her in a form of more than mortal 
 loveliness. Even in her dreams the same images pursued 
 her, so distinctly marked, so vividly coloured, her spirit-eyes 
 were dazzled and wearied by their straining gaze. 
 
 While Julia was listening with a fascinated ear to the wild 
 romance of Robert s youth, he sat by the light-wood blaze at 
 her brother s side, who called up, as if by magic, the genial 
 memories of their college life. Both these young men pos 
 sessed in an eminent degree the attributes which gain ascend 
 ancy over the popular mind, hence they were favourites with 
 their classmates, and the leaders in their hours of relaxation 
 and amusement. The very pride and passion of Robert s cha 
 racter, his recklessness, fearlessness, and prodigality, invested 
 him with a regality and power which swayed them like a 
 strong wind. A spendthrift of time and talent at one moment, 
 he hoarded them at another with a miser s avarice. If he 
 remained too long at the convivial feast, his lamp was sure to 
 mingle its flame with the rays of the dawning day. 
 
 11 Graham will fail in his morning recitation," was often 
 prophesied by those who had revelled the preceding evening 
 in the lavishness of his hospitality, and sparkled in the bril 
 liancy of his wit. But it was never so ; the fire kindled bj 
 the Promethean torch of Aristides was never extinguished, 
 but burned an undecaying torch, lighting the steps of ambi 
 tion to the Temple of Fame; ambition, born of love, nurtured 
 by passion, goaded by the most maddening jealousy, and 
 upheld by the strong arm of the most determined will 
 
20 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 But perhaps the greatest cause of his overmastering influ 
 ence was the incommunicativeness of his nature, the combi 
 nation of intellectual frankness with the most guarded close 
 ness and mystery of the heart. He never talked of himself, of 
 his hopes or wishes. Even to Henry Bellenden, his room 
 companion and most intimate friend, he had never breathed 
 the name of Linda. He would have deemed it sacrilege to 
 her, degradation to himself. This was not owing so much to 
 the sacred reverence of love, as to the dark reserve in which 
 he wrapped his passionate and fiery character. 
 
 Henry Bellenden, the representative of a northern city in that 
 southern institution, was as different from Robert Graham as 
 morning is from night. It is a singular circumstance when a 
 northern youth is sent to be educated at a southern college; but 
 an uncle who resided in Virginia, within the shadow of Monti- 
 cello s classic mount, and whom he was visiting, inspired him 
 with an ardent desire to be associated with southern youth, whose 
 character he felt to be congenial with his. And yet he was most 
 powerfully attracted by qualities entirely opposite to his own. 
 Frank and communicative himself, he admired the proud reserve 
 of Robert s heart as much as the open display of the riches of 
 his mind. Of a most sunny and unclouded temper, he loved to 
 watch the clouds that often darkened Robert s, waiting for the 
 burst of sunshine that so splendidly illumined them. In tho 
 whole course of their college life, nothing had arisen to interrupt 
 the harmony of their friendship. Proud, imperious, and pas 
 sionate as Robert then was, the shadow of his towering passions 
 never fell on his friend. Perhaps it was owing to the convic 
 tion that they could never be rivals, that "as there is one glory 
 of the sun, and another glory of the moon," so like the stars 
 they differed from each other in glory. Had Henry crossed 
 his path in love or fame, he would have felt the grapple of the 
 iion roused from his lair; but in their diverging destinies no 
 counter interests met, no selfish motives struggled. They had 
 parted friends, but the correspondence, commenced at first with 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 21 
 
 youthful ardour, had died away, or rather it had been swal 
 lowed up in the vortex of Robert s master passion. Now 
 they met as friends, and seated side by side, in the deep qui 
 etude of the midnight hour, they talked of bygone hours, and 
 young as they were, wished they were boys once more, that 
 hey could begin life anew. 
 
 "And you are not married, Graham/ said Henry, after a 
 pause, which he had employed in perusing the downcast coun 
 tenance of his friend: "with wealth and position like yours, 
 with none to control or direct your will, I am surprised that 
 you have been allowed to retain the gift of freedom." 
 
 "I shall never marry," replied Robert, without lifting his 
 eyes from the flames on which they had been steadfastly fixed. 
 " I shall travel through the wilderness of life with no gentle 
 hand clasped in mine, or scattering flowers over its wintry 
 waste. Once there was desolation in this thought, now there 
 is peace. The fewer ties we have to bind us to earth, the 
 easier our transition to heaven." 
 
 The deep feeling with which these words were uttered, con 
 vinced Henry that they came from the heart of the speaker. 
 Could it be that one so splendidly endowed, both by nature 
 and fortune, had loved in vain? Impossible. Had death 
 blighted the blossoms of his hope, even as it had done his own ? 
 Had he been driven by treachery from his native land to 
 India s burning clime? These questions, which in a cooler 
 moment he would have repressed, rushed involuntarily from 
 his lips. 
 
 "I cannot detail the past," answered Robert. "It would 
 madden me. Enough, that I have loved, so vainly, so wildly, 
 so destructively, that life was wellnigh the sacrifice at the 
 altar of passion. But from the ashes of unrequited love and 
 lost happiness arose a purer, holier flame. God accepted the 
 offering of this rejected heart, and to him I have devoted my 
 blighted youth, my energies, my wealth, my influence. I have 
 adopted as my brothers and sisters the fallen sons and daugh 
 
ZZ ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 ters of humanity. The more deeply I foci the duties and 
 responsibilities involved in this great brotherhood, the more 
 sensible I am of my own divine affiliation, of my unutterable 
 debt to Him who raised me from the moral degradation in 
 which my soul was plunged, and received me as a ministering 
 servant at his altar." 
 
 The eyes of Kobert, now raised and fixed upon the face of 
 Henry, beamed with earnest truth and exalted fervour. 
 Henry grasped his hand without speaking. Compassion, 
 sympathy, admiration, and veneration, all swelled his heart, 
 and alternately triumphed over each other. 
 
 " And you, my friend/ said Kobert; " sympathy so deep 
 must be born of experience, have you been happy ?" 
 
 11 1 have known one year of happiness, followed by a night 
 of sorrow. I have loved, wedded, and been widowed, since last 
 we met." 
 
 " You ! with that cloudless brow that sunny countenance ! 
 Impossible 1" 
 
 " It is even so. My nature is so elastic, it rebounds from 
 the pressure of grief with a resilience that is almost miracu 
 lous. There was a time when the world seemed to me a dun 
 geon of despair; but Hope smiled through the prison-bars, 
 whispering of man s goodness and God s mercy, and told me I 
 was an ingrate and a rebel. Then I walked forth under the 
 blue sky and the warm sunshine, and felt the beauty and 
 warmth sink into my softened heart. I was comforted. And 
 now memory and hope meet as friends, and bless and hallow 
 each other." 
 
 "Strange," said Robert, with impressive emphasis, "that 
 one can be deeply wounded, yet wear no print of the scars ! 
 i 7 ou will be happy again. Earth has many joys in reserve for 
 you, joys that will be more precious for the remembrance 
 of past sorrows." 
 
 "And yr>u, too, Graham. We are both equally young, but 
 equ-il only in youth In all other respects you have the ad- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 23 
 
 vantage of me; and if /am destined to enjoy happiness once 
 more, you Should look forward to a double portion." 
 
 Thus the two friends continued to converse, till the blaze in 
 the chimney died away, leaving a bed of glowing coals, and 
 the glowing coals faded and crumbled into dying embers, and 
 cold, gray ashes. 
 
 Henry, yielding to the natural frankness of his nature, tolu 
 the whole story of his youthful love and early bereavement. 
 He could tell it, with a calm, though subdued voice, a serene, 
 though serious eye. He could even smile at the recollection 
 of departed joys. It is true, they were faded flowers, but 
 they would bloom again. There was nothing peculiar in the 
 history. A young girl, fair, delicate, and fragile, like his 
 sister, but gifted with rare accomplishments and brilliant 
 genius, was betrothed to him soon after he left college. Even 
 then there was a prophetic rose on her cheek ; that deep, 
 bright rose, the signet-seal of consumption. After one short 
 year of wedded life she passed away, and he was left alone. 
 His favourite sister, Julia, gave indications of the same fatal 
 malady, the flitting colour, the quick, panting breath, the 
 occasional, short, dry cough. He had hastened to bear her 
 from the " rigid North" before the clutch of the destroyer 
 had fastened on her heart. 
 
 Whither was he bearing her ? He had thought of St. Au 
 gustine when he left home ; some location in the land of flow 
 ers, where the gales were soft and bland, and the air played 
 gently on frail and delicate lungs. He wished to consult his 
 friend j for he was very much like a bark launched on an un 
 known stream, waiting for the first favouring breeze to waft it 
 to a safe haven, careless where it might be. 
 
 Robert listened and meditated. He thought of Louisiana, 
 of Linda s fair, smiling home, embosomed in groves of 
 oranges and bowers of roses. How cordially would she wel 
 come Henry s gentle sister ! how kindly would she minister to 
 
24 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 the fair young invalid ! Where could the Northern stranger 
 find a lovelier resting place ? 
 
 " Remain with me awhile," said he, " and I will accompany 
 you to a spot where your sister can realize her fairest dreams 
 of our Southern land. Having just returned, after a long ab 
 sence, duty chains me here for a short time. I have a large 
 plantation, and many slaves committed to my care, whose 
 interests are so interwoven with my own, that I cannot neglect 
 the one without endangering the other. As I expect to render 
 an account of my stewardship, I feel this responsibility very 
 deeply. It called me back, for a time, from labours more 
 remote, and gave me an abundant reason for leaving the field, 
 whitened for the harvest, which the reaping angels are gather 
 ing in. Remain with me awhile, and I will be your guide 
 and companion. It is the home of my own step-sister to 
 which I invite you, and to which I pledge you a true and 
 heart-warm welcome." 
 
 " A thousand thanks !" exclaimed Henry, enthusiastically. 
 "This is beyond my most sanguine hopes. Remain ! yes I 
 would stay a hundred years, with such a prospect. A step 
 sister ! I never knew you had one, Graham. Poor little 
 Julia ! how she will rejoice in this arrangement ! She has 
 such a dread of strangers I" 
 
 The next morning, when he met Julia at the breakfast- 
 table, he mentioned the propositions of Robert, expecting it 
 would meet her joyful concurrence. He was surprised at the 
 manner in which she received it. When he spoke of " the 
 step-sister," to whose beautiful home they were so cordially 
 invited, she started, and turned her eyes toward Robert 
 quickly and earnestly \ then withdrawing them, a deepening 
 blush suffused her face. The history narrated by Minta, 
 which had peopled her dreams with such vivid images, all 
 seemed concentrated in the name of step-sister; and the 
 thought of being domesticated with the hero and heroine of 
 such a thrilling romance almost set her young brain on fire. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 25 
 
 Robert, unconscious of the cause of her earnest glance, and 
 the embarrassment which succeeded, felt his own face redden, 
 as it always did when he knew himself an object of scrutiny 
 or curiosity. 
 
 "I see how it is," cried Henry, laughing: "my little fas- 
 idious sister thinks it will not do for her to remain as the 
 uest of a handsome young gentleman, who has neither wife, 
 mother, nor sister, to assist him in bestowing the honours of 
 hospitality. I did not think of that. But methinks the 
 presence of her wise and venerable brother will make every 
 thing very right and proper." 
 
 " Indeed, I think we had better go," said Julia, glad of the 
 interpretation her brother had given of her embarrassment. 
 " Pleasant as it would be to continue our journey under such 
 auspices, I fear our prolonged stay would be an intrusion on 
 the duties of our host." 
 
 " How much more considerate girls are than boys !" ex 
 claimed Henry. tl I never thought of that, either. We must 
 be in the way that is, she must. As for myself, I can roam 
 over the plantation, plunge with you in the depths of the 
 pine woods, and make myself familiar with all the mysteries 
 of Southern life. But what can she do ?" 
 
 "If Miss Bellenden will consent to remain," said Robert, 
 "I will obviate every difficulty of that kind. Our neighbour, 
 Mr. Marshall, one of our best friends, has a daughter, who 
 will gladly be her companion during her stay. I will send an 
 immediate invitation; and perhaps even you, Bellenden," 
 added he, turning to Henry with a smile, " may find a charm 
 *n her society, to relieve the gloom and monotony of Pine 
 Grove." 
 
 That smile ! Julia felt illuminated by it. It was the first 
 time she had seen a smile on the pensive features of Robert. 
 Never had she beheld one which had such an irradiating in- 
 ffuence on the human countenance. She wondered why he 
 smiled so seldom, when it made him look so pre-eminently 
 
26 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 handsome. She wondered how Linda could have resisted its 
 fascination. 
 
 " Then it is decided/ said Robert. 
 
 "The only objection which Julia could possibly urge being 
 removed/ replied Henry, " I think I may say, yes." 
 
 Thus they became the guests of the young master of Pine 
 Grove, whose evergreen shades were once more animated by 
 the presence of beauty and youth. 
 
 Nora Marshall had been, though somewhat younger, the 
 companion of Linda s childhood, but they were educated at 
 different schools, and Linda s after destiny separated her from 
 all the associations of her childish years. Nora was sent to a 
 Northern institution, and her elastic spirit, blooming health, 
 and inexhaustible energy assimilated well to the life-giving, 
 exhilarating elements around her. 
 
 It is not possible for a stronger contrast to exist than was 
 presented in the person and character of Nora Marshall and 
 Julia Bellenden. They each seemed the personification of 
 their opposite latitudes. A stranger would believe that he 
 beheld in the full, rounded, charmingly-developed figure of 
 Nora, her sparkling, flashing, quick-glancing, dark eyes, the 
 purplish blackness of her thick clustering hair, and the bril 
 liant roses of her cheeks, a representative of the vigorous and 
 blooming North. And in the slight and delicate form of 
 Julia, the unsullied and infantine fairness of her complexion, 
 the soft luxuriance of her light amber hair, and the clear sap 
 phire of her gentle eyes, an emblem of the mild and sunny 
 South. 
 
 It might almost be said of Nora that she " rioted in the 
 madness of superfluous health / for she seemed incapable of 
 fatigue, as she was insensible to fear. The flow of her spirits 
 was as full and unpausing as the ocean s waves j her voice 
 clear and resonant- as the tones of a silver bell stirred to 
 gladden life s sluggish current of thought; and her laugh re 
 minded one of the singing of many waters, as they sparkle in 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 27 
 
 the sunshine. If ever one revelled in the joy of motion, it 
 
 was Nora. How she ever remained still in school was an 
 
 inscrutable mystery. Where others walked, she danced; 
 
 through the yard, across the hall, up the stairs, she danced 
 
 and warbled too, as if life were a ball-room a singing gallery 
 
 -a perfect sans souci. Gay, dashing, merry Nora Marshall ! 
 
 Tie old negroes would shake their heads as she sparkled in 
 
 their midst, and say 
 
 " Poor child she s never seen trouble yet but it will 
 come, as sure as she s born." 
 
 The prophet voice which declared "that man is born to 
 trouble as the sparks fly upward," finds its echo in every 
 human heart, whether darkened by ignorance or enlightened 
 by knowledge ; and as in a bright, cloudless, glorious summer 
 day, we look anxiously for the evening cloud, beyond the exu 
 berance and fearlessness of youthful gayety we perceive the 
 advancing shadows of life. 
 
 Julia was elastic, impulsive, but never gay. Gayety is 
 seldom the accompaniment of extreme delicacy of constitution. 
 The languid pulse does not prompt the bounding step or 
 the ringing laugh. She was all grace and refinement and 
 sensibility, the same in her hours of retirement as in the 
 social circle. Her thoughts flitted through her mind, pure as 
 the white cloud that floats over the ethereal blue. 
 
 " She looks too good for this world," said experience, 
 gazing on her youth " she s not destined for a long life." 
 
 "I shall admire her, but I fear I shall not love her;" 
 thought Julia, when she met for the first time the bright 
 flashing glance of Nora. 
 
 " She is a pretty, gentle creature," thought Nora, smiling at 
 Julia s blushing timidity, " but I fear she lacks spirit she 
 may win love, but not admiration." 
 
 " She s handsome, brilliant, spirited," thought Henry, when 
 he made his first bow to Nora, " but too dashing and independ 
 ent for me. She may amuse and excite, but never interest." 
 
28 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " He seems very intellectual, very animated," thought Nora, 
 when introduced to Henry Bellenden, " but he is too slight, 
 too feminine, to suit my taste. I never could tolerate a gen 
 tleman under six feet." 
 
 So much for first impressions ! 
 
 The first day which Julia passed with her new acquaintance 
 was not a happy one; she was fatigued, oppressed, almost 
 annihilated by the vehemence of Nora s convivial spirits. She 
 felt very much as if a young colt had broken into the house, 
 and that there was danger in its wild antics. The truth was, 
 Nora led rather a lonely life, having few neighbours, no sister 
 or youthful companion on whom her sparkling spirits could 
 radiate with natural brightness. She was enchanted on the 
 reception of Robert s invitation, and came, like a bottle of 
 champagne, ready to effervesce in a thousand exhilarating 
 diamonds. She had seen but very little of the stately Robert 
 since a fellow pupil with him at the school of Aristides Long- 
 wood. Then she defied and tormented him, and laughed at 
 the castigations for which the gentle Linda wept. As chil 
 dren, they were sworn enemies; and though the animosities 
 of childhood are soon forgotten and sometimes converted into 
 genuine friendships, no youthful intercourse had given rise 
 to warmer feelings. Robert never visited, and the incidents 
 of his dark and stormy career, which lost nothing by the 
 tongue of rumour, were not calculated to propitiate dislike or 
 to inspire regard. She had no faith in the stability of his 
 new principles ; even his departure to India was considered 
 by her a splendid meteoric flight, a modern Hegira, to excite 
 the wonder and the admiration of the gazing world. He was 
 almost as much a stranger to her, now, as Henry and Julia, 
 and she rejoiced in the opportunity of gratifying her curiosity, 
 as well as manifesting her skepticisms in his saintliness and 
 devotion. 
 
 " He is grand, magnificent, beautiful," said she to herself, 
 as he greeted her with the kindness of an old friend, showing 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 29 
 
 an entire oblivion of all childish skirmishes ; " but he need 
 not think to awe me with his stupendous virtue ; I will show 
 him there is one who will dare to laugh, even under the 
 shadow of his olympian brows. " 
 
 Henry went abroad with Robert, and Julia was left alone 
 with her vivid companion. Though Nora had really all the 
 warmth of heart usually the accompaniment of high spirits, 
 as she had never known a day s sickness, she could not sym 
 pathize in the languor which often made Julia seek the downy 
 chair and the luxurious sofa. If any were sick enough to be 
 confined to their bed, suffering from some manifest cause, and 
 requiring nursing care, Nora would give the nightly watching 
 and the daily ministration with all the untiring energy of her 
 nature ; but when they were well enough to sit, to walk, and 
 eat, and appear as other people did, she could not conceive of 
 their being sick. She thought all they required was the exer 
 cise of their own willy to be as full of buoyant, exulting life as 
 herself. 
 
 She looked upon Julia as a little, tender creature, who had 
 been petted and nursed almost to death, and who required 
 only her own invigorating influence to obtain similar bloom 
 and spirit. 
 
 " Come," said she, throwing one arm around Julia s waist, 
 and lifting her with as little effort as she would blow a feather 
 in the wind " come, you must not sit moping in the house, 
 like a caged bird. Take a run with me in the open air; it 
 will bring the blood to your cheeks, and joy to your heart. 
 Only think you are strong, and it will make you so." 
 
 Before Julia was aware, she was whirled out into the yard, 
 and one of the most delicious breezes she had ever felt blew 
 freshly and blandly on her cheeks. She could not keep up 
 with the rapid motions and volant steps of Nora; but her 
 light feet seemed borne up by the elasticity of the atmosphert,, 
 and the languid current of her veins quickened with new life. 
 She admired the grandeur of the live-oaks those high-priests 
 20 
 
30 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 of the forest, in their sacerdotal mantles of moss, sweeping in 
 the gale trees, such as she had never seen in her North 
 ern clime. She stood under their shadow with feelings of 
 reverence and awe. as if some temple-arch were bending 
 over her, thinking what a magnificent place it was to wor- 
 hip God, when Nora, observing her grave and devout coun- 
 enance, which struck her as exceedingly out of place, sprang 
 up, caught a bough in her hand to which a detached garland 
 of dead moss was hanging, and, tearing it off, she tossed it 
 over Julia s head and upturned face, sprinkling her with the 
 dust of the dry and brittle lace-work. 
 
 "What a pretty nun you would make!" exclaimed she; 
 while Julia, smiling, though not particularly pleased at such a 
 rude interruption to her reverential emotions, quietly released 
 herself from the gray old veil. The dust, however, still lin 
 gered in her eyes, making her shed involuntary tears. Nora 
 laughed excessively, without dreaming she had inflicted pain, 
 and, skipping down a path winding along back of the house, 
 she called on Julia to follow. This path, shaded on each side by 
 evergreen shrubbery, was a cool and delightful avenue in the 
 sultriness of a summer s day. Now, the dews of an autumnal 
 morning lingered on the ground, and Julia would gladly have 
 avoided the dampness; but she feared the ridicule of Nora, 
 and preferred exposing herself to an atmosphere which might 
 endanger her health, rather than meet the mocking glance 
 of her bright, dark eye. At the termination of this path, a 
 clear, cold, sparkling spring came gushing and bubbling from 
 a moss-covered rock, into a basin scooped out to receive it. 
 The water constantly dripped over the edge of the basin, form 
 ing a little pool around it, and singing all the time at its cool, 
 monotonous work. A smooth, white gourd lay on a bench by 
 the reservoir, and a rustic settee, constructed of interlaced 
 oaken boughs, was placed on the opposite side. 
 
 " How beautiful I" exclaimed Julia, taking the gourd, and 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 31 
 
 filling it brimfull of water; "I never tasted any thing so deli- 
 ciously cold and pure/ 
 
 While bending her head over the gourd, Nora, who "seemed 
 to watch a time to sin," stole softly behind her, and giving 
 her elbow a sudden jerk, splashed the water over her head. 
 Julia, whose footing was not very secure on the edge of the 
 fountain, was precipitated forward, so that she stood ankle- 
 deep in water. In endeavouring to save herself from falling, 
 she caught hold of the side of the rocky basin, while hex 
 hair, loosened from her comb, fell in liberated waves over her 
 shoulders, and floated like lotus leaves on the surface of the 
 fountain. 
 
 "Oh! thou beautiful mermaid," cried Nora, clapping her 
 hands in genuine admiration ; " make a looking-glass of the 
 water, and see how charming you look I" 
 
 Julia did not smile at this practical joke. The contact of 
 the- cold water chilled her, and she did not like to be so rudely 
 treated. She had always been carefully guarded from cold, and 
 now she was forced into a bed of water, cold as ice, gurgling 
 round her feet; the bottom of her dress saturated, and her 
 hair dripping over her bosom. A fit of coughing, drowned in 
 Nora s gushing laughter, brought a bright colour to her 
 cheeks, but she shivered and trembled. 
 
 " Come," said Nora, fearing she had suffered her frolic- 
 loving spirit to carry her rather too far, " don t be angry with 
 me, and I will behave better next time. Come, let me help 
 you out." 
 
 Julia turned from her, and, gathering up her wet robes, 
 attempted to jump out unassisted : she was really afraid of 
 the wild girl, and feared to trust herself in her hands. As 
 she was in the act of springing out, the pebbles turned under 
 . her foot, and twisted her ankle. With a low shriek of pain, 
 she fell forward, and Nora beheld her with dismay. 
 
 " Oh ! what is the matter, Julia !" she exclaimed, stooping 
 down, and raising her in her arms. " How are you hurt, you 
 
32 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 poor, persecuted lambkin? Tell me what I have done. I 
 did not mean to hurt you; indeed, I did not/ 
 
 " I fear I have sprained my ankle," said Julia, faintly, her 
 colour going out, and a wan hue stealing over her face; " but 
 do not be distressed. It is a trifle." 
 
 "A trifle!" cried Nora, frightened at the deadly pallor of 
 her countenance, and struck with remorse for her reckless 
 folly. Catching her up in her arms, she flew up the path, 
 across the yard, over the threshold, and into the house with 
 the bound of the deer. 
 
 " Quick, quick !" she cried to the astonished negroes whom 
 she encountered in the hall ;" follow me to her room. Bring 
 hartshorn, cologne, camphor, cold water, hot water, 
 every thing to keep her from fainting. Make haste ! Are 
 you all stocks and stones? Don t you see I ve killed her?" 
 
 " No, no," said Julia; " I am not killed, only hurt. Just 
 lay me down on the sofa, and I shall be easier." 
 
 Transported at the sound of her voice, for she thought she 
 had fainted, as she lay with her eyes closed, and looked so 
 deadly pale, Nora laid her down on a sofa in her chamber, 
 and casting herself on her knees before her, half-smothered her 
 with caresses, while the tears fell fast from her bright, penitent- 
 looking eyes. 
 
 " Pray, forgive me," she cried; " though I cannot, will not 
 forgive myself. I have been so frightened oh, so frightened ! 
 I hardly knew how I reached the house. Oh, dear! I really 
 fear I shall be the death of somebody yet, rude monster that 
 I am." 
 
 Julia assured her, in the gentlest manner, of her entire for 
 giveness, declaring that the sprain was owing to her own per- 
 verseness in refusing her offered assistance. One of the negro 
 women was employed in the mean time in drawing the shoe 
 and stocking from her swollen foot and ankle, and applying 
 cold bandages. 
 
 " Oh ; what a shame !" exclaimed Nora ; her grief and self- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 33 
 
 condemnation bursting out afresh at the sight of the injury 
 she had unwittingly caused to that J ttle fairy foot; "I have 
 made a prisoner of you, a Chinese golden lily. You will 
 not be able to walk a step for Heaven knows how long !" 
 
 "Do not, do not, I pray you, blame yourself so much," 
 said Julia, gently drawing Nora s hand to her lips. "It was 
 such a trifle, I am almost ashamed that it should have affected 
 me so seriously. But it is astonishing how little I can bear. 
 The slightest shock sometimes produces a fainting-fit even the 
 sight of flowing blood. How could you have imagined such a 
 result?" 
 
 "But I need not have been such a rude wretch, such a 
 rough, Greenland bear. I do not know what impelled me. 
 The impulse was as quick and unpremeditated as a flash of 
 lightning. I believe I have two beings in one ; one always 
 sinning, the other mourning over the sins, and trying to atone 
 for them. You, poor little gentle lamb, how you must hate 
 me!" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Julia, smiling, "I thought a little while 
 ago " She paused, and the colour came into her cheek. 
 
 " What did you think ? that I was the most disagreeable, 
 unfeeling, unfeminine hoyden that you ever saw? I know 
 you did. Say it, for I deserve it. Yet I would not have you 
 think me the two last. Disagreeable I may be, but really 
 unfeeling and unfeminine, I should be grieved to have you 
 think me." 
 
 " Nay, I do not think so. How can I think so now? I only 
 thought, I only feared we could not harmonize; that you, so 
 bright, so blooming, so rejoicing in health, could not sympathize 
 with such a frail young thing as I am. Perhaps you do not 
 know that I came to your beautiful clime in search of health, 
 or rather to avoid the cold blasts of a Northern winter. Sister 
 Mary, my brother s lovely wife, died of consumption, and my 
 friends feared for me the same premature doom." 
 
 " Not this brother s wife ?" exclaimed Nora. 
 
34 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 Yes. Henry married a year after he left college, even 
 before he had completed his studies as a lawyer, and in one 
 short year his beautiful young wife was laid in the grave. It 
 is just two years since, or will be the coming winter." 
 
 "Why, he looks so boyishly young!" cried Nora, "so 
 sunny-browed, so light-hearted I cannot realize the truth of 
 your words. A widower ! how strange ! I thought him a 
 mere youth!" 
 
 "He is young, about the age of Mr. Graham, I believe. 
 They were classmates in college, you know." 
 
 "Ah! Robert Graham looks like a man! so tall, so stately, 
 with those magnificent eyes and that midnight-looking hair. 
 What a boy he was ! Good heavens, what a boy ! He was 
 always handsome, but such strong passions; and then his 
 mother ! such a woman. No, she was not a woman. She was 
 a fiend, a dragon, a female Lucifer. How she treated poor, 
 darling Linda. Oh ! I must tell you of that." 
 
 In her own peculiar, wild, rambling manner, she related to 
 Julia the history which she had already heard from Minta s 
 eager tongue. She listened with increasing interest, and a 
 belief in its truth which she had not been able to accord to 
 Miuta s first-told tale. Thus corroborated, it assumed the 
 force of certainty, glowing with the colours of the most exalted 
 romance. 
 
 The evening found Julia quite renovated, reclining on the 
 parlour sofa d la sultance, and Nora seated on a footstool at 
 her side. 
 
 " Do not tell your brother what a savage I am," cried Nora, 
 as Robert and Henry entered the parlour together. " He may 
 not forgive me as sweetly as you have done. I am on my 
 good behaviour now, and am going to try if I cannot be as 
 gentle and meek as you are. If you chance to see the lion s 
 foot under tin; fleece of the lamb, do not betray me." 
 
 Julia promised, but it was not ten minutes before Nora 
 betrayed herself, with unconscious ingenuousness. She spoke 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 35 
 
 however of her rudeness with so much candour, and blamed 
 herself with so much sincerity and severity, it was impossible 
 to exercise a harsh judgment upon her, especially when the 
 culprit was as brilliantly handsome as Nora was this evening. 
 The self-restraint she imposed upon herself, in consequence of 
 her determination to be good, gave the grace of propriety to 
 her often too reckless manners, and then she was so kind, so 
 tender to Julia ! Henry looked upon her with admiring; grati 
 tude, when he saw her gathering all the cushions in the room, 
 to make a kind of luxurious guard around her, drawing a foot 
 stool beneath her feet, and watching her as carefully as a 
 mother would a child. 
 
 Yet who could help being kind to Julia? So gentle, so fair, 
 so innocent and fragile ! As she half reclined on the sofa, in 
 her simple, white, childish-looking dress, confined round the 
 waist by a blue riband, about the colour of her eyes those soft, 
 appealing, loving eyes, she reminded one of the angels of 
 Raphael. The same, lovely, flowing contour defined her 
 youthful face, the same fair, golden hair shed a pale glory over 
 the spotless brow. 
 
 Robert looked upon her, and thought of Linda. Not that 
 she resembled her, only as one beautiful being resembles 
 another. Where she now was, Linda had often been, and the 
 remembrance imparted a softness and sensibility to his counte 
 nance of which he was not aware. He felt interested in her 
 as the sister of his friend. He pitied her, with such a blight 
 hovering over her youth; and more than all, he was drawn 
 toward her, as the child of his own heavenly Father, as united 
 to him by the ties of a divine consanguinity. With these 
 blended emotions warming his heart, he moved his chair close 
 to the sofa where she reclined, and Julia, looking up with 
 bashful pleasure, not unmingled with trepidation, met for the 
 first time the full glance of his eyes. We have often spoken 
 of the eyes of Robert, but it was only those who met their glance 
 as Julia did, who could realize their wondrous power. You 
 
36 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 Lave seen some deep stream at midnight, dark in its silent 
 depths of shade, illumined by the distant starlight; you have 
 seen a black storm-cloud rifted by lightning, and a torch flash 
 ing over a dark, fathomless abyss. The eyes of Robert, in 
 moments of strong excitement, reminded one of all these; and 
 when animated as they now were, with their best and purest 
 expression, of lamps, burning before some holy shrine, through 
 the misty incense of the frankincense and myrrh; of beacons, 
 shining over the tempestuous billows of 
 
 " Stars on eternity s ocean." 
 
 Julia felt the blood flow with painful rapidity and warmth 
 to her pale cheek, and she blushed still more deeply at this 
 consciousness. She felt guilty for having listened to the his 
 tory of his life, for having been told the secrets of his heart. It 
 seemed to her that lie must know it. He looked as if he had 
 the power to read things unsearchable and unknown; and she 
 was so transparent in her innocence and simplicity, how could 
 he help reading her? 
 
 Henry sat by Nora, in an opposite part of the room, 
 engaged in an exceedingly animated conversation, made up of 
 brilliant nonsense, sportive wit, and a little sound, rational 
 wisdom. 
 
 Robert, who had neither taste nor talent now for brilliant 
 nonsense, talked to Julia in a lower, deeper tone, of what he 
 thought would most interest her feelings and relieve her bash- 
 fulness. He led her on to describe her Northern home, hei 
 native scenes, so kindly and gently, that she found herself, to 
 her own unutterable astonishment, speaking without embar 
 rassment, and looking up without blushing to this awe-inspiring 
 young man. 
 
 She even ventured to question him of his travels in foreign 
 lands, and then she discovered how eloquent, how fascinating 
 he could be. She felt as if she were wandering with him on 
 tho banks of the Ganges, "India s coral strand/ and listen- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 37 
 
 ing, from the ancient rivers and the spicy groves of the East, 
 to hymns of adoration and prayers of faith ; ascending above 
 the burning pyre and the idolatrous shrine. 
 
 Julia never realized so fully before the mighty blessing of 
 being born in a Christian land. With scarcely conscious 
 gratitude, such as she felt for the sunshine and air of heaven 
 diffused over all, she had basked in the light of Christianity, 
 without reflecting on the awful shadows it had dispersed. She 
 had been enlightened and protected by its divine institutions, 
 without thinking of the deep degradation she had escaped. 
 
 Robert saw that her interest was awakened, and it pleased 
 him. Without dwelling on himself, his sacrifices or labours, 
 he continued the theme, till Nora s warning voice was heard 
 reminding Julia that she was a slave to hours. 
 
 Julia heard the summons with surprise and regret, for never 
 had an evening glided away more rapidly. She had a very 
 humble self-estimation, and felt grateful to Robert for having 
 devoted so much time to such a little insignificant creature as 
 herself. She felt still more grateful to him, when he removed 
 the footstool so cautiously from her feet, and assisted her to 
 rise from her bed of cushions so kindly and protectingly, nor 
 left her, till Henry s arm encircled her, ready to carry her 
 through the hall to the door of her chamber. 
 
 At that moment she would not have exchanged the weak 
 ness that required such kindness and protection, for the ex 
 ultant sense of health and vitality which animated the bosom 
 of Nora Marshall. 
 
 "You need not stay," said Nora to Minta, when assisting 
 Julia she entered their chamber, where every thing was pre 
 pared for their nightly rest. 
 
 "How nice every thing looks how comfortable, how plea 
 sant!" exclaimed Julia, looking gratefully at the mortified 
 Minta, whose countenance brightened as she spoke. Indeed, 
 every thing wore a most inviting aspect. The hearth shone 
 like polished jasper in the ruddy glow that warmed it. The 
 
38 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 white, smooth sheets were folded back from the swelling pil 
 lows ; the white night-dresses were spread over chairs by the 
 fireside; pure fresh water sparkled in the brimming ewers, 
 and damask napkins hung in shining folds near the washstand. 
 
 "Why did you send her away?" asked Julia, as Minta 
 closed the door. 
 
 " Because we have nothing for her to do, and I do not like 
 listeners/ replied Nora. "Strange that /should be cautious; 
 but I always had an aversion to have a negro standing at the 
 back of my chair, or waiting at my elbow. It makes me im 
 patient." 
 
 "I do not like such close attendance either," said Julia; 
 "but I feared her feelings might be hurt." 
 
 Nora laughed. " Oh, no ! not by such a trifle. But tell 
 me, Julia, have I not been very good to-night, according to 
 my bond ? I have no doubt your brother thinks I am quite a 
 discreet young lady; and you, what do you think of our mag 
 nificent saintship of a host?" 
 
 "Do not speak in that light way. It sounds as if you were 
 mocking at his piety and goodness. He is certainly very pleas 
 ing and very kind." 
 
 " Kind ! I should like to know what kindness there is in 
 bowing his tall head and overshadowing such a sweet, fragrant 
 lily as you are a whole evening ? I have had serious thoughts 
 of trying to captivate the young monk myself, but I foresee 
 now a more formidable rival to the beautiful Linda. I believe," 
 added the thoughtless girl, "I shall reserve the power of my 
 charms for your blue-eyed widower brother." 
 
 This light badinage sounded like sacrilege to Julia s ear. 
 She thought of Mary in her early grave, and sighed. Surely 
 Henry would be forever constant to her memory. Love hal 
 lowed by death must be immortal. And Nora ! even if Henry 
 could love again, which was impossible, he never would think 
 of one so entirely different to his delicate, intellectual, and 
 gifted bride. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 39 
 
 The allusion to Robert, in connection with herself, seemed 
 more sacrilegious still. In whichever character she considered 
 him, as the impassioned lover of Linda, or the Heaven-dedi 
 cated missionary, he seemed as remote from her as a lone and 
 distant star shining above her, the key-stone in the bright 
 arch of night. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AND thus time passed away. During the day the young 
 men were abroad, and the two girls were left to their own re 
 sources for enjoyment and occupation. Robert found so many 
 duties requiring absolute presence and co-operation, that he 
 was obliged to devote himself exclusively to them, and Henry 
 was his fellow labourer as well as companion. There was 
 novelty as well as excitement to the latter, in the superintend 
 ence of a plantation, the distribution of labour and reward 
 among the negroes, the study of their character, and all that 
 appertains peculiarly to life at the South. 
 
 As all this involved exercise in the open air, (and such a 
 pure, enchanting, life-giving air it was,) and the daily practice 
 of noble horsemanship, Henry greeted each dawning morning 
 with enthusiasm, anticipating the renewal of the enjoyment of 
 yesterday. 
 
 Julia, who recovered very rapidly from the effect of the 
 accident at the spring, left to the companionship of Nora 
 passed much of her time in rambles in the neighbouring woods, 
 swinging under the shade of the great live oaks, playing graces 
 in the long wide hall, or tossing the feathery bird with the 
 resounding battledores. There was no exercise or game re 
 quiring agility or dexterity in which Nora was not a proficient. 
 Julia, who had been accustomed to yield to the oppression of 
 
40 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 languor, believed herself incapable of any athletic exertion ; 
 but stimulated by the example of the graceful and spirited 
 Nora, she endeavoured to imitate her; at first timidly, and 
 consequently awkwardly, but at length, to her own surprise, she 
 became expert, agile, and graceful as her teacher. Nora, though 
 till wild and exuberant in her frolics, never exhibited any 
 udeness to Julia since her immersion in the fountain. She 
 treated her with a gentleness which sometimes mortified Julia, 
 fearing, as she did, that it was inspired by compassion, yet 
 she loved the impulsive and warm-hearted girl, and found an 
 exhilaration in her society, like that imparted by the fresh 
 morning breeze and the invigorating fragrance of the young 
 pine woods. And Julia was to Nora, like the soft evening 
 dew, or rather the gentle moonbeam, stealing over the rougher 
 edges of her character, and making them smoother and lovelier 
 from its own heavenly reflection. 
 
 But the evening hours were welcomed with increasing de 
 light, the hours which brought Robert and Henry within the 
 sphere of their influence. Robert s lonely heart grew warm 
 in the sunshine of friendship, and opened to the admission of 
 social joys. He had thought he was henceforth to be a 
 stranger to home-born pleasures; that he must regard him 
 self only as a " pilgrim and a stranger on earth ;" that the 
 cold and silent walls of Pine Grove would never more echo to 
 the notes of gladness or the voice of sociality. He had never 
 dreamed of any one seeking him in his solitude, and, least 
 of all, the friend from whom he was so widely separated. 
 The presence of woman, too ! how strange, how unreal it 
 seemed ! 
 
 When he returned at night, and entered the illuminated 
 parlour, he saw it graced by forms of youth and beauty, such 
 as would attract admiration in the most crowded and brilliant 
 assembly, how much more thus insulated and unrivalled ! 
 It was pleasant to meet the bright welcome of Nora s spark 
 ling eye, still more the soft greeting of Julia s bashful smile, 
 flft 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 41 
 
 flitting blush, and upward-beaming glance. He was not vain. 
 He had been so when a boy; but the blight which had fallen 
 on his love had withered his vanity, and in its stead Christian 
 humility grew and blossomed. He now measured himself by 
 a standard so high, that in comparison he must ever feel 
 abased ; and though the lofty aspect which nature had given 
 him still conveyed to strangers the idea of pride, it was the 
 pride which looks up in aspiration, not down in contempt. 
 
 He never dreamed of interpreting Julia s quick-changing 
 colour and winning smiles to any sentiment flattering to him 
 self. He was interested in her modesty, gentleness, and intel 
 ligence, and gratified that he had the power to interest her, 
 by the earnest seriousness of his conversation. He thought 
 not of exciting the emotions of her heart ; he sought only to 
 awaken the inherent energies of her soul. 
 
 Henry watched their growing intercourse with delight. 
 Julia was not born for the ungenial North. Transplanted to 
 the jessamine groves and magnolia bowers of the South, she 
 would escape the doom so apt to fall on the fairest blossoms 
 of her native clime. Robert, no longer brooding over the 
 agonies of unrequited love, but happy in the affections of a 
 pure and vestal heart, would take the position which God and 
 nature intended in the social sphere. All this the brother and 
 friend beheld, in perspective, with the ardour of friendship 
 and the prescience of fraternal love. He cared not how long 
 they lingered at Pine Grove. He was amused by the gayety 
 and originality of Nora, he admired her beauty, and liked 
 her for her tenderness to Julia. In one way she interested 
 by never allowing him to maintain the same opinion of her 
 more than ten minutes at a time. If at one moment she 
 charmed by the unexpected good sense and grace of her 
 remarks, she would utter something the next so giddy and 
 childish it almost vexed him. If at one time she gratified his 
 self-love by some indirect compliment or expression of in 
 terest and admiration, at another sho wounded it by covert 
 
42 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 sarcasm or avowed disapprobation. He was sensitive about 
 his size : though exceedingly graceful, and finely formed, he 
 was comparatively small ; and, as all men exult in the posses 
 sion of physical power, he did not like to hear any remarks 
 that implied a deficiency in him. Nora discovered this, and 
 dwelt upon Robert s commanding height and splendid figure ; 
 till he imagined it impossible that she should admire any 
 thing that was not formed on a grand and lofty scale. Then, 
 again, she would declare that such men as Robert were only 
 to be preferred on the battle-field, in the pulpit, or at the bar; 
 they were never intended for the drawing-room, where grace, 
 not power, held the ascendency. Nora was a brilliant enigma, 
 that piqued his curiosity, and baffled his penetration ; but he 
 said to himself, again and again, that if his widowed bosom 
 could ever enshrine another idol, it could not, would not, bo 
 such a being as Nora Marshall. 
 
 11 When are you young gentlemen going to relax in your 
 selfish pursuits, and suffer our participation ?" asked Nora, one 
 evening. " We have exhausted our fund of out-door plea 
 sures and in-door enjoyments. We have walked till every 
 blade is worn away under our steps, swung till we have con 
 verted ourselves into living pendulums, and played graces till 
 our elbows are crooked in a perpetual angle. My resources 
 are exhausted ; and, if you cannot suggest a variety, I shall 
 not take the trouble to rise to-morrow." 
 
 " I regret the necessity which has made us such uncourteous 
 knights/ replied Robert, smiling j " but to-morrow we are at 
 your service. ; Tis yours to command, tis ours to obey/ 
 
 "Thank you/ said Nora: "that is the first gallant speech 
 I ever heard you utter. I hail it as an omen of a millennial 
 day of courtesy and chivalry. Julia, do you ever ride on 
 horseback ?" 
 
 " Oh yes !" answered Julia, with animation ; " that is, I 
 like it very much with a gentle horse." 
 
 " Gentle !" exclaimed Nora, her eyes flashing with excite- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA 43 
 
 ment. " I like them wild as the Arab steed of the desert, 
 with a mane floating like a banner, and an eye blazing like 
 a light-wood torch. Gentle ! Oh ! I never saw the horse 
 yet too fiery or too wild for the guidance of this girlish 
 hand." 
 
 She stretched out a white hand, sparkling with rings, that 
 ooked better fitted to press the ivory keys of a piano than to 
 draw the iron bit. 
 
 " I should like to challenge you to a trial of speed/ said 
 Henry, admiring the spirited grace of her manner. 
 
 " You !" she exclaimed, laughing ; " you might as well 
 challenge the forked lightning. No; you had better take 
 care of your gentle little sister, and leave the race to Mr. Gra 
 ham and myself. Mounted on his Black Warrior, he sweeps 
 over hill and dale, like the Wild Huntsman, or the Tempest 
 King. I have no doubt that you can dance like an Apollo, 
 and sing like an Orpheus ; but I doubt if you can ride like a 
 like a I forget which of the gods were celebrated for 
 their noble horsemanship ?" 
 
 " If I am not mistaken," said Henry, his face glowing with 
 a crimson hue, "Apollo is represented reining in the fiery 
 steeds of the sun, showing that his talents were not limited to 
 mere dancing." 
 
 " Your brother is angry," said Nora, in a lower voice to 
 Julia. " What shall I do to propitiate him ?" 
 
 "I never saw Henry angry," replied Julia; "but he may 
 not like to be depreciated. He is considered a remarkably fine 
 rider, I assure you." 
 
 " Mr. Bellenden was considered the best equestrian in col 
 lege," said Robert; " and if he is not exceedingly degenerated, 
 is worthy to be the escort of the Queen of the Amazons." 
 
 " Do you imply that I am an Amazon?" asked Nora, turn 
 ing on him quite a belligerent glance. 
 
 " I imply nothing I merely assert a fact regarding Mr. 
 Bellenden; I yield to him the honour of entering the listst 
 
44 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 with you, while I constitute myself the guardian of Miss Bel- 
 lenden." 
 
 " I am not worthy of such an honour," replied Henry, with 
 mock humility; "therefore, with due deference, positively 
 decline it." 
 
 Nora bit her red lips, to keep back a saucy rejoinder. She 
 saw she had wounded Henry s pride, and she was sorry. 
 She had not intended to do so. She was perfectly sincere in 
 the doubt she expressed. She thought, that one so formed to 
 excel in the light graces of the drawing-room was probably 
 deficient in the manlier exercises of the chase. Robert evi 
 dently preferred escorting Julia. She was thought compe 
 tent to take care of herself; and so she was. Julia, delicate 
 and timid, protected by both, was not equal to herself, with 
 her undaunted spirit and immovable self-reliance. 
 
 " Well," she exclaimed, the transient shadow passing from 
 her brow, and her countenance resuming its expression of radi 
 ant good-humour : " you shall both take care of Julia, leaving 
 me to my own wild way. If I knew how to bridle my tongue 
 as well as I do a horse, I should get along a great deal better 
 than I do." 
 
 Here she looked penitently at Henry, who smiled in re 
 turn one of his own hearty, genial smiles. He had one of 
 those golden tempers which are incapable of corrosion or 
 rust. He had spirit enough to resent, and kindness enough 
 to forgive. 
 
 " One can scarcely regret passing the limits of caution," 
 said Henry, " when candour comes so gracefully to the rescue. 
 But can we obtain a horse sufficiently gentle for this con 
 fessedly coward sister of mino I" 
 
 "I have one, the gentlest of the gentle," said Nora: "so 
 gentle I never ride hei myself now. She is as white as a 
 Northern snow-flake, with rosy nostrils and dove-like eyes. 
 Julia could guide it with her silken sash. Her name is Fair- 
 Star. Oh ! she is a perfect angel of a horse." 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 45 
 
 " But what will you ride yourself, Nora ?" asked Julia, 
 laughing at Nora s extravagant description. 
 
 " I ! I shall ride the Thunderbolt/ 
 
 " The Thunderbolt! what a terrible name \" 
 
 " He is exactly what his name describes; a combination 
 of splendour and terror. He is a young colt; just broken; 
 black as midnight, with such a glorious mane and tail ! The 
 first time I mounted him he was without saddle or bridle. I 
 made a bridle of his sweeping mane, and I sat in the hollow 
 of his back, as easy as in a cradle. Oh ! my sweet Julia, you 
 Northern lassies" 
 
 She stopped, laughed, and pressed her hand on her beauti 
 ful mouth. 
 
 "You must not judge them by me," said Julia; "I am 
 but a poor specimen." 
 
 " You are a darling that s what you are !" she cried, in 
 the most childish, simple manner possible; " but you must go 
 to bed now, like a good girl, so as to be bright and fresh on 
 the morrow. Come, we will leave your brother and his Most 
 Christian Majesty to settle all the preliminaries." 
 
 Trembling for the effect of her undaunted levity, Julia 
 raised her eyes to Robert s face; but she read there only the 
 mildest gravity, unshadowed by displeasure. 
 
 "How can you say such things to Mr. Graham?" asked 
 Julia, reproachfully, when they were alone : " do you not fear 
 to offend him?" 
 
 "Fear! I am not afraid of any one. I wish I were. I 
 fear you more than any one else." 
 
 " Me ! What strange opinions you do express. I wish 
 knew when you were serious." 
 
 " I am serious now. I fear you more, in your sweet, femi 
 nine timidity, shrinking modesty, and angelic purity, than a 
 host of Robert Grahams, stately and imposing as he is. You 
 are a silent, constant reproach to my rudeness and thought 
 lessness. Do not shake that pretty head. It is true. I am 
 21 
 
46 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 trying to imitate you, whether you believe it or not; but I 
 cannot, any more than the wild-cat can resemble the dove. I 
 did not intend to say any thing wounding to your brother, or 
 wicked to Robert, to-night ; but you heard what I did say, 
 and I could not help it. What shall I do?" 
 
 She sat down on a low seat, and shaking her black hair into 
 ripples over her shoulders, pushed it back from her right 
 cheek, and leaned her head on her hand. She looked very 
 thoughtful, serious, even pensive. One beautiful arm lay bare 
 upon her lap, the other was covered with its usual drapery. 
 Julia stole behind her; knelt down on the left side, and 
 passed her arm softly round her bending neck. Her own hair 
 was unbound, and it mingled its delicate, silky tresses with 
 Nora s jetty locks. She certainly personified the angel of 
 consideration, not come to " whip the offending Adam" froiu 
 the bosom of her friend, but to suggest pure and holy senti 
 ments there. 
 
 " Remember the golden rule, dear Nora: then you would 
 never say any thing to wound the feelings of another, and 
 you would have nothing to regret afterward. It seems so 
 simple, so easy.". 
 
 "Easy to you, child," said Nora, putting both arms round 
 Julia, and drawing her closer to her; "easy to you, who were 
 made by the golden rule, and cannot depart from it. You 
 know nothing of the promptings of such a wayward heart as 
 mine. It is a mystery to myself. I have sometimes thought, 
 I have sometimes dreamed," here she turned her dark eyes 
 toward Julia, with an expression of awakened sensibility, 
 * that love alone could tame this wild, rebellious spirit. It 
 B^ems tome, that the being whom I loved, if such there indeed 
 were, could mould me, like melted wax, into the gentlest, most 
 exquisite form. There are times when my heart aches from 
 the fulness of feeling, waiting for a channel through which 
 the living waters can flow. I have had so few to love, Julia. 
 My mother died when I was very young I never had a sister. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 47 
 
 My father, though the kindest and best man in the world, is a 
 man full of business and care. I have found more companion 
 ship with nature than any living being; but it is not in the 
 woods, or by the fountains, one learns the restraints of social 
 life. I have been left too much to myself/ 
 
 " Let me be your sister, dear Nora," said Julia, charmed 
 nd deeply moved by Nora s unexpected sensibility. "I have 
 left behind me one of the loveliest and best. Let me adopt 
 you in her stead, during my exile from home." 
 
 " Take me, then, Julia, with all my faults, for you know not 
 how dearly, how truly I can love you. But you are going to 
 leave me, going to one who will efface every impression I may 
 have made on your affections. When you once know Linda, 
 you will care nothing for poor me." 
 
 "You must think me very poor in love. But why cannot 
 you accompany us ? I cannot think of parting with you so 
 soon." 
 
 Nora s eyes sparkled through the moisture that had been 
 gathering on their darkness. 
 
 " Do you indeed wish it ? But your brother ?" 
 
 "He would be delighted, like myself." 
 
 " But Robert ?" 
 
 " You know you do not fear him," said Julia, smiling, "so 
 you need not mention him. It would be such an act of kind 
 ness. If I should be very ill, who would nurse me so tenderly 
 as you can do?" 
 
 " I will ask my father," said Nora. "I am a very dutiful 
 child. I never do any thing without his consent, because," 
 she added, laughing, "he always gives it. How soon do you 
 think of leaving here ?" 
 
 "As soon as Mr. Graham is ready." 
 
 "That would never be, unless he were going to accompany 
 you. Why do you turn away so quickly, Julia ? I did not 
 say any thing wrong, then, did I?" 
 
48 EOBEET GRAHAM: 
 
 " No; only I do not wish you to think I do not like you 
 to suppose I am sure you have no reason" 
 
 Julia, confused and stammering, wishing to appear vexed, 
 yet secretly pleased, avoided Nora s searching glance. In spite 
 of all her efforts, her heart would palpitate with delight at the 
 idea of Robert s wishing to retain her by his side. 
 
 " You need not shade your face so carefully with that golden 
 veil of yours," said Nora. " The heart glows through it all ; 
 I see it even in the crimson ear that peeps from the gleaming 
 fibres. You need not blush so guiltily. I should glory in 
 such emotions. Ay, had Robert Graham shown as much in 
 terest in me as he has in you, I might have felt them too; but 
 believe me, gentle Julia, my love will never be lavished in 
 vain, for it will never be won unsought. " 
 
 Julia gazed on this singular and exciting girl, wondering at 
 the varying phases of her character, now admiring, now con 
 demning, yet loving her through all. She had never met one 
 like her, never imagined one like her. In the guarded pre 
 cincts of her own home, her associates had been few, and se 
 lected most carefully by parental wisdom. Nora Marshall was, 
 perhaps, the last person whom Mrs. Bellenden would have 
 chosen as the companion of her daughter; but how seldom is it 
 one can choose, for themselves or others. People are drifted 
 together by the tide of circumstances, who have no affinity or 
 mutual attraction ; and those who seem to be twin-born souls 
 are separated by barriers high as the mountains and deep as 
 the seas. 
 
 Like a flower-petal cast by the wind on the waves, Julia was 
 floating on to meet her destiny. Had she remained among her 
 native scenes, she might have been borne on more tranquil wa 
 ters, but would she have known greater happiness ? 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 49 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " LOOK, Julia, look !" exclaimed Nora, drawing Julia to the 
 window as she spoke. "There they are. Are they not the 
 most beautiful creatures you ever saw ? There is the bright 
 morning Fair-Star, white as a lily, soft as silk, and meek as a 
 lamb. That is yours, but only see mine." 
 
 She pointed to two horses, handsomely caparisoned, which 
 the negro grooms were leading to the door. Julia was not 
 such an enthusiast on the subject as Nora, but she did admire 
 a beautiful horse, and liked to ride when she could secure one 
 particularly gentle, as she had said the evening before. She 
 was charmed with the mild aspect of Fair- Star, who stood so 
 perfectly still not a hair in her flowing mane or tail moved. 
 She looked more like a beautiful milk-white statue than a living 
 animal. But the Thunderbolt! his neck did indeed seem 
 "clothed in thunder," above the rainbow s arch. The sun 
 beams flashed back from his shining flanks as from burnished 
 ebony. His eyes looked like imprisoned lightning. He 
 champed his bits, pawed the ground with his impatient feet, 
 curved his superb neck, and shook his splendid mane. Nora 
 gazed upon him with the proud delight with which the warrior 
 looks upon the steed that cries Aha! to the battle, and that is 
 to bear him through its smoke and din. 
 
 "Thunderbolt! my darling!" she cried, throwing up the 
 sash, and rapping on the panes with her riding-whip, " bid you 
 mistress good-morning." 
 
 The animal, recognising the voice of Nora, neighed, leaped, 
 caracoled first one side, then the other, exhibiting a fierce 
 beauty, which made Julia tremble as she gazed. 
 
 " Oh, Nora you will not mount that fiery animal. You 
 cannot restrain him a man could scarcely do it." 
 D 
 
50 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " I have done it, child, and more than once. Waste no 
 apprehensions on me. I shall be safer on that proud animal, 
 than you on gentle Fair-Star s back, because I have no fears. 
 Ah there they come ! Well, that does look like riding." 
 
 Nora s practised and observant eye saw at one glance that 
 Henry was master of the horse which bore him, a handsome 
 and spirited bay. He sat with ease, firmness, and grace a 
 manly grace that magnified his proportions, and invested them 
 with the idea of athletic power. 
 
 " Your brother rides well, Julia admirably capitally. I 
 have not done him justice I will tell him so." 
 
 " Yes," answered Julia, whose eyes were fixed on another 
 horseman, " splendidly. What a noble match his coal-black 
 steed will make for yours ! And well do you mate the gallant 
 rider." 
 
 " Thank you, Julia, I was not speaking of him ; but I do 
 not wonder at your admiration. Desdemona told Othello, if 
 he had a friend who wished to woo her, to bid him tell his 
 story, and that would win her. /would have told him to ride 
 such a horse, in such a manner, and conquest should be his." 
 
 Robert s appearance at this moment fully justified Nora s 
 praise. His raven hair, blown back by the breeze, corre 
 sponded well with the glossy blackness of the horse s curling 
 mane. His colour was raised, and his eyes flashed with un 
 usual animation. The Black Warrior, a large, powerful, war 
 like-looking animal, that reminded one of a quiver of thun 
 derbolts, if Nora s did of one, bowed his stately head and 
 stepped daintily, as if unwilling to crush a worm that might 
 be in its path while its master held the rein. Bruno followed 
 majestically in the rear, indulging occasionally in a low growl 
 of satisfaction, and glancing obliquely at the two charming 
 figures, which now stood in the doorway. 
 
 Nora never looked half as handsome as in her riding-dress 
 of forest green, sweeping far below her feet, hat and feathers 
 of the same hue, heightening by contrast the rosy splendour of 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 
 
 51 
 
 her complexion, and corresponding to the leaf-work that sur 
 rounds the flower. 
 
 Julia was clothed in blue, darker than the blue of the sky, 
 less deep than the dye of the indigo. It was the colour of 
 the sea, seen from afar on a bright, sunny day, through the 
 shades of an intervening wood. A black hat, with feathers 
 gracefully falling, sat modestly on her light sunny hair, and 
 enhanced the dazzling fairness of her complexion. 
 
 "You are a pretty creature/ cried Nora, as if suddenly 
 struck by the beauty and fitness of her costume; "you and 
 Fair-Star were made on purpose for each other." 
 
 The young men dismounted and approached the door. 
 Julia was full of trepidation, which she was ashamed to have 
 observed, and endeavoured to conceal. She had been very 
 little accustomed to riding, and she now wondered at her folly 
 and temerity in thinking of going at all, especially with those 
 whose skill and fearlessness shamed her cowardice and inex 
 perience. 
 
 "I think you had better leave me behind," said she, when 
 Robert led her to Fair-Star, and was about to assist her to 
 mount. I shall spoil all your enjoyment. I fear you think 
 me very foolish, but indeed I cannot help it." 
 
 Robert felt her hand tremble, and knew there was no affec 
 tation in her timidity. 
 
 Your apprehensions will pass away the moment you com 
 mence riding," said he, in a reassuring tone. " Let me place 
 you on the horse, ride several times round the yard, and then, 
 if you decline going, I will not urge you. I think, however 
 Vou may trust yourself with me." 
 
 With one of his rare and magic smiles, he lifted her 011 
 Fair-Star s back, placed her foot in the stirrup and the bridle 
 in her hand; and still gently holding the rein, led the ani 
 mal, at first slowly, then with a more rapid step, along the 
 path. It was a beautiful sight to see the Black Warrior fol 
 lowing his master step by step, arching his neck with such an 
 
52 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 air of graceful self-restraint, and treading as lightly as if shod 
 with down instead of iron. Thus they went the whole circuit 
 of the yard, Nora laughing all the time, and the negroes clus 
 tered near the gate, showing their white teeth. 
 
 " Shall I ?" asked Kobert, letting go the rein, and laying 
 his hand on the mane of his own horse, " or shall I lead you 
 round a second time ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Julia, smiling at her vanished fears, " I 
 see how gentle and docile she is, and I am no longer afraid. I 
 thank you for encouraging instead of laughing at me. But, 
 indeed, you must not think of keeping pace with my slow mo 
 tions. I know what a sacrifice it would be. Henry is ac 
 customed to it, and will not mind it so much. I insist upon 
 your riding on with Nora, and leaving me behind." 
 
 " Is it for my sake or your own you speak ?" asked Robert. 
 " If you really prefer riding with your brother, and think he 
 will take care better care of you, I will relinquish my place 
 to him. If it is my pleasure you consult, I assure you, it 
 consists in remaining where I am." 
 
 " It was yours, of course," said Julia, earnestly ; " I could 
 have no other motive." 
 
 She feared he might think her ungrateful, and no longer 
 opposed his determination. She had made a magnanimous 
 proposition, willing to have it accepted, but her heart throbbed 
 with secret delight that it was refused ; in such a manner, too : 
 not with unmeaning gallantry, but an air of earnest sincerity, 
 that left her no room to doubt his truth. 
 
 " We will let them lead," said Robert, springing into his 
 saddle and drawing back so as to leave the pathway clear. 
 " It is only making a grace of necessity, for Nora and the 
 Thunderbolt would clear their passage through the live-oaks, 
 if they impeded her way." 
 
 It was with rather a saucy smile that Henry bowed and 
 held out his hand for Nora s springing foot. 
 
 "Is it thus the Pine-wood nymphs mount their gallant 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 53 
 
 steeds?" asked he, "or thus?" added he, bending on onf 
 knee and presenting it for a footstool for her ascent. 
 
 lt Neither," answered Nora, glancing with a gay smile ai 
 the white hand so gracefully extended, gathering her green 
 skirts in her left hand, and laying the other on the saddle 
 bow, she vaulted into her seat with as much ease as Robert 
 had done. " We mount like the birds of the air, and wing 
 our way like them." 
 
 " Softly, darling, softly," she cried, as Thunderbolt leaped 
 into the air, with a spring that would have shaken the timid 
 Julia from her seat. 
 
 " You had better let me lead him through the gate," said 
 Henry. " You cannot manage him alone, indeed you cannot." 
 
 " Touch him not," cried Nora, " touch him not, but let me 
 go. Stay with Robert and Julia if you like, but follow me 
 if you dare." 
 
 Away she flew, looking back and kissing her hand, her green 
 plumes fluttering against the moss garlands, as she shot under 
 the live-oak s boughs. 
 
 " Not so fast, fair fugitive, but I can overtake thee," cried 
 Henry, darting after her with the speed of lightning. 
 
 " Go it, go it, Massa Robert !" exclaimed one of the negro 
 grooms, rubbing his hands in an ecstasy of excitement ; "neber 
 let em beat you, massa." 
 
 But Robert lingered till the echo of the resounding hoofs 
 died away on the ear, allaying Julia s awakened fears. She 
 trembled, and turned of deadly paleness, as the reckless Nora 
 and her brother flew by. She expected to see herself carried 
 along at the same rapid rate, without her own volition, she 
 expected to see Robert whirled away with the same dizzying 
 speed. But when, after a pause, she found herself moving 
 gently from under the pine trees outside the gate, into a smooth, 
 level path, with Robert still at her side, the Black Warrior 
 obeying his guidance with the docility of a tame fawn, she be 
 gan to feel the comfort of safety, and the exhilaration of mo- 
 
54 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 tion. There was something so novel, so rural, in riding through 
 the woods instead of a travelled highway ; something so lonely, 
 yet romantic, it pleased her fresh young nature. She felt so 
 much better, so much happier, than she did when she first came, 
 she wondered what had jecome of her heart-yearnings and 
 home-sickness, her awe of her young host. She wondered 
 if the skies were indeed brighter than in her Northern clime, 
 the moon fairer, the flowers sweeter, or whether a new spring 
 was blooming in her heart. As they rode along, with a gra 
 dually quickening pace, Robert became silent, and Julia noticed 
 that his brow saddened. He had rode through those woods 
 too often with Linda, in his more boyish days, not to have 
 memory busy with his thoughts ; and memory was always barbed 
 with remorse when it brought her image to his mind. Julia 
 divined the subject of his revery, and looked into the green 
 aisles of the woods, that she might not intrude on the mystery 
 of his meditations. Deeply she pitied him for his blighted 
 hopes, and her heart rose against Linda for having doomed him 
 to the misery of unrequited love. She could not believe that 
 Roland Lee was worthy of the preference, forgetting that the 
 Robert Graham whom she knew was very different from the 
 youth whom Linda dreaded and shunned. She had never felt 
 before what a sad thing it was to love, and love in vain. Death 
 seemed preferable to such a doom. 
 
 "No," thought she, stealing a glance at Robert s veiled 
 countenance, for he was looking down, and the shadow of his 
 long, dark lashes saddened his cheek, " I would far rather die 
 in early youth, fade in the springtime of life, scqrched by con 
 sumption s hectic breath, than live to wither away, consumed 
 by the slow and wasting fires of disregarded love." 
 
 She sighed, and Robert, starting from his revery, turned 
 and met her wistful, sympathizing glance. " Forgive my 
 moodiness," said he, struck by the peculiar expression of her 
 countenance. u For a moment I was lost in the memories of 
 the past. I am not very old, yet it seems as if I had lived 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 55 
 
 centuries. The shadows of bygone years sweep by me, in 
 these familiar paths, extinguishing with momentary gloom 
 the brightness of the present. Believe me, I am not ungrate 
 ful for the happiness of having such a companion, debarred us 
 I have lately been from all social joys. I feel, however, so 
 deficient in every power to please and interest a young maiden 
 like yourself, that I sometimes fear you will think of me as a 
 misanthropist or cynic. Are you weary?" 
 
 "No," replied Julia, "I seem to gather strength as I ride. 
 It seems to me I could ride any distance." 
 
 {f But you must remember the return, and not venture too 
 far." 
 
 " But where are Nora and my brother ? Where do you sup 
 pose they have flown to ?" 
 
 " It is impossible to tell where the Thunderbolt may bear 
 her, but there can be no danger on this level road. As our 
 movements are entirely independent of theirs, we need not 
 think of them at all." 
 
 Julia found it too easy not to think of any thing but Robert, 
 who now exerted all his powers of pleasing, to make up for the 
 involuntary wandering of his thoughts. He could not talk 
 long or earnestly without imparting to his conversation a hea 
 venly glow, which warmed the heart of the hearer. Julia felt 
 that speech was a divine gift, thus improved, and thoughts of 
 her own, which had been hidden in her soul, deep as pearls in 
 the ocean waves, came up like holy revealings, and found spon 
 taneous utterance. She had been so accustomed to hear people 
 talk of indifferent subjects, of men and women, and houses 
 and lands, or of books and authors, and all the usual topics of 
 the day, it sounded strange, when the soul and its glorious 
 attributes, its undying interests and immortal destiny, when 
 God and eternity, were made the themes of conversation j not 
 brought forward with mock solemnity, fanatical zeal, or elabo 
 rate formality, but introduced with simplicity and grace, and 
 dwelt upon with an eloquence born of truth and religion. 
 
56 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 Julia was full of religious feeling. She was the child of 
 Christian parents, and had been educated according to Christian 
 principles ; but she had always believed that holy thoughts 
 and devout aspirations were to be enshrined in the most 
 guarded recesses of the soul, like the golden vessels of the 
 Lord in the ancient Jewish temples. The name of God was 
 too great, too glorious, too awful to be mentioned but in prayer, 
 and heaven a place of distant and mysterious glory. But 
 Robert spoke of these, with reverence, it is true, but with the 
 same ease as he conversed of the beauties of nature or the 
 wonders of art, and Julia felt drawn toward him by a new and 
 holy attraction. Though from her youth, and the extreme 
 delicacy of her health, she had mingled but little in the 
 fashionable world, she had listened to the usual topics with 
 which young gentlemen seek to interest the ears of beauty, 
 and felt how little calculated they were to meet the demands 
 of the intellect, or the cravings of the heart. Words were 
 uttered of pleasing sound, but no thought suggested to the 
 mind, no feeling awakened in the soul. Now mind and heart 
 were both aroused, as by the wand of an enchantress; and 
 like Abraham, when he discovered that angels had slept in his 
 tent, she was astonished to find what bosom-guests she had en 
 tertained unawares. 
 
 Their progress was suddenly impeded by two immense pine 
 trees that had fallen from opposite sides of the road across 
 their path. They were old, blighted, girdled trees, an aged 
 couple, that, having weathered many a stormy day together, 
 sank side by side into the repose of death. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Robert, "here are some of the trophies 
 of time, gathered during my absence. I have not travelled 
 this road since my return, and believed it unobstructed. But 
 where can our companions have gone? They could not have 
 overcome such a barrier as this, and I see no other way by 
 which they could have proceeded." 
 
 As they had been riding so leisurely, the horses showed no 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 57 
 
 restlessness at this sudden interruption of their course. They 
 stood perfectly still, gazing on the dead bodies of the trees, 
 though the Black Warrior drew up his stately neck, and looked 
 as if he would have spurned them with his hoofs, if his master 
 would permit. 
 
 "What can have become of them?" cried Julia, looking 
 anxiously round her, through the thick woods. "Is that 
 water which I see on the right, gleaming in the distance ? Is 
 it a river or a lake ?" 
 
 " It is a creek," he answered, " Stony Creek ; but it is as 
 wide and deep as many of your Northern rivers." 
 
 "They cannot have gone in that direction. There is no 
 road leading to it," cried Julia; her fears growing stronger, as 
 she marked the anxious countenance of Robert. 
 
 "I cannot imagine what course they have taken," re 
 plied Robert; " but Nora knows the stream is too deep, and 
 has too rapid a current to be forded, for a mile s distance. 
 Reckless as she is, she would not rush into absolute danger. 
 If you were willing that I should leave you a little while alone, 
 I would ride to the banks of the creek and see if I can ascer 
 tain their course. I can find you a seat on one of the fallen 
 trees, where you can rest and meditate till my return." 
 
 Had she consulted her own selfish feelings, Julia would have 
 shrunk from remaining alone in the deep woods, even at noon 
 day ; but she was anxious for her brother and Nora, and she 
 could not refuse a request made by Robert. 
 
 "But how can you go?" asked she, when he had placed 
 her carefully on a curving branch, that seemed formed ex 
 pressly for a traveller s seat, and fastened Fair-Star to a 
 neighbouring tree. "There is no pathway here. You will 
 get into danger yourself, without finding them. Oh ! what a 
 wild place. How easy to be lost in these woods !" 
 
 There was something in the pale terror of Julia s counte 
 nance, the soft pleading of her earnest tones, that excited un 
 wonted emotion in Robert s bosom. " You will get into danger 
 
58 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 yourself!" she said, in such a sweet, thrilling tone. Did she 
 really care whether he were in danger or not ? Had he, the 
 once rejected and unloved, the power to stir the deep fountain 
 of feeling in a woman s breast ? 
 
 "Fear not for me, Julia/ 7 he said, "nor for them either. 
 There is no danger." It was the first time he had ever called 
 her Julia, and it was an era in her life. She had always 
 thought it a sweet name, but she had never known the full 
 music of its sound before. He gave her hand a reassuring 
 pressure. " God and his angels are watching over us all," 
 cried he, looking up to heaven; then mounting his horse, he 
 plunged into the woods, apparently cleaving them in his rapid 
 course. 
 
 And where were Nora and Henry all this time ? After Nora 
 had flashed through the gate, and Henry to her ineffable sur 
 prise had overtaken her, she relaxed her speed a little, so that 
 she could speak, for she loved to talk as well as she did to ride. 
 
 " Mr. Bellenden," said she, "I have not done you justice. 
 You are a fine horseman, and I respect you." 
 
 "I am most happy in having earned your approbation. 
 Your respect, having risen from the ashes of scorn, is doubly 
 precious." 
 
 "Scorn! I know I am rude, but I defy you to prove me 
 scornful." 
 
 " Oh ! what a deal of scorn looked beautiful in the contempt 
 of that lip, last night, when you bade me take care of my little, 
 gentle sister, and leave to Mr. Graham and yourself the honours 
 of horsemanship." 
 
 " Well, I begin to think you can ride as well as he does 
 Does that satisfy your vanity ?" 
 
 "No : I would be first in your estimation. I am not vain 
 but proud." 
 
 " There is no distinction in that. All men are as proud as 
 Lucifer, and as arbitrary except my father. He is the only 
 good man I know." 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 59 
 
 " If you knew me "better," said Henry, laughing, " I have 
 no doubt you would think me very good/ 
 
 " Then I should not care any thing about you. I like good 
 old folks, but good young ones are the most stupid beings in 
 the world. That is the reason I do not try to be better my 
 self." 
 
 "You speak of assumed goodness which has no vitality, 
 and is therefore cold and dull. Is Robert Graham less agree 
 able now, in his acknowledged goodness and piety, than when 
 his passions were his masters instead of his vassals ?" 
 
 " But he has passions ; under his control, it is true ; but 
 they exist, and give him character and power. You can feel 
 them in the glance of his eye, the tone of his voice, and in the 
 loftiness of his carriage. Besides, I do not call him good." 
 
 " What do you call him ?" 
 
 " No matter. He is very different from you. I wonder how 
 you ever became friends." 
 
 " From the force of contrast, perhaps upon the same prin 
 ciples that we shall become friends. In spite of your present 
 mean opinions of mankind, I shall constrain you to think well 
 of me." 
 
 " I never knew constraint in my life. I could not bear it. 
 I have always had my own way." 
 
 "Has it made you happy The undisputed dominion of 
 your own wild will ?" 
 
 " No !" she answered, in a tone of deep seriousness. " I 
 would reverence the master-spirit with power to govern my 
 own. I would kneel in humble prostration at such a shrine. 
 I would bring to it oblations and offerings purer and richer 
 than Eastern devotee ever knew." 
 
 Henry gazed upon her in surprise and admiration. Had 
 the fountain of Hippocrene gushed up beneath his horse s feet, 
 he could not have felt more astonished or delighted. He had 
 thought her bright and sparkling, but cold as phosphorescent 
 light. Her dark eyes glowed with the fervour of her feelings, 
 
60 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 while the colour came and went on her warm cheek. Oh ! 
 that he could keep this wild and wayward creature in this 
 charming, womanly mood ! He opened his lips to speak, but 
 hers parted again, and the spell was broken. 
 
 "I should despise any one whom I could rule/ she ex 
 claimed, with a disdainful air, " even Thunderbolt, whom I 
 almost adore, I sometimes hold in contempt, for being governed 
 by this hand of mine. Come, then, Lightning-bearer; wake 
 up, and show if you have any life or spirit left." 
 
 " Take care, Miss Marshall, he may redeem his character at 
 a costly price to you. It is really unsafe to ride so like a 
 tempest." 
 
 She only laughed and spurred her fiery steed. While they 
 were riding at the most furious rate, they came suddenly to 
 the fallen trees, which, being at the turning of the road, they 
 had not perceived. The Thunderbolt reared his fore-feet, as 
 if he would leap to the zenith, and Nora would have forced 
 him on, had it been possible for him to spring over the barrier, 
 without the risk of being placed in a ridiculous situation, that 
 is, of being caught in the branches of the trees, for it was the 
 upper part of the pines that lay crossing each other, inter 
 lacing their gnarled boughs, and it presented a formidable 
 bridge for a young lady to cross. The Southern forests are 
 usually so open, that the equestrian can easily force his way, 
 in any direction ; but on the sides of the road beyond the cross 
 ing pines, there happened to be so many decaying gigantic 
 trunks and old roots, charred and grim, with great serpent 
 fangs writhing in the air, Henry resisted manfully Nora s 
 determination to go on. 
 
 "We must return," said he; "I have practised leaping over 
 bars and ditches, but this defies the Thunderbolt s passage." 
 
 " I cannot bear to go back," cried Nora, impatiently, trying 
 in vain to check Thunderbolt s fiery motions. "I am sure we 
 can make a nice path on this side." 
 
 " Indeed, you must not think of it," said Henry, positively 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 61 
 
 " You will tear your dress, or what is worse shatter your bones. 
 Your horse is not safe. I will not assume the responsibility 
 of such a step." 
 
 He took hold of the bridle as he spoke, and attempted to 
 turn the horse in the opposite direction, but like its mistress 
 it had a strong will, and resisted his guidance. It leaped, 
 shook its mane wrathfully, and at length darted off in a tan 
 gent, between the two opposing forces. On it went, tearing 
 through the woods, gnawing against the trunks, tossing up 
 clods of earth, and striking fire from the pebbles with its 
 flying hoofs. Nora had no more control over him now than 
 over the comet darting through the fields of air. Henry fol 
 lowed, though he could not keep up with her desperate speed. 
 He saw the gleam of water right before them; he knew not 
 how deep or strong the current might be, he knew not if a 
 bridge spanned it, but whether deep or strong or bridgeless, 
 there it was right before them, and they were rushing on, in a 
 downward course, as if borne on the whirlwind s wing. 
 
 " Nora ! Nora !" he shouted, maddened at the prospect of 
 her danger, which he was unable to avert. His own horse 
 was perfectly under his control, but he thought only of follow 
 ing her. On she went, onward, downward, to the very brink 
 of the creek, whose current, broad, and deep, and strong, 
 flowed over a rocky channel, as its name declared. Thunder 
 bolt checked himself a moment on the brink, then giving a 
 frightful plunge, almost disappeared from Henry s appalled 
 gaze. Nora kept her seat, though only her arms and head 
 were above the water. Her hands were getting numb from 
 the straining of the muscles, and her face was white as marble ; 
 but she still held the reins with an unrelaxing grasp, uncon 
 scious that she was thus accelerating her doom. Dauntless as 
 she was, she knew that death was beneath her in those cold, 
 dark waters, and shriek after shriek burst from her pale, quiver 
 ing lips. 
 
 Thunderbolt, feeling the tightening rein, which prevented 
 22 
 
62 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 him from swimming, writhed frantically in the water, that 
 foamed and seethed round his fiery and snorting nostrils, while 
 his raven mane floated on the waves ; then springing up, and 
 rearing his head upright, his eyes rolling through the spraj 
 like burning coals, he plunged down again, and the waters 
 closed, splashing, dashing, throwing up showers of foam, above 
 the vortex he made. All this was the work of a moment, and 
 while Henry was making maddening efforts to reach and save 
 her. He saw that, instead of suffering the reins to float, and. 
 allowing herself to be drifted along on the swimming animal, 
 she was endeavouring to restrain him, making him doubly 
 furious, and bringing on herself inevitable destruction. 
 
 "Nora! for God s sake, let go the bridle, and grasp the 
 mane !" he shouted, the sweat-drops of agony bursting out on his 
 temples, for even as he shouted she went down, as in a boiling 
 caldron. Then the glimpse of a green plume appeared like 
 a leaf upon the water, the black head and reeking mane heaved 
 up into sight, and Nora s dripping form still adhering to her 
 terrible seat. " Nora, for God s sake, hear me ! Let go the 
 bridle, and grasp the mane V loud as a clarion s tone, rung in 
 her drowning ear. Despairingly, instinctively, her chill hands 
 loosened from the rein, and clung to the wet tangles of the 
 " thunder-clothed" mane. Her cold, white face drooped down 
 on the coal-black neck, whose tresses now streamed like a ban 
 ner on the waves. Passively, almost unconsciously, she 
 yielded herself to her fate, feeling that mental collapse which 
 follows a mighty struggle. Thunderbolt, finding himself free, 
 obeyed like his mistress the instincts of nature, and swam to 
 the shore, stemming the current, like a sea-born steed. 
 
 Nora, stunned, benumbed, bewildered, and almost uncon 
 scious, reeled from the saddle into the arms of Henry, who 
 had reached the bank almost simultaneously, and sprang from 
 his horse, ready to receive her. Poor Nora ! where was her 
 fearless, independent spirit now ? There she lay, on the sandy 
 bank, her head supported on Henry s arm, her misshapen hat 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 63 
 
 with its broken feathers fallen at her feet, the long folds of 
 her dress, saturated and dripping, clinging to her and imprison 
 ing her limbs, reduced to the helplessness and dependence of 
 infancy. 
 
 Henry, wet and dripping himself, kneeling over her, with 
 one arm confined by encircling her neck, was almost as 
 powerless as herself. He was weak from the strain, the ten 
 sion, the struggle of the last few moments, and he looked 
 down on Nora with a face as pale as her own. As he had not 
 been immersed like her, his fair locks waved freely round his 
 temples in all their native grace and luxuriance. When Nora 
 looked up, after rubbing her eyes to clear away the mist that 
 obscured them, and saw him kneeling by her so protectingly 
 and gracefully, while the echo of his warning accents still 
 resounded in her ears, his countenance expressive of the most 
 intense feeling, gratitude, admiration, and sensibility lighted 
 up her every feature, and diffused over them the softest charm 
 of womanhood. She raised herself on her elbow, shook back 
 her drenched, heavy locks, and taking up Henry s white hand 
 kerchief with which he had wiped the moisture from her lately 
 deluged face, pressed it against her heart. 
 
 Henry, quite transported by an act so graceful and feeling, 
 was about to give utterance to a most romantic speech, when 
 the wild, versatile creature looked down upon herself, and 
 burst into a fit of laughter. 
 
 " Oh, Nora !" exclaimed Henry, perfectly shocked ; " how 
 can you laugh so, after escaping death so narrowly? when 
 every nerve in my frame is vibrating yet, and will long 
 vibrate, at the remembrance of the danger you have in 
 curred?" 
 
 " I cannot help it," cried Nora, trying to look sober, while 
 a new fountain of mirth gushed forth. " I look so we both 
 look so so funny. See my hat, what an object! all 
 mashed and squeezed like a lemon. But, indeed, indeed, I 
 am grateful grateful to Heaven and you. Your warning 
 
64 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 voice saved me. Oh, how it sounded ! how it rung in my 
 ears, as I came up from the cold, cold water. I thought I 
 was going down, down, down oh, it was awful !" 
 
 Shuddering and trembling, she covered her face with her 
 hands ; her bosom heaved, and Henry heard the sound of a 
 suppressed sob. She was hysterical. She must either laugh 
 or cry, and of the two it seemed more decorous, under exist 
 ing circumstances, to do the last. 
 
 " Where is Thunderbolt?" she cried, trying to spring up; 
 but her heavy skirt obliged her to rise very demurely, and 
 not without Henry s assistance. "Where is the horrible 
 monster?" 
 
 " He seems to be drying himself in the sun," said Henry, 
 pointing to the " monster," where he stood at a little dis 
 tance, all his fury spent, his sides shining and quivering, like 
 the water in which his image was reflected. 
 
 "You beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical I" she exclaimed; "I 
 thought I should hate you, and banish you forever; but I 
 cannot resist your fascinations. Come hither, thou repenting 
 prodigal, and let me mount thee. Quick, for I cannot stand 
 drying myself in the sun like you, selfish wretch that you 
 are I" 
 
 " You will not mount him again to-day, Nora; not with 
 my permission." 
 
 " Your permission ! Really, that does sound authoritative. 
 Do you know to whom you are speaking?" 
 
 She looked at him with a bright, saucy, bewitching smile, 
 as if defying his prohibition. In spite of her soiled and 
 draggled dress ; her wildly, clinging hair, streaming so dark 
 and dishevelled over her neck and shoulders, she looked even 
 radiantly handsome. Her eyes flashed with the light of 
 excitement, and a brilliant colour had come back to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 I know that I am speaking to a very charming but wilful 
 y^ung lady, whose life is just now under my especial charge. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 65 
 
 Nora, you must ride home with me. I shall not trust you by 
 yourself again." 
 
 " Do you think I would make such a ridiculous figure of 
 myself as to ride home behind you, in this costume, too, 
 bareheaded likewise ?" and stooping down, she picked up her 
 poor wreck of a riding-cap, and tossed it into the creek. 
 " Why, the very owls would come forth from their nests to 
 hoot at us." 
 
 " I should feel prouder than I ever did in my life," said 
 Henry, exultingly; " and as for yourself, you never looked 
 half as handsome. You have no alternative, and a graceful 
 compliance is always lovely in woman." 
 
 A strong and resolute will beamed from his clear, blue eye, 
 and spoke in the proud curl of his smiling lips. Perhaps 
 Nora had really been too much frightened to wish to commit 
 herself again to Thunderbolt s power; perhaps she felt more 
 truly than she had ever done before her dependence as a wo 
 man, and her accessibility to persuasion; for she suffered 
 Henry to take her hand, and lead her toward his horse, 
 which had behaved most nobly during the whole of the ex 
 citing scene. 
 
 As Henry turned in search of a position more favourable 
 than the one at present occupied, for Nora to mount, as he was 
 compelled to take his seat first, in spite of his chivalry of feel 
 ing, Kobert came galloping to the spot, the Black Warrior 
 flushed with the foam of speed. 
 
 " Thank heaven ! you are safe," he cried, understanding 
 from the first glance the danger they had incurred and es 
 caped. " Thank heaven ! it is no worse." 
 
 " What have you done with Julia?" asked Henry. "Surely 
 no accident has befallen her?" 
 
 " I left her in the forest shades, while I came to relieve her 
 anxiety on your account." 
 
 " Let us hasten, then," said Henry, " for I know her poor, 
 little coward heart is palpitating with untold fears. Assist 
 
66 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 Nora to take a seat behind me. Can you not lead Thunder- 
 oolt by the bridle ? He is subdued now." 
 
 Yes; he was subdued. Nora turned away, quick as light 
 ning, smiles kindling in her eyes. He was gentle now. 
 Henry had said so. It was enough. The water had quenched 
 his blazing spirit, and, after all, he was a glorious beast ! It 
 is impossible to describe the mortification she had felt, when 
 Robert approached to assist her in mounting, as Henry directed. 
 She was a dethroned queen a Zenobia, bound in golden 
 chains to Aurelian s chariot wheels. What! ride home be 
 hind a young gentleman whose horsemanship she had dared 
 to question, while to his superior knowledge of the art she 
 owed the salvation of her life, with her arm tucked tight 
 round his waist, her feet swinging out of the stirrups, like a 
 country market girl ! No, indeed ; not she. 
 
 "Yes," said she, resuming her gay, undaunted air; "he 
 says right. He is manageable now. I will ride him. Lead 
 him hither, if you please, Robert, and I will show him that he 
 has not made me a craven yet." 
 
 Robert, believing that there was no danger of his running 
 away again, and knowing that Nora would have her own way, 
 obeyed her mandate, while he could not help smiling at 
 Henry s disconcerted countenance. 
 
 " Ah ! Graham," exclaimed he, as Nora nodded triumph 
 antly at him, enthroned once more on Thunderbolt s back ; 
 " you have robbed me of my well-earned honours. Why did 
 you come, at the moment of victory, to snatch from me such 
 a glorious trophy ?" 
 
 " To win from me ten thousand thanks," said Nora. "His 
 confidence is not shaken by my temporary downfall. I will 
 not abuse it, but hold the reins with a hand as kind and gentle 
 as Julia s. Go on, and let me follow for once in my life." 
 
 It would be difficult to decide which was the more amiable 
 and docile during their homeward ride, Thunderbolt or his 
 unstress. As they approached the spot where Julia sat on 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 67 
 
 the old gray trunk, she leaned forward and touched Robert on 
 the arm. 
 
 " Ride slowly. What a beautiful, beautiful picture I" 
 
 It was beautiful. The ancient, picturesque seat; the fair, 
 young figure, whose garments of flowing blue contrasted 
 charmingly with, the dim hue of the bark; the milk-white 
 steed, patiently waiting in the evergreen shade close by ; the 
 soft, mellow brightness of the autumnal heavens ; the misty 
 splendour of the Indian-summer atmosphere ; the deep qui 
 etude and loneliness of the spot all harmonized so perfectly, 
 and formed a scene so lovely and serene, it seemed a pity to 
 disturb it by the sound of trampling hoofs and the echo 
 of human voices. 
 
 These sounds, however, were music to Julia s waiting ears. 
 The grandeur of the forest solitude oppressed her. The deep, 
 monotonous murmur of the rustling pines, so like the distant 
 roaring of the ocean surf; the " boundless contiguity of shade," 
 girdling the horizon ; the quick, audible pulsations of her own 
 heart conveyed to her the idea of unceasing sound, immea 
 surable space, and eternal restlessness. 
 
 The quick and ever-dancing current of Nora s veins and 
 the exercise of managing Thunderbolt, who, in his most 
 quiescent state, seemed charged with electricity, neutralized 
 the effect of her cold bath. She laughed at Julia s terror lest 
 Henry and herself should catch a death-cold, and rode on 
 through the shades that seemed to melt away before her 
 brightness, an occasional sunbeam struggling through and 
 glancing on her long, black hair, that flowed like a satin 
 mantle round her. When she came to Pine Grove she 
 accelerated her pace, and went dashing up to the door in her 
 usual wild way ; and the negroes thought she had only taken 
 off her hat in a frolic. 
 
 " Is not this better than following your advice ?" said she 
 to Henry, jumping from her horse before he had time to assist 
 her. 
 
68 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 " Which do you believe was my object?" he asked; " your 
 safety, or my triumph ?" 
 
 " Both, if I can read countenances right." 
 
 " Well ; the first is achieved, and I rejoice. The last will 
 yet be accomplished." 
 
 Thus lightly talking, but deeply feeling, the two rescued 
 ones crossed the threshold. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TIME glided rapidly away at Pine Grove, and the Northern 
 travellers spoke of renewing their journey. 
 
 " Remain a little longer," was the invariable reply when 
 Henry mentioned the necessity of leaving. " The weather is 
 so delightful, so balmy, there is no need of seeking a warmer 
 latitude. Spend your Indian summer here, and then it will 
 be time enough to wend your way to Louisiana s more southern 
 bowers. Your sister is gaining strength and colour from day 
 to day." 
 
 "But you are going with us !" said Henry; "we shall not 
 be separated. Your step-sister will hardly give us a welcome, 
 if, by our longer stay here, we deprive her of the happiness 
 of seeing you." 
 
 Julia no longer looked at Robert when the name of Linda 
 was mentioned. A feeling that she could not define made 
 her involuntarily avert her eyes, and repress the rising sigh. 
 She would gladly have responded to the wish, that their stay 
 might be prolonged, but she dared not do so, fearing it would 
 be thought forward and bold. She had become so happy 
 where she was. Robert was so kind and attentive, so thought 
 ful of her health, so lenient to her weakness and fears, and 
 all the time her soul was rising and enlarging so under his 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 69 
 
 powerful influence ; she never thought of her heart, but she 
 knew that he was the master of her soul. Strange, but she 
 felt such a shrinking at the thought of meeting Linda, whom 
 at first, if she had had wings, she would have flown to behold. 
 Was it a fear of losing those daily assiduities which seemed 
 DOW a part of her existence ? Was it the dread of being sup 
 planted, annihilated, forgotten ? Oh, no ; Linda, the wife of 
 another, could never be looked upon as a rival. The high- 
 principled and religious Robert would despise her for such a 
 suggestion. 
 
 And did not Robert really wish to hasten the moment, when 
 he should meet once more her whom he had so madly loved, 
 so magnanimously renounced ? Were the remembrances, 
 which had swept over him like a mighty wind while kneeling 
 by his mother s tomb, gone with the night-breeze which then 
 fanned his brow ? Had the impression made by the fair and 
 gentle stranger effaced those prints on the sands of memory 
 which seemed indelible as traces graven on steel or granite ? 
 No ! Robert had loved Linda, as only the strong in mind, the 
 vehement in passion, the warm in heart, the serious, the 
 earnest, the really heroic can love ; and such love is never for 
 gotten. It was a golden cable too strong to be broken, too 
 indestructible for decay; a sheet-anchor to which even in 
 death his spirit would cling. But this love was now purified 
 from the dross of passion or the alloy of selfishness. He himself 
 had united her to Roland Lee, and never for one moment had 
 he regretted an act consecrated by feelings of sublime self-sacri 
 fice. He had departed immediately to a distant clime with 
 his spiritual father, the excellent and beloved Rayner, and 
 entered at once on the labours of a missionary with all the 
 enthusiasm and passion of his nature. In the zeal of the 
 Christian he merged the disappointments of the man, and in 
 fervent aspirations to heaven ceased to murmur at the dispen 
 sations which had blighted the hopes of his opening manhood. 
 
 He came back to the home of his youth, and the conscious- 
 
70 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 ness of his lonely fate pressed coldly and heavily on his heart. 
 He believed himself cut off forever from the genial sympathies 
 and tender charities of domestic and social life by the Bastile 
 bars of an iron destiny. As if under the especial direction of a 
 relenting Providence, a being came to cheer by woman s sweet 
 est attributes his joyless home. She stole so gently on his 
 interest, he was hardly aware of it, save by the void he felt 
 in her absence. So modest and unobtrusive, so delicate and 
 sensitive, so childlike and yet so womanly, she twined herself 
 round the rougher frame of his character, like the slender 
 tendrils of the vine, whose fibres, at first so frail and light as 
 to be agitated by a breath, become strong and inflexible as 
 oak. He had never known what it was to inspire love in, 
 woman. He thought there was something repelling in him 
 that distanced love. But he could not help perceiving that 
 Julia s beautiful blue eyes kindled into brighter radiance at 
 his approach, and that her cheek, usually as pale and pure as 
 her own Northern snows, then glowed with a rose-colour coining 
 and going and coming again, messenger of the bashful heart. 
 He could not help being conscious, that whenever he spoke, 
 she always listened, though others might be talking louder 
 and nearer ; that the simplest act of courtesy from him was 
 received with grateful emotions; and that in all her bearing to 
 him there was a grace, a deference, a humility, combined with 
 a confidence and simplicity the most flattering and winning to 
 the proud, protecting nature of man. This consciousness dif 
 fused a serene delight in his bosom, as different from his former 
 impassioned emotions as a lake sleeping in the silver moon 
 light is from the thundering cataract of Niagara. They could 
 not be derived from the same source. He was now tasting 
 the purest joys of friendship, and surely it was better to re 
 main where he was, where every thing around favoured its 
 growth, than seek those scenes, where former associations 
 might resume their power, at the sacrifice of his present soul- 
 felt peace. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 71 
 
 He had written to Linda, soon after the arrival of the travel 
 lers, telling her of the invitation he had given them ; and an 
 answer came, urging him to come and bring his friends, with 
 a warmth and sincerity which left them in no doubt of the 
 welcome that awaited them. She told him that Roland was to 
 leave her soon for a long voyage, that he must hasten to mee 
 him before his departure; that she longed to show him he* 
 beautiful boy, who, although but twelve months old, already 
 could lisp the name of Robert. The purest sentiments of con 
 jugal and maternal love animated every line, yet they were ex 
 pressed with a guarded delicacy, as if unwilling to dwell on a 
 happiness for which he had once sighed Linda, a wife, mother, 
 sister. This beautiful, holy trinity of character he contemplated 
 with the same feelings of reverence with which he had gazed on 
 Raphael s exquisite picture of the holy family. He made the 
 necessary preparations for their journey. Mr. Marshall con 
 sented that Nora should accompany them ; so it was arranged 
 that they should leave Pine Grove in a few days after the re 
 ception of the letter. 
 
 The Sunday morning before their departure, when they 
 rose from the breakfast-table, Robert mentioned that he was 
 going to Mount Zion, a church literally planted in the wilder 
 ness, where the scattered inhabitants of that section of the 
 country met in the bosom of the forest shades, after the man 
 ner of the primitive Christians, to praise and worship God. 
 The pulpit was supplied by itinerant preachers, but this Sun 
 day Robert was to officiate in the sacred desk. 
 
 "Would his friends like to accompany him? There was a 
 carriage road, though rather a rough one. The young ladies 
 could go in a carriage, Henry and himself on horseback, 
 or they could all ride on horseback. It might be interesting 
 to those accustomed to the splendid churches of the Northern 
 cities, to see the simple manner in which Southern planters 
 sometimes worship Him whom the heaven of heavens can 
 not contain, much less a temple made with hands. " 
 
t 2 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 They all expressed an eager desire to go. Nora was for 
 riding on horseback, notwithstanding her recent experience; 
 but when she found Thunderbolt was to be excluded, as too 
 much of a heathen to attend a Sabbath party, she coincided 
 with Julia in a preference for the carriage. 
 
 To Julia the scene had all the attraction of novelty, as well 
 as the interest of a religious ceremony; and, above all, she was 
 to see Robert standing as the representative of his divine 
 Master, in the beauty of holiness, as in the glory of manhood. 
 
 The church was a simple, rustic structure, erected near a 
 grove of oaks, in the heart of the pine woods. It looked like 
 a small dwelling-house, for no swelling dome or rising spire 
 indicated the purpose for which it was erected. No bell rang 
 through the green forest-aisles, to call the worshippers to 
 gether. It reminded one of a tent, pitched by the wayfaring 
 man, as a temporary rest in the wilderness of life. 
 
 On this Sunday, arrangements had been made for the ac 
 commodation of a larger audience than could find admission in 
 that little church. The desire to hear the young missionary, 
 whose name was encircled by a halo of renown, gathered to 
 gether a numerous and promiscuous assembly. They came 
 from the four points of the compass : some rolling in splendid 
 carriages, others walking in the humblest attire; the wealthy 
 planter, and the lowly slave; the representatives of the dif 
 ferent ranks in life, to meet in a spot where the distinctions 
 of society present no barrier to the mighty sweeping of God s 
 Almighty Spirit. The walls of the church could not hold 
 that band of worshippers. Anticipating the dearth of room, 
 labourers had been employed the previous day to convert the 
 oaken grove into a temporary temple. A pulpit, constructed 
 of rude boards, beneath one of the largest and grandest trees, 
 with the magnificent heavens for a sounding board, and the 
 waving foliage for the drapery of the altar, was the most 
 striking feature of this rural cathedral. Seats, arranged in a 
 semicircular manner ; extended far back into the shade. Those 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 73 
 
 near the pulpit were brought from the church; the others 
 were made of planks, laid across stakes driven into the ground; 
 and even an old, fallen tree, in the back ground, was converted 
 to the same use. Negro children were perched, like crows, 
 upon the branches, exulting in their transient elevation. 
 
 Nora, who was accustomed to the arrangements at the camp- 
 leetings of the South, saw nothing new or picturesque in the 
 scene. She was glad, for her free spirit always chafed in a crowd, 
 and rejoiced in the open air. But Julia gazed around her in won 
 der and excitement. Every thing was new and picturesque to 
 her. In passing through New York, she had attended divine 
 service at Trinity church, and her spirit had bowed in reverence 
 before the majesty of its architectural grandeur; the gorgeous, 
 yet subdued light, streaming in through the richly-stained glass, 
 then floating up in the shadows of the continuous arches of so 
 lemn gray; the deep thunder of its massy organ, rolling in amid 
 the loud anthem strains of human voices, oppressed her with 
 an overpowering sense of magnificence. She was seated at a 
 distance from the minister, whose accents seemed lost in the 
 grand infinitude of space. Finding it in vain to follow his 
 discourse, she had yielded herself to the influences around 
 her, and found sermons in the " long-drawn aisles, the fretted 
 vaults," the glowing dyes of the painted windows, and in the 
 height, the length, the depth of the massy walls. 
 
 While riding through the woods, and thinking of Robert as 
 the officiating minister, she located him in imagination in that 
 magnificent church, and thought how nobly he would assimi 
 late to its grandeur and its grace. She did not like the idea 
 of his preaching in a rude place, to an audience, the majority 
 of which must be unlettered, if not ignorant. Anybody that 
 was pious, she thought, might fill such an office; but he was 
 destined for a loftier sphere. 
 
 When she entered the grove, a reaction took place in her feei- 
 ings. There was a novelty, a wildness and simplicity in the 
 scene, that shamed the gaudier grandeur of art. The congro 
 
74 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 gation were singing, while waiting the coming of the minister, 
 not the pealing anthem or the Gloria in excelsis, whose notes 
 are confined to the choristers, but a hymn, set to a simple, 
 affecting air, in which every one seemed to join as with one 
 heart and soul. There might be discords, grating to the mu 
 sician s ear, for the quavering voice of age was heard, strained 
 to its highest pitch, and the sweet, but untutored strains of 
 the African mingled in the chorus. But there was such a 
 sound of deep heart-worship in it they seemed so happy, so 
 adoring, as they sang, that Julia felt as if it were such music 
 the apostle meant, when he told his disciples " to sing with 
 the spirit and the understanding also." 
 
 "What horrible singing !" whispered Nora; "lam ashamed 
 of it. That old man always will let out his voice like a screech- 
 owl; he ought to be muffled." 
 
 Julia answered only with a reproachful glance. She was 
 quite grieved at Nora s levity. That old man, who stood up 
 near the pulpit, and whose voice predominated over the others, 
 had attracted her especial reverence. He looked so aged and 
 infirm, so worn, so bent, his few hoary, wintry locks scattered 
 in smooth, white flakes over his sunken temples, it was evi 
 dent he was near the end of a long and weary pilgrimage. 
 Yet all the time he was singing in a broken, trembling voice, 
 that seemed to gather strength as he went on, an expression 
 of ecstatic delight gleamed from his faded eyes, and played 
 round his withered but placid lips. 
 
 " Oh ! how differently people feel," thought Julia, her eyes 
 filling with tears at this touching picture of age and devotion; 
 and yet a moment after, every one seemed moved by a com 
 mon impulse, and turned toward the young minister, who now 
 ascended the pulpit, and opened the sacred volume. The 
 music ceased, and a soft, solemn hush settled on the con 
 gregation. 
 
 "How handsome he looks I" again whispered Nora; but 
 Julia scarcely heard her this time. She had been waiting 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 75 
 
 this moment with eager expectation, and now she wished it 
 had not arrived. She felt guilty before God, in feeling such 
 homage for the creature in the presence-chamber of the 
 King of kings. Casting one glance where he stood, his dark 
 hair relieved and crowned, as it were, by the deep-green fo- 
 1 age, she drew her veil over her face, fearing it was but too 
 faithful a mirror to his soul. The first words he uttered were 
 those the announcing angels breathed to the Chaldean shep 
 herds, while watching their flocks beneath the starry mid 
 night- 
 
 " Glory to God on high on earth peace and good-will to 
 men !" 
 
 It seemed to Julia that the sound of many waters was in 
 her ear, in the confusion of her high-wrought feeling ; but it 
 was not long before the deep, sweet, and solemn voice of the 
 speaker assuaged the tumult of her thoughts, and raised 
 them to loftier tone. He read the Scriptures as she had 
 never heard them read before. Truths, often repeated, as 
 sumed new power and majesty, and seemed clothed with a 
 more divine authority. He opened their meaning with the 
 silver key of eloquence, and golden treasures, hid before, 
 glowed on the spiritual vision. 
 
 He prayed, and Julia s spirit bowed with his before the 
 mercy-seat. Never had she felt such deep prostration, such 
 humility and self-abasement. The whole congregation knelt. 
 At first there was a rustling sound, like leaves agitated by the 
 wind, then a silence, and then the low, invoking accents, 
 such as, 
 
 " Listening angels lean from heaven to hear." 
 
 It was the man addressing the Creator, the sinner pleading for 
 pardon, the penitent supplicating for grace and acceptance. 
 Gradually his voice rose to the full and swelling strains of 
 adoration and praise. It was the believer rejoicing in the 
 confidence of faith, the Christian exulting in the hope of glory 
 
76 ROBERT GRAHAM *. 
 
 Julia bowed her veiled face on her clasped hands, and her 
 tears fell fast as rain. All the wants of her being were ex 
 pressed in that fervent prayer. The vail of the temple of her 
 soul seemed rent, and glimpses of the divine nature, unseen 
 before, gleamed upon it in rays of divine glory. Every 
 now and then she heard the trembling, broken voice of 
 the old man pronounce an emphatic "Amen!" and other 
 voices more sonorous repeated the sound. And sometimes 
 they cried out "Hallelujah!" in an irrepressible burst of de 
 votion. 
 
 Tears falling from the eyes of prayer are the dew of the 
 heart, preparing and softening it for the reception of heavenly 
 truths. The subject of the sermon was Jesus of Nazareth, 
 and him crucified. He commenced with the Babe of Bethle 
 hem, wrapped in the swaddling-bands of humanity, lying in 
 the manger of humiliation, lowly and unregarded as the beasts 
 of the stall. It was a familiar theme ; but he presented it to 
 the mind as a new and wondrous picture. Certainly there is 
 an inspiration imparted by the power of religion, which flows 
 over the spirit like a baptism of fire, burning up the dry wood 
 and stubble of worldly prejudices, and clearing away the mists 
 of self-delusion. Julia had heard before the story of her 
 Saviour s sufferings ; she had dwelt upon it day after day, till it 
 had become a part of her memory, even the words of the evan 
 gelists in their separate narrations. But now she was eye 
 witness to the scenes from the dawn of his incarnation till the 
 sun of his humanity set in blood behind the Mount of Calvary. 
 She wandered with her Saviour by Kedron s lonely stream, 
 wept with him in Gethsemane s midnight shades, and bowed 
 in agony at the foot of the cross. For the first time in hei 
 life she felt willing to die, because her Saviour had died. The 
 grave seemed a hallowed .place because his sacred body had 
 lain there, and life precious because the print of his footsteps 
 were traced on its barren sands. 
 
 After tne close of the sermon, Robert came down from the 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 77 
 
 pulpit, according to the custom of the church to which he 
 belonged, when the Spirit of God seemed brooding over the 
 throng, and invited those who were borne down with the bur 
 den of their sins to come and kneel before the altar, seeking 
 Him whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light. 
 
 Julia had never listened to a similar invitation, and it ap 
 peared to be addressed peculiarly to herself. She was very 
 near the altar, and as she looked up she met the eyes of Ro 
 bert those dark, prophet eyes, softened by human sympathy 
 and kindred feeling. She saw others crowding forward and 
 prostrating themselves on the ground, and she longed to press 
 forward too ; but her feet seemed glued to the earth. The 
 congregation burst forth into a hymn of adjuration, and now 
 she could distinguish the voice of Robert, like the swell of an 
 organ, above the ruder strains. And this was the burden of 
 the hymn, 
 
 " Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, 
 
 Weak and wounded, sick and sore j 
 Jesus ready stands to save you, 
 Full of pity, love, and power. 
 
 He is able, 
 He is willing, doubt no more." 
 
 Unable any longer to resist the strong, invisible chord that 
 drew her forward, she rose, and advancing a few steps, knelt 
 behind one who overshadowed her by her flowing drapery. 
 As the bark, fastened to the strand, while it floats upon the 
 water, the moment its cable is cut, is wafted into a deeper cur 
 rent, and rides upon the sea, her soul was borne onward, wave 
 after wave, with a feeling of such sweet security, she could 
 have closed her eyes in a peaceful sleep. She was consciou 
 that some one knelt at her side, but she knew not who it was, 
 till she heard the voice of the young minister ; and though he 
 breathed no name, she knew he was bearing her upward on 
 the wings of prayer, and laying her gently at the Saviour s feet. 
 In that hour of divine communion, Julia experienced an 
 earnest of the joys of heaven. The arms of his Spirit were 
 23 
 
78 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 around her, sustaining her weakness in their divine embrace. 
 The murmur of many voices were in her ear, prayers and 
 hymns mingling together, making a kind of wild melody; yet 
 she heard only the low, thrilling accents, that seemed the 
 utterance of her own soul. She remained thus, with her head 
 bowed on her hands, unconscious how the moments were pass 
 ing, when some one gently raised and led her from the altar. 
 It was her brother, who had been watching her with intense 
 solicitude, fearing the effect of such a high-wrought state of 
 feeling. He did not wonder at her being carried away by an 
 eloquence surpassing any he had ever heard, but he was sorry 
 to see her giving so public a manifestation of her sensibility. 
 All his early prejudices were opposed to enthusiasm and demon 
 stration in religion, and he was disconcerted and annoyed that 
 Julia, the most modest, sensitive, and retiring of human beings, 
 should thus break through the restraints of education, and 
 throw herself publicly into what, he believed, the vortex of 
 excitement. A member of the Episcopal church, and accus 
 tomed, from earliest childhood, to its splendid and imposing 
 ritual, its grand and solemn services, that succeed each other 
 in stately uniformity like the footsteps of an armed host, it is 
 not strange that he should deem these outbursts of feeling 
 inconsistent with the dignity of an established form of public 
 worship. 
 
 He hurried her to the carriage, in which Nora was already 
 seated. A very dark cloud was hovering overhead, unob 
 served by the pre- occupied Julia, but which Nora had been 
 impatiently watching. As Robert was still surrounded by an 
 nthusiastic crowd, from which he would not, if he could, break 
 oose, Henry gave directions to the driver to go on, while he 
 waited for his friend. 
 
 Julia leaned back in the carriage perfectly exhausted ; but 
 though her face was colourless, her countenance shone radiantly 
 through her veil. She had come down from the mount, but 
 the reflection of the Invisible glory was lingering on her 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 79 
 
 brow. Nora leaned kindly over her, and folded her shawl 
 closely over her bosom. 
 
 "You will take cold/ she said; "the air is become very 
 chill, and the rain already begins to patter against the car 
 riage windows. Those people are crazy who stay behind in the 
 grove. They will get drenched through and through." 
 
 " How strange/ replied Julia, looking up with surprise to 
 the darkened heavens. "I thought it was bright sunshine and 
 blue sky. When did this cloud arise?" 
 
 " You have been in the upper regions/ said Nora, smiling. 
 "We, poor souls, who stayed below, saw the gathering vapours. 
 Oh, Julia, I wish I could feel as you do ; but I believe my 
 heart is as hard as the nether millstone." 
 
 "No, Nora, you belie yourself. You have been weeping, 
 and even now your eyes are filled with unshed tears. Surely 
 there is no shame in being moved by a subject so grand, so 
 glorious, yet so seldom brought before us." 
 
 " You mean in such a manner," said Nora. "I never heard 
 so eloquent a sermon. I believe now Robert Graham is a 
 Christian. I never have before. No man could speak or pray 
 or look as he does, unless he were true and earnest. I am not 
 ashamed to say he made me weep, and almost persuaded me to 
 prostrate myself, as you did, in the dust of humiliation. But 
 ever since I could go alone, I have heard myself called such a 
 wicked, vile sinner, and threatened with being sent to such an 
 awful place, that, as I told you, I have become hardened. I 
 know I am not good, but I cannot believe that I am such a 
 horrible wretch as they make me out to be." 
 
 "I am sure Mr. Graham used no such dreadful denuncia 
 tions/ said Julia. "He used the language of persuasiveness 
 and love." 
 
 "Yes," replied Nora; "if I ever become a Christian, it will 
 be through the influence of such sermons. Oh !" she added 
 seriously, "there must be something divine in religion, to 
 change so entirely the character of Hubert Graham. Think of 
 
80 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 the lion transformed into the lamb, the hawk to the dove, the 
 northern tempest to the summer zephyr, and you can hardly 
 imagine a more miraculous change. Yes, think of Nora Mar 
 shall turned into Julia Bellenden, and it would be a more 
 wondrous contrast." 
 
 "I do not know if my present feelings will last," said Julia, 
 endeavouring to realize the change described by Nora, but in 
 vain. One pure and brilliant image presented itself to the ex 
 clusion of every other. " But if they do pass away, I shall 
 never, never forget them, and they will return to me again in 
 my dying hour. I have always thought, Nora, that I should 
 die young. It requires no soothsayer but these prophetic 
 beatings," cried she, laying her hand on her too-quickly palpi- 
 tating heart, "to tell me this, and I have shrunk from the 
 thought of death as naturally as our pale spring-flowers from 
 the stormy winds of March. The darkness and loneliness of 
 the grave appalled me. Eternity crushed me with its grand 
 eur and mystery. But to-day, I have realized what I can 
 never describe. I have tasted a peace that passeth understand 
 ing, a joy that cannot fade utterly away. I feel as if I could 
 pass unfearing the cold waves of Jordan, with smiles on my 
 lips and glory in my soul." 
 
 She lifted her blue eyes toward heaven with a celestial ex 
 pression, and Nora felt as if her words were true, that she was 
 not destined to remain long on earth. 
 
 " Do not talk so," she exclaimed, putting her arms caress 
 ingly round her; "you will break my heart; I could not live 
 without you. And don t you see, I am growing better every 
 day by being with you? I am getting so tame, that I am 
 actually insipid; and Robert, you have come to him like the 
 arctic dove, and he is putting out his hand to draw you into 
 the ark. There, you good, precious little soul, keep the shawl 
 close round your throat, and lay your head on my warm heart. 
 The rain nor cold cannot reach you here." 
 
 But in spite of Nora s affectionate cares, Julia did take cold, 
 
A .SEQUEL TO LINDA. 81 
 
 and suffered from its consequences for many days afterward. 
 She reclined most of the time on the sofa, and every evening 
 the alabaster whiteness of her cheeks was tinged with the 
 brightest and most beautiful rose-tint, warming her delicacy 
 and pallor into angelic beauty. Nora always arranged her 
 crimson shawl round her in a graceful drapery, so as to make 
 a picture of her, as she said, and Julia smilingly and passively 
 submitted herself to her hands. Nora would take the comb 
 from her hair, suffering all its golden affluence to flow at its 
 own sweet will, or restraining it by some wildwood garland 
 she had wreathed for the occasion. She did not seem con 
 scious how graceful she looked, herself kneeling on a low stool 
 by the couch, exhibiting at the same time the exuberance of 
 her fancy and the lavishness of her affections. 
 
 The journey was deferred till the following week, in conse 
 quence of Julia s indisposition. The weather, which had been 
 cold and rainy, softened and cleared, and a young moon shining 
 on the gloomy verge of the western horizon, showed how long 
 the travellers had lingered at Pine Grove. 
 
 One evening Henry induced Nora to ramble abroad with 
 him. He knew what a sacrifice it was for her to confine her 
 self within doors as she had done with Julia, and perhaps he 
 thought of his own gratification. Nora looked back with a 
 smile as she closed the door; but Robert was seated by Julia, 
 and they neither seemed aware of their departure, till the 
 tapping of Nora s fingers on the outside of the window and the 
 ringing of her merry laughter made them conscious of the 
 fact. 
 
 Julia, on finding herself thus unexpectedly left alone with 
 Robert, raised herself from her reclining attitude, and gather 
 ing her wreath-twined locks in her hand, looked round for the 
 comb which Nora had stolen, but she looked in vain. 
 
 " Nora is so affectionate and so wild," said she, quite vexed 
 at having allowed herself to be made such a plaything, such a 
 fantastic picture, " I know not how to resist her. She makes 
 
82 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 me look very foolish, but I do not mind it when she is by, 
 since it pleases and amuses her." 
 
 "And why should you mind it now, even admitting the 
 fact, which I do not?" said Kobert, taking the hand which 
 held her gathered tresses, and thus forcing her with exceeding 
 gentleness to liberate them. "I insist upon your reclining 
 exactly as you did before, making no more exertion and feel 
 ing as little restraint as if Nora were sitting by you instead 
 of myself; and if you are willing to look foolish, that is, just 
 as you now do, because it pleases her, I assure you it pleases 
 me a great deal more, though I may not have the grace to 
 manifest it." 
 
 Smiling with pleasure at the first personal compliment 
 Robert had ever paid her, and yielding, as if under the influ 
 ence of magnetism, she reclined her head once more on the 
 arm of the sofa, while Robert still retained the hand he had 
 taken, that frail, delicate, fairy hand, which Nora said was 
 only fit to gather rose-petals and to feed humming-birds. But 
 Robert thought, while he almost unconsciously held it in his, 
 that, fair and fragile as it was, it was formed to clothe the 
 naked, feed the hungry, and wipe the dew of agony from the 
 brow of the dying. It was the hand of an angel, and fashioned 
 for an angel s office. 
 
 " Julia," said he, " we were brought very near each other, 
 when kneeling side by side at that rustic altar. Life seldom 
 furnishes moments so dear and precious as those. I cannot 
 describe the joy, the ecstasy, with which I beheld you bowing 
 in meekness and humility before the Saviour, whose claims upon 
 your love I had endeavoured, however faintly, to set forth. I 
 felt that there was henceforth a bond between us, which time 
 would only strengthen, a bond holy as heaven, and lasting as 
 eternity. Do you acknowledge this, Julia, or have I mistaken 
 pure, but transient emotion, for the consecration of your heart 
 and soul to the service of the God who made, the Saviour who 
 redeemed you ?" 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 83 
 
 "I meant every thing/ said Julia, awed and melted by the 
 tender solemnity of his manner j "but, alas ! I fear I can accom 
 plish nothing. I am weak and wayward, but I have a stead 
 fast purpose. Your words have kindled in my soul a holy 
 fiame, which, though it may be at times dim and wavering, 
 will burn, I trust, as long as my frail being lasts. But I need 
 your strengthening influence, your guiding hand. If I be not 
 too exacting, I would ask you still to give me your counsels 
 and your prayers." 
 
 She looked up to him with such humility, reverence, and 
 trust, that Robert felt guilty of deception in inspiring such 
 unqualified confidence, such simple, undoubting faith, in his 
 goodness and piety. Would she thus confide in and regard 
 him if she knew the history of the past ? In spite of the in- 
 communicativeness, the reticence of his nature, he felt a 
 yearning to pour out his whole soul into her confidence, to tell 
 her all that he had been, that she might not too highly appre 
 ciate what he was; to talk to her of Linda, to purchase, thougb 
 it might be by humiliating confessions, her sympathy for him 
 as a man, and thus diminish her too-exalted homage for him 
 as a Christian. He knew that she had never loved ; her rare 
 simplicity and childish artlessness of manner were incompati 
 ble with an experience which casts the shade of consciousness 
 over the most transparent character. Would she prize his 
 friendship so highly, if she knew it was born of the ruins of 
 rejected love, risen from the ashes of a life-consuming passion ? 
 No I unworthy as he was to be an idol for purity to worship, he 
 would voluntarily descend from the pedestal, though he crushed 
 by the act the garlands which entwined it. 
 
 So he told her the history of his youth, of his wild passion 
 its fearful consequences, his repentance, despair, and reforma 
 tion. He laid bare his whole heart before her as he had never 
 done to a human being ; he unrolled the dark scroll of memory, 
 expecting to see her recoil from the exhibition ; but. like the 
 recording angel, she wept, and would fain blot out the charac 
 
84 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 ters forever. It is not to be supposed that Robert remained 
 calmly seated during this exciting narrative, or that Julia re 
 clined passively on the arm of the sofa, a motionless listener. 
 Sometimes he walked the room, with his former rapid and re 
 sounding tread ; sometimes he paused, and leaned against the 
 mantelpiece, while the lamps burning above bronzed with 
 their golden rays the black waves of his hair; then again he 
 would cast himself on the low seat that Nora had vacated, and 
 bending his head on the arm of the sofa, express, by the low 
 liness of his attitude, the deep humiliation of his spirit. 
 
 He was sincere in his desire to lower himself in Julia s es 
 timation, to reduce the brilliant tints in which her imagination 
 clothed him ; but the more he humbled himself, the more she 
 exalted him. He was far more interesting, thus involved in 
 the alternate sunbeams and shadows of sensibility, than when, 
 in serene and holy majesty, he had seemed lifted above all hu 
 man passion. She felt the exquisite delight of sympathy, the 
 charm of an equal communion. 
 
 She would have given worlds to be able to express all which 
 she felt, but she was voiceless from the intensity of her emo 
 tions. Deeply as she was moved by this unlooked-for mark 
 of confidence on his part, every feeling of delicacy and candour 
 prompted her to tell him of her previous knowledge of his his 
 tory. She would have arrested him at the commencement, 
 but his words flowed with such impassioned eloquence, she had 
 no power to stay their fervid tide. Now he sat silent, his lofty 
 head bowed down, and she gathered courage to make the con 
 fession. 
 
 "I thank you for the confidence you have reposed in me," 
 she said ; " I appreciate its value, but I ought to have told you 
 that I knew before all you have now revealed. No, not all ; 
 facts have been related by others, but you alone could make 
 the revelation to which I have listened with a sympathy too 
 deep for words. I ought, perhaps, to have checked you, but 
 then you might have thought I did not care to hear you. Have 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 
 
 85 
 
 I been wrong?" she asked, with the soft, appealing look of one 
 "begging for forgiveness. 
 
 <<And have you known all this, Julia ?" said he, fixing on 
 her eyes from whose dark depths the shadows of memory were 
 slowly retreating, "and yet deem me worthy to be your coun 
 sellor on earth, your guide to heaven? I thought your esteem 
 was based on ignorance of the past, and it humbled me in my 
 own eyes. I did not know my life belonged to history. Yet 
 I cannot wonder such deeds of passion should be recorded, and 
 blazoned too." 
 
 " I endeavoured to check the tongue of the narrator/ replied 
 Julia, blushing at the thought that he should deem her mean 
 enough to take advantage of a servant s garrulity, or of a 
 friend s communicativeness, "but it was in vain. I always 
 considered family histories as too sacred for a stranger s 
 
 ear." 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me," cried he. " I know how intru 
 sive this gossip must have seemed, and I regret that it should 
 have been forced upon you. But though you have been doomed 
 to the misery of listening to a twice-told tale, I cannot but re 
 joice in the privilege you have given me, since the springs and 
 motives of action must be best known to the actor. I did not 
 want you to think better of me than I deserve, but I do not 
 wish you to believe me worse than I really am." 
 
 "I think I am disposed to do you justice," she said, with an 
 ingenuous smile. "I will try, however, to gratify you, by 
 thinking very ill of you if I can." 
 
 Robert must have been very cold and deadened in heart, not 
 to be charmed by this bewitching artlessncss. His counte 
 nance lighted up, like a cloud, when the sun suddenly breaks 
 forth. 
 
 "Will you, then," said he, extending his hand, "receive 
 one so erring, yet so sincere, as your true friend, as the 
 adopted brother of your heart and soul?" 
 
 Julia, who had hung with trembling embarrassment on ins 
 
80 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 closing words, held out her hand, with a quick-drawn breath; 
 and Robert received it as the seal of a pure and lasting com 
 pact. Did not the rapid pulsations of that hand, as he clasped 
 it, spotless, fragile, and yielding as infancy s, in his own, 
 warn him that it was more than the seal of friendship, more 
 than the pledge of sisterly regard? "Whether the warning 
 was understood and heeded, or not, the moment of unreserved 
 communion was over. A light tap at the window announced 
 the return of the ramblers, and Nora bounded into the room, 
 sparkling as the stars, blooming as roses, her spirits pitched 
 to the highest key. She came like the cold, exhilarating air 
 of the polar regions, flowing in under the soft balminess of a 
 tropical atmosphere. She came, like the bright, clear, starry 
 out-door world into the moonlight stillness of a sequestered 
 bower. What a change the sudden entrance of this gay, 
 brisk, exuberant being caused ! Julia started, as if awakened 
 from a delicious dream. Robert rose, and walking to the win 
 dow, looked out into the clear, blue night. 
 
 Henry, who seemed as animated as Nora, though less de 
 monstrative, went up to Julia, and, passing his cool hands 
 over her warm cheeks, declared that Robert must be a good 
 physician, for he had never seen her look so well. 
 
 " Have you enjoyed your walk ?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes/ he answered, " it was charming. Nora dis 
 covered a path in the woods; so devious and romantic, it was 
 a perfect sylvan labyrinth. We became such enchanting com 
 pany to each other that we actually lost ourselves, and expected 
 to ramble away our lives, and perish like the Babes in the 
 Woods, for my AriaHne had no silken clue, to guide her wan 
 dering Theseus through the maze." 
 
 " Do not believe him," cried Nora; " it is all a fabrication 
 of his own. We have not been lost. He declared he would 
 follow me to the end of the world, and I made a zigzag path 
 round tbe trees, whicn I defied him to trace. I would have 
 kept him wandering after me yet, bound by his oath, had I 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 87 
 
 not been afraid that you would be frightened, Julia, at our 
 long absence." 
 
 " Oh, no/ answered Julia; " I was not in the least fright 
 ened. I did not think of your returning in so short a time." 
 
 Even Henry could not help laughing at Julia s artless 
 remark. 
 
 " That is the way," he said, " with us vain people. We 
 imagine ourselves of so much consequence to others, that our 
 prolonged absence will throw them into paroxysms of agony, 
 and we find them as calm and unruffled as the Pacific Ocean. 
 I shall not hurry you home again, Nora, with such ungallant 
 speed." 
 
 " Hurry me!" exclaimed Nora; "you might as well try to 
 hurry the hurricane !" 
 
 But we will not attempt to repeat all the airy nothings 
 the bubbles of nonsense that issued, sparkling and evapo 
 rating, from her tongue. Her gayety was contagious. Ro 
 bert s unburdened heart caught the reflection of Henry s 
 sunny spirit, and the latter recognised the brilliant genius 
 that presided over their convivial festivals of college days. 
 Nothing made Henry so happy as this. He admired and re 
 vered Robert in his present character; but he loved to see 
 him abandon himself to the memories of those hours of reck 
 less joy and classic brightness, those hours so dear to his own 
 remembrance. He forgot to warn Julia that it was time to 
 retire; he forgot that time had wings. 
 
 It was one of the last evenings they expected to pass at 
 Pine Grove, and they all lingered round the hearth-stone, as 
 if unwilling to separate. Though the late autumnal days of a 
 Southern clime are of Grecian softness, the fire of the domes 
 tic altar is always kindled at night, warming the heart by its 
 ruddy glow. 
 
 When Julia laid her cheek upon her pillow, her last 
 thoughts were not of the home she had icft behind not of 
 the gentle mother, the indulgent father, the sweet, loving 
 
ROBERT GRAHAM ! 
 
 sinter, whose daily solicitude and nightly prayers followed the 
 wanderer s path. She tried to bring before her mind the 
 withered trees and faded fields of the North, now baring 
 themselves for their wintry drapery of snow; her fancy would 
 dwell in forests of evergreen and bowers of jessamine, and a 
 voice, even sweeter than a mother s tongue, seemed wooing 
 her to tarry in them forever. 
 
 Ah, Julia ! She was going beyond the compact. Friend 
 ship brotherly and sisterly regard ! nothing more was asked 
 or promised, yet, without meaning to encroach, she was dream 
 ing of a great deal more. 
 
 Nora had her dreams, too; but she did not tell what they 
 were. Who knows, but, borne on the peaceful waves of slum 
 ber, she was winging her way to New England s granite shore, 
 building a heart-nest on some of its rugged rocks and branch 
 ing elms, or constructing a love-palace from its wintry ice? 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE scene is changed to the home of Linda, in Louisiana s 
 sunny clime. 
 
 When, three years ago, the writer and the reader bade adieu 
 to that home, it was said that " Linda was happy." Happi 
 ness is the peculiar privilege of young and beautiful brides. 
 It is not strange that it was hers. It is, perhaps, more 
 strange, since the vicissitudes of the day and night of human 
 life are almost as constant as the succession of the morning sun 
 beams and evening shadows, that, during those three passing 
 years, she has been growing happier and lovelier. Nothing 
 has occurred to mar the perfection of her felicity. The fickle 
 waves have proved constant to Roland, and borne him in 
 safety over their heaving bosom. While others have sighed 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 89 
 
 over the burning boat and the wrecking bark, he has gone on 
 his watery way safe and triumphant, loving more and more 
 the element to which he had consecrated his early vows and 
 his later energies. A beautiful child that connecting link 
 between earth and heaven has crowned their union with 
 Nature s holiest blessing. Surely nothing is wanting to com 
 plete this picture of wedded and parental joy, of domestic 
 harmony and smiling fortune ! The clouds of the past only 
 serve to bring out, in brighter, stronger relief, the images of 
 present felicity. 
 
 Linda s grateful heart is conscious of but one want the 
 presence of Robert ; of Robert, so dreaded as the lover, so 
 beloved as the brother and the friend. Her prayers have fol 
 lowed him on his heavenly mission; her thanksgivings as 
 cended for his safe return. 
 
 She was charmed at the prospect of his coming, accompanied 
 by his Northern friends; and, with the prescience of a wo 
 man s heart, she began to weave a romance of the few threads 
 of fact contained in the letter which announced their contem 
 plated visit. It is astonishing what a beautiful web she fabri 
 cated of material so slender, and how brightly she coloured it 
 with the charming tints of her own imagination. 
 
 " Oh, yes !" she said, perusing the letter a second time, and 
 musing on its contents; " Heaven has placed this sweet 
 Northern traveller right in his path, that the flowers of love 
 may blossom in it anew, and the closed portals of his heart 
 open to admit their fragrance. l A young, fair, and delicate 
 girl, " continued she, reading from the letter the sister of 
 my college friend. He has brought her from the chill 
 regions of the North to our beautiful Southern clime, fearing 
 for her the premature doom that has fallen on his own young 
 wife/ < I have promised her that she shall find a friend and 
 sister in Linda/ Yes, Robert, your promise shall be redeemed. 
 For your sake, I will welcome this sweet, drooping, Northern 
 flower, and she shall bloom beautifully in the garden of my 
 
90 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 heart. She is frail and delicate, and needs protection and 
 support, and who so fitted to bestow them as thou, Robert, 
 in thy manly dignity and soul-sustaining principles? She 
 flees from the cold blasts that bring the snow-flakes and sleet 
 upon their wintry wings. Thy home, Robert, is sunned by 
 Imost perennial summer; and thou canst make a downy nest 
 for her in thine own loving bosom. The sister of thy college 
 friend how strong the fascination of such a tie ! That alone 
 is irresistible. And I, who never had a sister how I shall 
 love, for my own sake, this dear young invalid, so far from 
 her home and friends ! I will surround her with the tenderest 
 cares, the fondest attentions, cheating her into the belief 
 that she is my own twin-born soul." 
 
 Who does not recognise the sweet castle-builder, who, when 
 a little child, while awaiting the approach of the step-mother 
 whom she had never yet seen, erected an aerial palace of love, 
 which fell before the first cold breath of reality ! 
 
 There was another clause in the letter which pleased, with 
 out exciting her. Robert, anticipating the wishes of Julia, 
 had suggested the probability of Nora Marshall being her 
 companion in the journey, as she was now under his roof. 
 " You remember her," said the letter, "as the wild little hoy 
 den with whom I waged perpetual warfare, myself a rude, 
 ungovernable boy. She is very wild still ; but we have buried 
 the tomahawk of animosity, and, though the elements of our 
 characters are as incapable of blending as water and oil, our 
 meeting is now as peaceful and harmless. That she has 
 genuine tenderness of heart, her spontaneous affection for the 
 fragile Julia shows." 
 
 " Ah ! how fair, how interesting this fragile Julia must be, 
 since even the wild Nora acknowledged so speedily her gentle 
 influence !" 
 
 Roland smiled in his own peculiar, not quite believing way, 
 at Linda s ardent expressions. He sometimes indulged the 
 natural sportiveness of his disposition, by affecting an mere- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 91 
 
 civility he did not feel, so as to call forth a more vivid delinea 
 tion of her fancy sketches. 
 
 " Very likely this fair young invalid may prove a rustic 
 Yankee lass, whom Robert calls fair and delicate, out of cour 
 tesy to her sex." 
 
 " Some of the most beautiful and charming women I have 
 ever seen are Yankees, as you call them," replied Linda, 
 warmly ; " and her brother would not have been educated at a 
 Southern college were he not of polished birth/ 
 
 " And why, my fair logician ?" 
 
 " Because the yeomanry of the North, the labourers and 
 tillers of the earth, are prejudiced against the South, whose 
 sons of toil are of a darker, lowlier race. The mere circum 
 stance of young Bellenden being a graduate of Charlottesville 
 shows his family are exempt from such prejudice, and there 
 fore of a higher caste." 
 
 " Admirable syllogism ! but surely you do not, would not 
 depreciate the dignity of labour, the right divine of industry, 
 a right exercised at first in the garden of Eden, and which 
 man should claim as his noblest heritage !" 
 
 " You know I would not, Roland. That mocking smile 
 shows you know exactly what I do mean, and that you believe 
 with me that the gentle Julia may be all that my imagination 
 has painted her and my heart prophesies." 
 
 "I do, indeed, rejoice in the thought of your having so 
 charming a companion, to fill the void my absence will 
 create," said Roland, his sportive accents changing to tones of 
 seriousness. " As I am bound for foreign lands, and my stay 
 may be somewhat protracted, I feel unusual anxiety on your 
 account." 
 
 " Had it not been for the coming of these friends, Roland, 
 I would have pleaded so earnestly as to overcome all your 
 powers of resistance. I would have been your companion; 
 and, of course, our darling Walton." 
 
 " Were 1 not bound on a voyage of business, mperativo 
 
92 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 business, which involves a devious course and complicated 
 cares, I would indeed take my wife and child in my arms, and, 
 happy in my floating home, care not how long I lingered. 
 But as it is, I must not divide my thoughts even with the ho 
 liest of all earthly duties. When I think of the commanding 
 claims Mr. Hunly has on my gratitude and respect, I blush 
 that I should deem any thing a sacrifice which will prove my 
 devotion to his interests. He has been so largely engaged in 
 commerce, that the difficulties in which he is plunged present 
 a tangled web few would have the boldness to attempt to un 
 ravel. I have the boldness to attempt, I trust I shall have the 
 ability to execute." 
 
 Mr. Hunly, it will be recollected, was the gentleman whom 
 Roland Lee rescued from the wreck of the Belle Creole, and 
 who testified his gratitude in so signal a manner. His health 
 had never recovered from the shock it had received, so that 
 the cares and responsibilities born of his large possessions 
 weighed heavily upon him. He always called Roland his son, 
 and Roland felt that every duty belonging to affiliation rested 
 as naturally on him as if he owned that sacred name. 
 
 Mr. Hunly, as Roland said, was extensively engaged in com 
 merce. His ships bore the snowy wealth of his plantations 
 to other lands, and connected him with some of the largest 
 commercial houses of Liverpool and Havre. The failure of 
 one of those large houses, like the falling of one massive pillar 
 of the many that support a great temple, caused every associated 
 interest to tremble and shake with insecurity. All the accu 
 mulated wealth which for many years had been flowing into 
 Mr. Hunly s coffers, and which he had been sending in streams 
 of munificence and charity over the land, was endangered by 
 the concussion. To save it, if possible, from the general ruin, 
 was the object of the mission which was about to bear Roland 
 Lee to a foreign country. Linda was too self-sacrificing not to 
 yield an unmurmuring assent to Roland s proposition; but the 
 heart of the wife was made doubly tender by the affections of 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 93 
 
 the mother, and she looked forward to his departure with feel 
 ings she had never experienced before. But the wife of him 
 whose profession bears him to the battle-field, or over the roll 
 ing wave, must be brave and heroic ; and Linda often smiled, 
 while the tear of anxiety trembled in her eye. 
 
 It was under such circumstances that she welcomed Robert, 
 his Northern friends, and her early schoolmate to Rosavilla, 
 the name of her Louisiania home. The first day, on which 
 they could reasonably be expected, Roland had sent a carriage 
 to the landing-place, near as it was, on account of Julia s deli 
 cate health, where it waited hour after hour for their arrival; 
 and so it was day after day, and still they came not. Some 
 accident must have occurred; but just as this conviction was 
 admitted by all as the cause of their delay, they came, and 
 Robert and Linda met, after a separation of three years. It 
 was late ; the hour of expectation had passed by, and Linda 
 called in her wandering thoughts to her own household treasures. 
 
 Though the season was so far advanced, the tropic warmth 
 of the climate suffered the night air to enter through the open 
 windows, shaded even now with blossoming vines and perennial 
 roses. A gentle flame illumined the hearth, but it seemed 
 more for irradiation than warmth, and harmonized with the soft 
 lustre of the moonlight lamps on the mantelpiece and table. 
 A pure, youthful, yet highly cultivated taste, hovered with 
 airy grace over the furniture and decorations of this apartment. 
 Even in the dreary home of her stepmother, dreary from asso 
 ciation rather than its actual aspect, Linda had left traces of 
 her girlish love of the beautiful and appropriate. In her own, 
 where she reigned with unconscious regality, for her wishes 
 were laws, obeyed as soon as known, because made known with 
 so much gentleness, and such a willingness to yield, in her 
 own home, with abundant materials to work out her bright fan 
 cies and graceful tastes, she had displayed the exquisiteness of 
 the first, and the luxuriance of the last. The drapery which 
 shaded the windows was almost as transparent and light as the 
 24 
 
91 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 web of the gossamer, and through these gauzy folds, gathered 
 back into the clasp of a hand glittering with a golden sem 
 blance, the roses breathed clouds of fragrance, and their blos 
 soms glowed with softened beauty. 
 
 This apartment communicated with another by folding doors, 
 now open, furnished in a similar manner, only the light dra 
 pery of the curtains was lined with rose-coloured silk, Linda s 
 favourite colour, and a bed covered with sweeping folds of white 
 lace, falling below a rose-coloured canopy, showed it was that 
 penetralia of the household sacred from the stranger s foot. A 
 crib, made of the light bamboo, and covered with the same 
 white lace drapery, as a protection against mosquitoes, the worse 
 than Egyptian plague of the far South, showed also that this 
 chamber was the resting-place of infant innocence. Paintings, 
 over whose rich, glittering frames a white cloud of gauze wag 
 floating, relieved the cool whiteness of the walls, and marble 
 statuettes stood on fluted, ingrained pedestals in the corners of 
 the room. One of these represented a young flower-girl, from 
 whose marble basket sweet flowers were dripping, diffusing the 
 hues and fragrance of life over her cold, white lineaments. 
 
 Linda sat at a table near one of the open windows, by the 
 side of Roland, who held a book in his hand, but at this mo 
 ment he seemed to be perusing a fairer page in the face of 
 Linda. What lighted up the radiant smile that now illumined 
 her whole countenance? Why did she stretch out her beau 
 tiful arms so eagerly toward the half-open door, and then partly 
 turn toward Roland, with such a world of meaning in her 
 smiling glance, as if directing his attention to the same object? 
 A sound sweet as those "airy tongues that syllable men s 
 names/ musical and indistinct as the murmur of the silver 
 cascade, greeted her ear. It was the cherub voice of infancy, 
 it was her own darling Walton, who now sprang from the arms 
 of his African nurse to the embrace of his beautiful yoang 
 mother. The child was in his loose night-dress, fresh from his 
 evening ablution, with the pure rose-tint cold water always 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 95 
 
 gives to the lilies of infancy visible not only on his soft, round 
 cheeks, but his little, fat, dimpled fingers, and waxen feet; 
 Linda caught him in her arms, pressed him rapturously to her 
 bosom, and pushing back the soft, short, silken curls from his 
 baby brow, kissed it again and again. She kissed its cheeks, 
 lips, and neck, while rills of laughter bubbled from its rosy lips; 
 then holding him from her as far as possible, she called upon 
 Roland to admire its infantine loveliness and grace. He did 
 admire it, even so as to satisfy her fond, exacting, maternal 
 pride, but he admired the lovely, graceful mother more, and 
 folding his arms around them both, his heart swelled with love 
 and gratitude too deep for utterance. 
 
 It was at this moment that Robert, who, at their own re 
 quest, had left his friends in the carriage at the gate, while he 
 went forward to announce them, approached the door, and 
 through the open windows, so transparently curtained, he be 
 held this charming family group. He could not help pausing 
 to gaze upon it, had death been the penalty of the act. He 
 stood in the shadow of the rose-trees, and the balmy atmo 
 sphere floating round seemed the heart-incense rising from that 
 domestic altar. For three years, the image of Linda had 
 lingered in his memory, as he had seen her in bridal robes, 
 her eyes suffused with parting tears, which veiled her maiden 
 love and happiness. She was changed only as the stars change, 
 from lustre to lustre. She was changed only as the flowers 
 change, from bloom to bloom, with ever-increasing beauty. 
 Her girlish charms were now but just developed, for Linda 
 had only reached her twentieth year, and was in the morning 
 glow of womanhood. Her dress of simple white corresponded 
 equally with the mildness of the climate and the youthful 
 character of her face and form. Her beautiful brown hair 
 was arranged with a kind of childish grace peculiarly her own, 
 waving back from her temples, falling again in careless ring 
 lets, and wreathed behind in braids that here and there burst 
 out into curls, in the unrestrained wantonness of luxuriance. 
 
96 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 Had she studied for years to find an attitude of grace to please 
 the eye of a fastidious artist, she could not have assumed one 
 more enchanting than the one in which she now rested, with 
 her arms slightly raised, holding the child, and her head re 
 clining on her husband s shoulder. 
 
 Robert saw in him only the background of this radiant 
 picture, the framework of its beauty, and its guardian too. 
 For one moment his heart throbbed wildly with all the fer 
 vour of its early passion ; he forgot the insurmountable barrier 
 that separated them ; the marriage bond, the maternal tie, the 
 thousand sanctities of domestic life; he remembered her only 
 as the being given to his boyhood by a mother s regal will, the 
 first and only beloved of his passionate youth; and he was 
 about to rush forward, and rending her from the arms which 
 already encircled her, claim her as his own in the sight of 
 God and man. But the child, to whose cherub face her own 
 was lifted, interposed itself as a heavenly shield between her 
 and his momentary madness, weak and helpless as it was, it 
 had the strength of an armed legion in its little waxen arm. 
 Like the delicate steel web that surrounds the flame of a safety- 
 lamp, imprisoning with its slender fibres the fire-sparks whose 
 escape would be death, the holy charm of infant innocency 
 wove a spell too pure, too strong for one ray of passion to 
 penetrate. Robert started, and drew a relieving breath. The 
 beloved of his youth melted away into the wife and mother, 
 guarded, as with bars of triple gold, from every thought incon 
 sistent with a brother s love. 
 
 The window opened to the floor. Lifting the drooping 
 vine-wreaths, and putting aside the soft cloud of lace through 
 which he had been gazing, he stood in front of the green arch 
 way, and his tall figure intercepted by its darkness the star 
 light gleaming through. Linda started up with a cry of joy, 
 and almost tossing the baby into its father s arms, threw her 
 own impulsively, joyously, round Robert s neck. She greeted 
 him as a long-absent brother, with the glad freedom of unre- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 97 
 
 strained affection, chastened by the remembrance of their mu 
 tual sufferings. 
 
 " Oh ! Robert, dear Robert," she cried, looking up in his 
 face with glistening eyes, " is it indeed you ? and are you come 
 at last to be the crowning blessing of our happy home ?" 
 
 Robert s heart was too full for words. He could only clasp 
 her in silence to his bosom, while he breathed a voiceless 
 prayer to heaven, that he might indeed prove a blessing, by 
 being worthy of such confiding tenderness. When Roland 
 extended his hand with brotherly warmth and cordiality, as 
 the friend of all others most gladly welcomed, he could meet 
 the clear sunshine of his glance with one as clear and stead 
 fast, and rejoice in the consciousness of recovered strength. 
 Then Linda, with all a young mother s pride, put her baby in 
 his arms, and made him lisp with sweet indistinctness the 
 name she had taught his infant lips to utter, while, gay, fear 
 less, and loving, it laid its soft cheek on his bosom, and passed 
 its white chubby hand over his raven hair. 
 
 He looked at Linda when he restored the baby to her arms, 
 and had she read all that glance expressed, its interpretation 
 would have been this : 
 
 "Should the time ever come, Linda, when thou and thy 
 child require a guardian and protector, I will shield ye both, 
 if need be, at the sacrifice of life. Thou needest me not in 
 the blaze of sunshine which now surrounds thee; but in the 
 night-time of sorrow, the storm and the tempest, I may yet bo 
 thy stay and support/ 
 
 "But where are your friends?" asked Linda, as soon as she 
 had time to think of any one but Robert; " why are you alone, 
 when I have been making room in my heart for three more ?" 
 
 " My friends wait in the carriage at the gate," answered 
 Robert, ashamed of his forgetfulness of them while lingering 
 at the window. 
 
 a Here is one to answer for herself," exclaimed a gay voice 
 gushing through the roses, and Nora, tossing the vine-wreathy 
 
98 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 aside with sportive grace, entered the room, " Mrs. Lee, Mrs. 
 Roland Lee, no, no, Linda, my own Linda Walton, don t 
 you remember your old torment, the young scapegoat of the 
 school, Nora Marshall ?" 
 
 A cordial, smiling, school-girlish embrace was the answer to 
 this characteristic appeal. She did find it somewhat difficult 
 to recognise " the old torment and young scapegoat" in the 
 handsome, spirited young girl before her. There was, how 
 ever, a lurking mischief in her eye that reminded her of old 
 times. 
 
 "Where is Miss Bellenden? Where is her brother?" 
 again cried Linda. " Robert, take me to them immediately. 
 She will think Southern hospitality exists but in name. How 
 could I forget her so long ?" 
 
 " She is still in the carriage," answered Nora. " I could 
 not persuade her to do as I did ; jump over ceremony, and 
 introduce myself. Her brother is with her. Captain Lee/ 
 said she, turning to Roland, as Robert and Linda left the room 
 together, " the man lives not whom I have been so anxious to 
 see as yourself." 
 
 " Indeed," said Roland, pleased and amused with the dash 
 ing frankness of her manner, " to what source am I indebted 
 for this flattering interest ?" 
 
 " To the romance existing in every woman s breast. I knew 
 you by reputation as a hero, and as the successful rival of 
 Robert Graham. Was not that sufficient to excite my 
 curiosity?" 
 
 " I regret that excited curiosity should find so little to gratify 
 it. I am sure you must think me wanting in the usual cha 
 racteristics of a hero." 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 "A magnificent figure, sable hair, and stormy temperament, 
 are they not?" 
 
 " You describe Robert Graham. But he is a minister, and 
 tiierofore cannot be a hero. What a pity such brilliant quali- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 
 
 fications should be so misapplied! I like your profession. I 
 love the water; I think I was born to be a sailor s wife. Do 
 you call yourself a sailor, Captain Lee?" 
 
 Nora rattled away as lightly as if she had known Roland all 
 her life, perfectly at ease, as bright and sparkling as if fresh 
 from morning slumbers, instead of being wearied by a long 
 journey. She took off her bonnet, smoothed her rich, glossy 
 hair, arranged her collar, and shook the wrinkling folds of her 
 dress, talking and laughing the whole time; and when Linda 
 returned, ran to her and told her that she and her husband 
 were already the best friends in the world. 
 
 How different from the pale, weary, and sensitive Julia! 
 Overcome by fatigue, oppressed by strange and varying feelings, 
 she sank upon a seat, shrouding her face with her veil, as she 
 did the night she arrived at Pine Grove. It was remarkable, 
 considering Julia s youth and beauty, that she should shrink 
 with such morbid sensibility from the strangers gaze. The 
 difference in the character of the two young girls might be 
 read in this simple trait. Nora never would wear a veil. She 
 despised them, and declared she could not breathe freely with 
 one over her face. Julia, in walking, riding, in steamboat or 
 car, invariably drew down her veil on the approach of a stran 
 ger; while Nora would turn on them her keen, bright glance, 
 resolved to see how they looked, without thinking or caring 
 whether they looked at her or not. 
 
 Julia was now in the presence of that Linda of whom she 
 had heard and thought and dreamed so much, and the convic 
 tion forced itself into her mind, firm and cold as an iron wedge, 
 that he who had loved her could not transfer his affections 
 to another. All the sweet day-dreams which had been float 
 ing round her during their protracted journey, wrapping her 
 in a delicious haziness, making an Indian summer of her heart, 
 vanished in the light of Linda s greeting -smile. The soft, 
 glad music of her voice, coming to her through the glimmer 
 ing starlight, thrilled her with a sense of exquisite beauty, 
 
100 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 and now, when she saw her hovering round her, lavishing 
 upon her every kind and soothing attention, while the mimic 
 moonlight within fell resplendently on her, she felt herself a 
 dim shadow, vanishing before her noonday brightness. 
 
 Linda, unconscious of what was passing in Julia s mind, 
 sought by every gentle and endearing care to beguile her 
 weariness. She sat down by her, relieved her, with her own 
 hands, of her bonnet, mantilla, and shawl, and entreated her 
 to feel as much at home as if she were seated at a sister s 
 side. 
 
 "I never had a sister," said she, pressing Julia s hand in 
 both her own, "and ever since I have heard of your coming, I 
 have adopted you as one, and loved you in anticipation. Per 
 haps you think me hasty to express what I have not had time 
 to feel; but you must remember that I am of Southern birth, 
 and our feelings are quick as the rays of our warmer sun, not 
 the silent growth of years." 
 
 " I feel far more than I can express," answered Julia, blush 
 ing at the consciousness of how much more she did feel than 
 she was willing to express, "and if I seem cold, impute it to a 
 languid frame, rather than a frigid heart." 
 
 " Yes, I know you are an invalid, but I shall not suffer you 
 to remain one. Winter cannot reach you in our orange bowers. 
 Look at those roses; just such shall bloom upon your cheeks 
 before you leave us." 
 
 " Every thing seems like enchantment," said Julia, looking 
 round her, finding it impossible to realize that she stood on 
 the threshold of a wintry season: "when I think of our scent 
 less shrubs and withered gardens, I imagine myself trans 
 ported to a fairer world." 
 
 Julia, seated familiarly at Linda s side, conversing with her 
 on ordinary topics as with a common mortal, felt as if a cold, 
 bright frostwork were melting away in the sunshiny atmo 
 sphere she diffused around her. The cold, dim, shadowy con 
 sciousness passed away, in the soft, luxurious air she was 
 
A SEQUEL TO 
 
 inhaling; she dared to raise her eyes and seek the animated 
 countenance of her brother, though she knew Robert was by 
 him, and might meet her glance. 
 
 Never had Henry Bellenden found himself in a more con 
 genial scene. Every thing around him corresponded with the 
 elegance of his taste, and gratified his love of the beautiful and 
 poetic. As Julia had said, " every thing seemed like enchant 
 ment," from the fair young hostess to the minutest object 
 which betrayed the touch of her fairy hand. The noble sim 
 plicity and frankness of Roland charmed him. He felt an 
 irresistible desire to be constantly shaking hands with him, 
 thus establishing an electrical communication, swifter and 
 warmer than words. He forgave Linda her preference, espe 
 cially as it left Robert free free to yield, as he had no doubt 
 he had already done, to Julia s gentle influence. It seemed 
 impossible to him that one, whose affections were disengaged, 
 could know Julia without loving her; and the idea of the mar 
 ried Linda, as an obstacle to his sister s happiness, never occur 
 red to his mind. Dearly as he had loved the wife of his youth, 
 from the turf that covered her grave, sweet flowers of hope 
 and love might spring, even sweeter for the tears with which 
 he had moistened its verdure. It seemed to him that every 
 one must feel as he did, turning their back to the shadows and 
 their face to the light, gathering the flower and trampling on 
 the weed, cultivating new affections instead of brooding with 
 unavailing sadness over blighted joys. Feeling as he did, could 
 he look at Robert and imagine he was moulded, heart and soul, 
 like himself? With that brow of intense thought, that eye 
 whose burning rays even the serenity and mildness of religion 
 could not always temper, and that lip which even in silence 
 spoke of deep, repressed sensibility? Did he believe the pas 
 sions enshrined in such a form, were not stronger, more un 
 conquerable than his own ? Had he placed his hand on his 
 own brow and felt its serene expansion, on his temples where 
 the fair hair so lightly, carelessly waved, looked into his own 
 
e** - 
 
 102" : : _ i ; R^B^RT GRAHAM : 
 
 eyes, so clear in their blue depths of thought, he would not, it 
 seems, have imagined that Robert could feel and think as 
 he did. 
 
 Nora, who found it impossible to remain still, flitted about, 
 looking at the pictures, at the statues, plucking the roses and 
 wreathing them in her hair, and at last vanished from the room. 
 Linda could not help wondering where she had gone, taking so 
 unceremoniously the freedom of the house, when she reappeared 
 with little Walton enthroned upon her shoulder, highly de 
 lighted with his elevated position. She had watched the nurse 
 when she carried him from the room, thinking it was time for 
 sober babies to be put to sleep, and running after her, snatched 
 the infant from her arms before she knew what had become 
 of him, and carried him back in triumph. 
 
 " Is he not the sweetest creature in the universe ?" she 
 cried, looking for some one to assent to her assertion, though 
 interrogatively expressed. The eyes of the parents and the 
 tongue of Henry immediately answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Does he ever cry, Linda ?" she asked, tossing him up 
 with a wild glee that made Linda tremble for the result. "If 
 he does, I shall throw him down in a moment. A crying 
 baby in my arms frightens me more than a roaring lion. I 
 never could pacify one in my life." 
 
 "I should not think you could," said Linda, laughing, "and 
 I insist upon your giving him to his nurse, before he exhibits 
 his terrific powers. He is usually asleep before this time, and 
 I cannot be responsible for his good behaviour." 
 
 Linda, like every young mother, was anxious for the repu 
 tation of her first-born, and perceiving the dawn of terror in 
 the soft amazement of his eyes, she feared the usual expres 
 sion of infantine trepidation. The infant, on whose drowsy 
 lids the down of slumber was beginning to fall when Nora 
 whirled him from his resting-place, though at first excited 
 to merriment, grew restless, and evidently sought the means 
 of escape. Unaccustomed to such energetic nursing, its arms 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 103 
 
 fluttered toward its mother like the wings of a new-fledged 
 bird, and putting up its beautiful lips, it burst into a real 
 heart-cry. 
 
 Quick as lightning, Nora turned and dropped the infant in 
 Robert s arms, mischievously thinking that nothing would 
 embarrass him more, and that there would be something 
 laughable in their mutual consternation. Linda, who had 
 suddenly risen and approached them, stopped and smiled. 
 Robert, instead of recoiling and looking round for escape from 
 an unwelcome burden, pressed the little creature gently to his 
 bosom, and hushed its passionate alarm. Quiet as a lamb it 
 lay, looking up in his face, as if it would read into his inmost 
 soul with its earnest, unreceding glance ; then closing its eyes 
 with a sweet smile, it leaned its head lower and lower on his 
 breast and sunk into a gentle slumber. 
 
 Nothing could have touched Linda more than to see tho 
 once fiery Robert thus tenderly cradling her infant in his arms 
 with all a woman s gentleness. It was, indeed, a beautiful 
 picture, and no one admired it more than Nora, who had ex 
 pected so different a scene. She seemed quite subdued. The 
 effervescence of her spirit subsided, leaving sufficient elasticity 
 for her own enjoyment and the comfort of those around her. 
 
 There are times when excessive gayety is more oppressive 
 than deep despondency. Its shrill alto cannot harmonize with 
 the minor key of sensibility. There was a brusquerie about 
 Nora, an unexpectedness in all she said and did, that kept one 
 in a state of insecurity in her presence. She was like one of 
 those substances which have such an affinity for oxygen that 
 they cannot without danger be exposed to atmospheric in 
 fluence. 
 
 It is very seldom that six beings with individuality so 
 strongly marked are thrown together, as these who were 
 assembled for the first time under the same roof. Nora, exu 
 berant in health and superabundant in spirits, always seemed 
 treading on the very verge of propriety, reckless what steps 
 
104 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 she took, in the wild excitement of the moment. Julia, -with 
 constitutional delicacy and refinement, fearful of going beyond 
 the guarded enclosure which nature and education had pre 
 scribed, trembled at her own impulses, pure as they were, lest 
 they should betray her into error. The one was at times too 
 r turbulently gay, the other as often too languidly pensive. 
 JJnda possessed the golden mean of uniform elasticity. Her 
 gayety was so chastened by refinement, her reflections so en 
 livened by cheerfulness, and her sensibility so free from mor 
 bidness, it was impossible to wish her otherwise than she was. 
 " One shade the more, one ray the less," would mar the 
 harmony of her feminine attributes. She had passed through 
 the refiner s fire, and the elements of her character were not 
 only purified, but harmonized by the great alchymist, suffer 
 ing. Trials are the strong winds that shake the blossoms 
 from the tree of life, bringing down their fragrance to the 
 heart of the sufferer. But though Linda had known in early 
 life the discipline of adversity, and had reason to bless her 
 stern taskmaster, there were unsounded depths within which 
 no line or plummet had yet fathomed ; there were treasures 
 of thought and feeling, hidden like ocean gems in the " sunless 
 retreats" of the deep. 
 
 The three young men were types of three distinct classes 
 of character. 
 
 Henry, with his bright, hopeful, interchanging spirit, re 
 presented those suns of the social system whose centripetal 
 attraction drew toward them living satellites, and which com 
 municate light to every surrounding object. 
 
 Robert was the emblem of those who, in ancient days, sup 
 ported by a sublime enthusiasm, wrought out their destiny in 
 the loneliness of intense thought, travailing in the greatness 
 of their strength, and passing on through fire and flood to the 
 goal of their pilgrimage : of those who, in the present era, 
 having brought their passions and intellect under the control 
 of a mighty will, devote themselves to one great purpose, 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 105 
 
 pouring in all the energies of their minds, tributary streams 
 to the grand reservoir, which is to flow out for the healing of 
 nations : of those who consume the oil of life over midnight 
 vigils, or traverse the pathless wilderness in searching out 
 the mysteries of nature; or who voluntarily clothe themselves 
 with the sackcloth, and wear the thorny crown of suffering, 
 that they may work out for others an " exceeding weight of 
 glory- 
 Roland came between these two, a representative of that 
 noble class of men who, by the union of physical and intel 
 lectual power, assume command over inferior minds, and make 
 them subservient to practical good : the bone and sinew, the 
 strength and reliance of the land, who, without reserving 
 themselves for great occasions to reap whole harvests of re 
 nown, go on steadfastly in the path of right, overcoming every 
 obstacle, and breaking down every circumstance, till the sun 
 shine of success streams unobstructed, and mankind can see 
 the print of their footsteps, and follow in their tread. 
 
 But poor Judy ! how long she is kept waiting in the door, 
 where she has come to greet the young master ! There she 
 stands, with the same white cornucopia on her head, black, 
 shining, smiling, with no perceptible change in her excel 
 lent visage, her hands folded over her waist, and her eyes 
 rolled upward with an ecstatic expression. To see Master 
 Robert, who had just come, as it were, from under the wheels 
 of Juggernaut, looking so grand and beautiful, holding that 
 blessed baby in his arms so carefully and gently, and seeming 
 to bless it as it lay nestling there, was a sight that completely 
 overcame the susceptible heart of Judy. She put her apron 
 to her eyes, and an audible sob announced her presence. 
 
 Robert looked up, and, rising, gave the young child to Let 
 tuce, its young nurse, for whom her arms involuntarily ex 
 tended. 
 
 " Oh, Master Robert !" said Judy, as he shook most cor 
 dially her sable hand; " bless the Lord, that has brought you 
 
106 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 back to your country and your people. Bless the Lord for 
 his wondersome goodness to the children of men. I didn t 
 Aspect to see this day, master but I m all the more obleeged. 
 And, just to think of this blessed little master, sprung up like 
 a beautiful cornstalk while you ve been gone, to make us all 
 voung again !" 
 
 " We who are young have not had time to grow old in 
 three years, Judy," answered Robert, smiling at her familiar 
 eloquence ; " and you, who when a boy I thought was growing 
 old, are younger than ever." 
 
 " Content, master, keeps folks young. If I hadn t the 
 best young mistress that ever lived, I should feel mighty 
 old by this time. But she put soft feathers under my old 
 bones, and good things in my cabin ; and she and Master 
 Roland never go by me without a pleasant word, that does me 
 a heap of good. Oh ! I tell you, Master Robert, content is 
 the greatest thing, arter all." 
 
 " Yes, Judy, it is the jewel wanting in the crown of kings 
 second in value only to the pearl which the merchant pur 
 chased with all the gold he had. And that, too, is yours is 
 it not? You understand me do you not?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, master. You talk so beautifully, I feel e enamost 
 choked." And Judy raised the whole breadth of her apron, 
 instead of the corner, to her quivering face. 
 
 The summons to supper, which had not been long pre 
 paring, though it may seem so to the reader, interrupted 
 Judy s hysterical emotions, and brought the party into a close 
 familiar circle ; and Robert inquired after old friends, whose 
 names we trust are not forgotten. "Where was Aristides Long- 
 wood, the wizard of the birchen rod, the repeater of golden 
 aphorisms ?" 
 
 " He still makes his home with us," answered Linda, 
 { from which he occasionally radiates an eccentric beam of 
 light. He has been absent now several weeks, but will soon 
 return, I trust, to welcome his former pupil and friend. He 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 107 
 
 has already commenced the education of our little Walton on 
 phrenological principles, and finds him a beautiful study." 
 
 "Tuscarora, the noble Indian, and Naimuna where are 
 they ?" 
 
 " They still occupy the wigwam constructed for them in 
 tie forest shades. We must visit them soon, and introduce 
 yur Northern friends to these interesting children of the 
 wilderness, whose savage nature is so charmingly softened by 
 the graces of civilization." 
 
 Linda, gathering up the severed links of former association, 
 wove them into a chain of events that connected him with the 
 years that had fled. Mr. and Mrs. Carleton still resided in 
 Mobile. They had visited her the preceding winter; and 
 what a happy time they had together, dwelling once more in 
 imagination in the beloved shades of Rosebower, where Mrs. 
 Revere still reigned unrivalled queen over the hearts of the 
 young. Mrs. Lee, the mother of Roland, had died the year 
 after his marriage ] and this was the only chasm death had 
 made. Linda told him this in a low voice, for his mother s 
 name was hallowed in Roland s ear, and she breathed it softly, 
 that she might not agitate the sacred foliage that falls over 
 the memory of the dead. 
 
 Thus passed away the first evening of reunion. The morn 
 ing sunbeamfs glanced upon Nora, flying about the garden, 
 bright as the bird of the tropics flashing among the shrub 
 bery, and gleaming through the trellis- work; while Julia 
 glided near her, with motions gentle as the dove s, as if she 
 were seeking an olive-branch in these luxuriant bowers. She 
 walked through avenues of orange-trees, whose rich, vivid 
 green leaves quivered above her head with a soft, joyous 
 rustle, half covering and half revealing innumerable balls of 
 vegetable gold ; through rows of fragrant lemons, whose fruil 
 melted into a paler gold ; and then she seemed lost in a laby 
 rinth of verdure, through which the glowing scarlet of the 
 pomegranate flashed like the wing of the flamingo, and the 
 
108 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 sweet-scented jessamine sent the white gleam of its virgin 
 blossoms ; and, high above all, stately pillars of this beauti 
 ful colonnade, the superb magnolias rose in verdant majesty, 
 and every large, lustrous leaf seemed as a mirror to the sun. 
 
 Julia felt a glow of delight pervading her whole being, as 
 she moved on through all this summer pomp, enriching the 
 lap of winter for it was winter in her own colder latitude, 
 while clouds of fragrance rolled around her from the rosy 
 festoons that swung from shrub to shrub, making fairy bridges 
 and hanging bowers, frolicking all the time with the morning 
 breeze. She could hardly believe she was in the same world 
 she was twelve months ago, when she saw the snow-spirit 
 whitening, as with bridal wreaths, the woodbine arch above 
 her door, covering with fantastic drapery the naked trees, and 
 spreading over the dismal gray of the landscape a carpet of 
 glittering whiteness. She could hardly believe that she was 
 the same being who then clung so adhesively to the fireside 
 joys of home, thinking there was no happiness beyond its 
 walls. A soft, tropic atmosphere was glowing in her heart, 
 and an under-current of feeling, unstirred before, made sweet, 
 mysterious music as it flowed. The vague, dim, sinking con 
 sciousness of threatened extinction, which she had known the 
 preceding evening, vanished with the shadows of night. 
 
 When Linda found her in the wilderness of sweets through 
 which she loved to roam in the dewy morning hour, she was 
 charmed with the animation, the glow of her countenance. 
 
 " She is lovely," thought she ; and the sentiment passed 
 from her heart to her eyes, and Julia felt it more than if it 
 had been uttered. "I thought, last night, she wanted ex 
 pression; but I did not do her justice. Robert must love her, 
 and then we shall all be happy." 
 
 Whiie she looked earnestly in Julia s face, holding her hand 
 in hers, she saw the brightest colour suddenly mount into her 
 cheeks, and the soft palm she held throbbed as if with new-born 
 pulsations. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 109 
 
 "All I" exclaimed she to herself, as the orange boughs parted, 
 and Robert stood in the path before them, "whether wooed or 
 not, I see but too plainly that her heart is won. If he prove 
 insensible to so much loveliness and sensibility, he must be 
 either more or less than man." 
 
 She looked at him, anxious to read in his countenance corre 
 sponding emotions ; but his pale, calm face had an expression 
 such as the prayer-angel leaves on the brow of the worshipper. 
 She saw now, by the clear light of day, that, though unfaded, 
 he was changed. The features, hair, eyes, were the same, and 
 yet they left as different an impression on the mind of the be 
 holder, as a picture seen by the blaze of a conflagration and 
 the same illumined by the holy splendour of moonlight. The 
 night before, the agitation of meeting, after a parting like 
 theirs, had restored to his countenance much of its original ex 
 pression ; now she recognised the Christian missionary, whose 
 lips were worthy to proclaim the tidings of salvation, and whose 
 eloquence was said to roll in " waves of glory " over the dark 
 wastes of paganism. 
 
 Nora and Henry met them from a crossing path. How he 
 found her, it would be difficult to tell, but he seemed to have 
 steadied her erratic movements into quite a sober, rational gait. 
 She was certainly on her " good behaviour," and appeared re 
 solved to atone, by her lady-like propriety, for the girlish rude 
 ness of the evening. Something that Henry had been saying 
 had given a feminine expression to her face that was marvel 
 lously becoming. 
 
 " Have I been trespassing too much ?" she asked, raising 
 her hands, which were full of flowers, as she approached Linda 
 "What a charming, charming place is this! A second edition 
 of the garden of Eden, only revised and improved. Mr. Bel- 
 lenden said, just now, that you looked like an unfallen Eve 
 Was not that a pretty speech ?" 
 
 "Yes; but he paid you a higher compliment than he did 
 inc." 
 
 25 
 
110 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 "It is said that a gentleman cannot pay a more graceful 
 compliment to a lady than by speaking high praises of another 
 in her presence." 
 
 " That is, he does not believe me mean enough to be envi 
 ous," exclaimed Nora, looking admiringly at Linda. " No, 
 indeed, I never knew what envy or jealousy meant, by my 
 own experience. I have ten thousand faults, but they are of 
 the open, daring kind. No one enjoys more real, heartfelt 
 pleasure than I do, in admiring all that is beautiful and 
 excellent, though I may be reminded by contrast of my own 
 deficiencies." 
 
 "Were you the owner of all the faults you claim," said 
 Henry, his countenance beaming with approbation, "your can 
 dour and disinterestedness would redeem them all." 
 
 " I did not say that to be praised," said Nora, pulling her 
 flowers with ruthless fingers. " I must be the worst creature 
 in the world, for whenever I utter a becoming sentiment, every 
 one looks as pleased and surprised as if they had found that 
 precious jewel in the toad s head which Shakspeare has de 
 scribed." 
 
 " Nora," said Linda, rebukingly, " were you ever serious five 
 minutes in succession ?" 
 
 " Yes ! when I thought I was drowning. Were you ever 
 under the cold water, Linda ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered she, turning pale at the remembrance. 
 " It seemed that I lived ages in those moments of horror. I 
 never shall forget them." 
 
 The scene of the blazing boat, her drowning father, and her 
 own rescue, brought so suddenly to her recollection, made her 
 shiver as if a cold breeze blew upon her. Nora regretted hav 
 ing asked the question, and to turn her thoughts in a different 
 channel, she gave a graphic description of her flight through 
 the woods, her immersion in Stony Creek, and of Henry s 
 gallant bearing. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. Ill 
 
 te Yes !" she said, pausing suddenly, and looking at him with 
 a countenance quite radiant with gratitude ; " to his self-pos 
 session and courage I owe the salvation of my life. It was my 
 own headstrong will that plunged me into peril, and I did not 
 deserve that he should share my danger, and avert it so gene 
 rously for me." 
 
 "I did not do it to be praised, Nora," replied Henry, in a 
 tone of deep feeling. " I should have been the veriest mon 
 ster the world ever knew, to have seen any woman in peril and 
 not attempted her relief. Surely, then" { 
 
 "He would have done as much for you, good old aunt Judy, 
 I know he would," said Nora, throwing the flower-petals she 
 had been pulling off and gathering in the palm of her hand, 
 in a very shower over his head. 
 
 " That is what Roland said to me," said Linda, unconscious 
 of the application of her words, " when he arrested our horses 
 on the brink of a precipice, and I I loved him more for his 
 humanity than I admired him for his gallantry." 
 
 A visible blush passed over Nora s blooming cheek. She 
 suddenly turned into a different path, where Robert and Julia 
 were slowly walking. 
 
 Ever since Robert had confided to Julia so unreservedly the 
 history of his heart, he had treated her with the tenderness 
 and affectionate freedom of a brother. He found a charm in 
 her sympathy that was as irresistible as it was pure. When with 
 her, he thought more of heaven than earth. She seemed to 
 him one of those beings such as Jacob beheld in his dream, one 
 of those coming and going angels commissioned to bear up the 
 thoughts of man on high, and to bring down an answer to his 
 prayers. And he talked to her of heaven and heavenly things, 
 without thinking he was making earth too dear to her. Ther^ 
 had been moments at Pine Grove when his heart had felt a new 
 life in her presence, and she seemed to stand on the lower 
 rounds of the ladder, coming with blessings to earth, rather 
 than bearing aspirations to heaven ; and had they remained 
 
112 ROBERT GRAHAM. 
 
 together there, time perchance might have wrought out Julia s 
 triumph. Will it now ? 
 
 They all gradually approached the house, which was sur 
 rounded by a light, graceful verandah, supported by airy pillars, 
 all covered by some perennial vines. The roses and vines that 
 shaded the windows were planted below, and were trained to 
 .limb up, through apertures made for their accommodation. 
 
 " I really thought these vines grew out of the floor," said 
 Nora, " and that the flowers grew out of the marble basket 
 last night." 
 
 Roland met them on the steps of the verandah. 
 
 " Truant," said Linda, "where have you been, when so many 
 attractions tempted you to remain?" 
 
 He smiled, but she saw a shadow on his brow. "Ah !" 
 thought she, "is the parting hour come so soon ?" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 YES ! the parting hour was near. Roland had received a 
 letter from Mr. Hunly, which made it imperative for him to 
 start immediately for New Orleans, and thence he would sail 
 for Liverpool without delay. He had been expecting the 
 summons, he was ready and waiting ; and yet he felt an un 
 willingness to go he had not known on former occasions. It 
 was not that for the first time he was about to cross the ocean, 
 for that seemingly boundless barrier was dwindled into com 
 parative insignificance by the wondrous facilities of navigation. 
 Besides, he had looked forward with rapture to the idea of 
 being far, far away from land, away from the compressing 
 shores and bounding bluffs which restrain the inland streams 
 with nothing but heaven above, and the waves below, and 
 his own soul within. It was the realization of his boyish 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 113 
 
 dreams, to be far from land, in a great storm. No matter if 
 the waves ran mountain high it would be a glorious thing to 
 ride on their foaming crests. Even if the ship went down in 
 the unfathomable abysses of the deep, was it not grander to 
 lie in such a magnificent grave, with an illimitable pall sweep 
 ing over him, and the ocean surge murmuring an everlasting 
 requiem, than to be laid in a narrow coffin, then in a six-feet 
 bed of clay ? He used to think thus as a boy ; but now he 
 was a husband and a father, and the sweet drawings of home 
 ties were stronger than his early yearnings. 
 
 And in spite of his implicit confidence in Linda s love and 
 Robert s integrity, in spite of his freedom from suspicion and 
 jealousy, he could not help wishing the visit of Robert had 
 been deferred till his return. It was a singular coincidence 
 that brought him back from India s distant clime, just as he 
 was called to leave his native land. He did not believe that 
 Robert had ceased to love Linda when he so nobly renounced 
 her. He did not believe that religion destroyed the passions 
 it chastened and hallowed ; and, enlightened by the deep love 
 of his own heart, he knew, he saw in the moment of meeting 
 that he still regarded Linda with more than a brother s love. 
 He might struggle with these feelings ; he knew he did strug 
 gle with them, and perhaps believed them conquered; but 
 they existed, and even the green withs of integrity and 
 holiness might be burst asunder by the giant-hand of pas 
 sion. 
 
 Roland despised himself for suffering such apprehensions to 
 enter his mind. They were unworthy of himself, and insulting 
 to Robert, ungrateful to Linda, too, whose attachment had 
 beeli so disinterested and so unwavering. He would sooner 
 cut off the hand on which glittered the golden pledge of her 
 maiden troth, than breathe to her the faintest whisper of dis 
 trust. Much as Roland blamed himself for his involuntary 
 emotions, the noblest, most magnanimous man in the universe 
 would have felt as he did, if he loved as devotedly, the ob 
 
114 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 ject, such a being as Linda, and his former rival, a Robert 
 Graham. 
 
 That evening, just at twilight, as if mutually understanding 
 each other s wishes, Robert and Roland met in an avenue 
 leading from the garden toward a thicket, and Roland, turn 
 ing, walked in the same direction with Robert, leaving the gar 
 den behind. He took his arm, and for a moment neither of 
 them spoke. 
 
 "I regret extremely to leave you so soon," said Roland. 
 "We have hardly had time to exchange the courtesies of 
 strangers, much less the confidence of friends. I shall find 
 you here, however, on my return." 
 
 " I cannot be idle so long," answered Robert. " As soon 
 as I hear from Rayner, I shall decide in what vineyard to 
 labour : whether beyond the Ganges idol stream, or amid the 
 darker paganism still found in my native land, I know not yet, 
 darker, because contrasted with the blaze of Christianity re 
 vealing its midnight shadows. I think, however, I shall go 
 back to the scene of my past mission. I have been to the 
 home of my youth, and found it desolate. Friendship has for 
 a while cheered its loneliness, but it is only a passing beam, 
 not an abiding light. Roland Lee, in the warm bosom of 
 your own blissful home, you cannot dream of the dullness, 
 the abandonment of desolation I experienced when I first en 
 tered the shades of Pine Grove, after years of exile, where I 
 knew there was no living heart whose throbs would be 
 quickened by the wanderer s return. Not a light was gleam 
 ing in the negro cabins ; even my dog slept, unawakened by 
 his master s returning tread. The moon shone with lonely 
 lustre on my mother s tomb, and every ray of welcome seenled 
 clustering round the cold and silent marble. Never have I 
 shed such bitter tears as there mingled with the dews of night. 
 Roland ! religion is a great sustainer of man s soul, but it is 
 only the manifestation of the Almighty, not in itself almighty, 
 and it cannot always triumph over the weakness of humanity. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 115 
 
 The desolate cry of a lonely heart will sometimes be heard 
 even above the hosannas of angels." 
 
 Roland was greatly moved by this unexpected outburst of 
 feeling breaking through the usual restraint of Robert s manner. 
 He hated himself for the inquietude he had felt, for his self 
 ishness in having grudged him, by whose heart-penury lie had 
 become rich, the blessings of his own home, when he him 
 self was unable to enjoy them. Though he had not given 
 utterance to his distrust, he was conscious of having admitted 
 it, and it seemed to his high, chivalrous sense of honour that 
 he owed Robert a reparation for an injury, none the less deep 
 for being unknown to him. 
 
 "No, Robert," said he, in all the warm frankness of his 
 usual manner; "you must not go. Remain, and be the guard 
 ian of my household, the protector of my wife and child. 
 Smile not I know you will not at the solemnity of my words. 
 I trust the term of my absence will be short, and with one 
 leap almost we can cross the Atlantic waves. But love makes 
 us cowards. The storm may rise, winds may wreck, or flames 
 consume my bark, as it has done a thousand others. I try to 
 imagine the possibility of such a fate. I try to think of it with 
 submission, in shadowing it forth, but, God forgive me ! I can 
 not cannot do it. Robert should it indeed be mine should 
 the few brief years of happiness God has given me, be all that 
 are allotted" 
 
 He turned aside, choked with emotions he could not repress 
 and was ashamed to betray. 
 
 " I did not know I was so weak," he cried, passing his hand 
 hastily over his glistening eyes. " I did not intend to express 
 such a misgiving, not foreboding. No, I never cherished a 
 presentiment; but apprehension is the darkening shadow of 
 love. I tremble, too, at the excess of my happiness. I know 
 that it cannot be always thus, for I am mortal. Some have 
 their whole life-path covered with thin beaten gold, that quivers 
 and breaks at every step ; others walk for a while over golden 
 
116 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 pavements that seem solid as marble, and guarded on either 
 side by golden walls. Yet the seeming gold may all at once 
 be as brittle glass. They may sink or be crushed in the mo 
 ment of security. Their gold has not been beaten. They 
 have been wading through it, as it were. But I do not mean 
 to be selfish, Robert ; I wanted to speak of you. Why should 
 you be lonely when there is so much loveliness and worth you 
 might appropriate if you wished ; so many flowers you might 
 gather to your bosom, and make its wilderness blossom like 
 the rose ? Do I displease you ?" 
 
 " No," answered Robert, with a melancholy smile, " I am 
 grateful for every mark of interest ; but every man knows his 
 own capacities for happiness, and his power of imparting it to 
 others. Every man must work out his own destiny, some in 
 the sunshine and some in the shade. I was not born for 
 domestic happiness. The elements of my character are too 
 stormy. Though the bow of peace has been set upon the 
 clouds, the vapours are rolling near the horizon ready to gather 
 at the master s will." 
 
 "Nay, Robert, you are as gentle now as the unwcancd 
 lamb. No one lives, better fitted than yourself for the hap 
 piness to which you deny the claim." 
 
 "Do not urge me on this subject," said Robert, and there 
 was something in his countenance that forbade Roland to say 
 more. It was not displeasure, it was not haughtiness or self- 
 will, but he seemed to retire behind a cloud. 
 
 They walked on in silence, till they came to a bend in the 
 avenue, when Roland proposed that they should return. The 
 bright, mellow, but brief twilight of Southern climes was 
 already sinking into the gloom of night, that soft religious 
 gloom, between the splendour of day and the starry pomp of 
 a darker hour. It was the first time these young men had 
 ever walked side by side, in intimate communion with each 
 other, and they felt drawn toward each other by a new and 
 strong attraction the attraction of mutual confidence. It is 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 117 
 
 true there had been no formal revelations made, but they 
 both had glimpses of each other s heart by the lightning 
 flash of feeling, showing depths unknown before. 
 
 "And you really go to-morrow V said Robert. 
 
 " By the dawn of day I shall not see you again alone, and 
 once more I repeat, that I go in the full confidence, that 
 should danger or sorrow approach those far dearer than my 
 own life, you will guard them with a brother s arm and a 
 father s heart." 
 
 " Think of me as brother, father, protector, friend," an 
 swered Robert, with thrilling emphasis, " and by every holy 
 association connected with each sacred office, your noble confi 
 dence shall never be betrayed." 
 
 Roland returned the firm grasp of his hand with a pressure 
 that spoke volumes. As they passed through the garden, they 
 saw light forms moving in the verandah, and they heard the 
 sound of mingling voices ; but Linda s form was not there, 
 Linda s voice was not heard in the mingling sounds. She was 
 sitting alone at the window of her own room, behind the rose- 
 coloured -curtains, trying to keep back her fast-rising tears. 
 It was a low window, in whose shaded recess she often sat 
 with Roland, especially at this serene, dusky hour. She was 
 sure he would come to her when he missed her from the family 
 group, and she breathed on the palm of her hand and pressed 
 it on her dewy eyes, to dry up the moisture that would gather 
 beneath their drooping lashes. 
 
 "Is this keeping your promise, Linda?" said he, lifting 
 the curtain and taking a seat by her side. "Is this the 
 dauntless heroine, who sometimes declares that she was born 
 to be a hero s wife, and follow, if need be, her husband to the 
 battle-field ? Have I not heard you extol the noble dames of 
 the Revolution, for their Spartan fortitude and unblenching 
 resolution. This is a very trifling occasion, I know ;" added 
 he, gently drawing her hand from her eyes, and smiling aa 
 she concealed them again on his bosom. " The daughters of 
 
118 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 fashion would laugh to see you send one sigh after your hus 
 band on such a mere pleasure voyage as I am about to take. 
 Think how soon I may return, and what charming companions 
 you have to beguile the hours of my absence. I fear you will 
 not miss me at all." 
 
 " Oh, Roland, how can you speak thus, when you know I 
 live but in you?" 
 
 " You forget that powerful rival, who has infused the poison 
 of jealousy in the fountains of my joy our own bewitching 
 boy. Is not the son already dearer than the father ? Methinks 
 he ought to be." 
 
 " Ingrate !" exclaimed Linda, a you know that I love him 
 more for your own sake even than his own. Even now I left 
 him, stretching out his little arms for me to caress him, that I 
 might sit lonely here and think of you." 
 
 " I am not worthy of so much love, my Linda," cried he, 
 clasping her to his heart with passionate tenderness, and kiss 
 ing once and again her pale cheek. " It humbles, while it 
 exalts me. Oh ! how happy we have been together, Linda ! 
 Have we not ? Our love has been all sunshine. No cloud, not 
 the faintest shadow of one, has dimmed its lustre or chilled its 
 warmth. The cold breath of suspicion has never blighted one 
 bosom flower Tell me, my own dear wife, before the hearts 
 now throbbing as one are separated from each other, have I 
 ever planted one pang in the bosom I would die to defend ? 
 Tell me, if I have ever unconsciously wounded, by a rude or 
 thoughtless word. Man s nature, at the best, is but rough 
 compared with woman s, and our softest touches may some 
 times bruise its gentleness." 
 
 " Oh, Roland who so gentle, so loving and kind, as you 
 have always been ? I have never known a wish that you 
 have not anticipated, a joy that you have not crowned with a 
 brighter blessing. There are few that can feel as we do, for 
 we have neither of us ever known even a fancied preference for 
 another. We have given each other all the wealth of love we 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 119 
 
 had. Oh, yes ! from the moment when I first knew you to 
 the present hour, you have been and ever will be the guardian 
 angel of my life." 
 
 " Ever will be, Linda T he repeated, in the deep, tremulous 
 under-tones of tenderness and love. " Bless you, ten thou 
 sand times, for a confession which, often heard, never made 
 my heart vibrate to such sweet, yet melancholy music before. 
 It will come to me when pacing the reeling deck or watching 
 the midnight billows. But even your love cannot stretch into 
 the future, Linda. No pioneer has ever cleared its untrodden 
 waste, to tell us where our feet may travel. Other guardian 
 angels may be waiting to assume my mission, more watchful 
 and more faithful than I have been No I recall the words 
 that they could never be." 
 
 There are moments in the experience of every individual 
 when the tide of the heart overflows, like the Egyptian river, 
 and cannot be restrained. Few utter all that the spirit 
 prompts. An hermetic seal closes the lips that burn with 
 the unuttered thought. Because brass is more sounding than 
 gold, they wrap themselves in silence, and then wonder they 
 are not understood. This is not well, for speech manifests 
 the abundant heart, and silence is the atmosphere of death. 
 How many, after parting with the friend whom they have 
 never more beheld, have sighed, oh ! how unavailingly, over 
 the remembrance of the cold parting hour ! 
 
 " If they had only known how I loved them ! If I had 
 only breathed with my lips the language of my soul !" is the 
 cry that rises from the weeping heart, when left to pour out 
 its love and sorrow into 
 
 " The dull, cold ear of death." 
 
 Oh, thou, whoever thou art, who hast guardianship over one 
 fond heart, fear not to breathe in words the tenderness thou 
 art content only to feel. Break down the barrier of pride 
 that opposes thine utterance, and let thy words gush forth in 
 
120 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 showers of tenderness, fertilizing the dry and thirsty heart. 
 The time may soon come when the hand which now seeks 
 the warm pressure of yours will be cold and pulseless, when 
 the rosy doors of speech, which your silence has so often 
 closed, will be shut forever : for there is no voice in the grave, 
 nor any fond device. The electric wire is broken that sent 
 the thrill from heart to heart. The lightning glance is 
 quenched in night. The living is cut off from the dead. 
 Love stands shivering on the brink of the dividing chasm, 
 and over its bridgeless depths goes forth the wailing accents 
 
 " Come back, poor cheated heart, receive all the wealth of 
 which thou hast been defrauded. Roll away the stone from 
 the door of the sepulchre, even as I roll it away from the 
 gates of speech, and learn the height, the length, the depth 
 of my unuttered love." 
 
 The only answer is the melancholy wind, that shakes the 
 dew from the grave-grass and the willow s weeping foliage. 
 
 Linda did not forget what was due to her friends, in the 
 indulgence of selfish regret. She joined the evening circle, 
 not gay, but cheerful; and Roland never exerted himself 
 more for the social happiness of his guests. Nora did not 
 disturb with discordant merriment the general harmony of 
 feeling, and Henry repeated to himself a hundred times 
 
 " How charming Nora can be when she pleases !" 
 
 The " charming Nora" was very sorry that Roland was 
 going to leave them, and expressed her regret in very animated 
 terms. Julia was sorry, too, but she could not tell him so, as 
 Nora did. He had already won much of her admiration and 
 esteem, but she still wondered that Linda should prefer 
 him to Robert Graham. It was surprising, incredible. She 
 did not reflect that she was looking at Robert through the 
 medium of her own heart and imagination, while Linda be 
 held Roland through her own. 
 
 Roland was to start by dawn of day. Robert and Henry 
 were to accompany him to his boat, which lay at the landing 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 121 
 
 just below Rosavilla. He resolved to steal silently away 
 without awaking Linda, so as to spare himself the pain of 
 saying good-by. They sat up till past the midnight hour, 
 and slumber falls heavily on lids wet with tears, so that it was 
 easy to accomplish his design. 
 
 The waning moon mingled its light with the faint dawn of 
 awakening day. It bathed the room in a soft flood of light, 
 and hung like a silver drapery over the bed where Linda 
 slept. The little crib, where the baby slumbered, and which 
 was placed near her own couch, was also flooded with the same 
 glimmering lustre. Roland, ready for departure, stood be 
 tween the two, gazing first on one, then the other, with the 
 " longing, lingering look" of intense affection. He did not 
 fear that his kisses would awaken the sleeping infant, so 
 closely locked were his golden dreams, and, bending over him, 
 he kissed his brow, cheek, and lips, and every curl of his 
 silken hair. The child smiled, as they say babies do when 
 the angels whisper to them, and its long eyelashes quivered 
 as if with dreaming rapture. 
 
 " Heaven bless thee, my darling, my beautiful, innocent 
 boy !" said Roland, within himself. " Thou wilt not miss ine, 
 but I shall carry thee with me in my heart of hearts, thou 
 morning-flower of Paradise. And thou, my best beloved," 
 turning to his unconscious wife 
 
 " Oh ! what a charm to love s fond eye 
 Are beauties that in slumber lie, 
 When all-confiding they are given 
 To faith, that s watched alone by heaven." 
 
 Spell-bound by this enchantment, Roland lingered, scarcely 
 daring to breathe, lest he should disturb the serene depth 
 of her repose. She was pale, but it was the soft pale 
 ness of the pearl, made lustrous by the moonlight. She 
 seemed to melt into the rays, so entirely they harmonized 
 with the pensive sweetness of her reposing features. One 
 
122 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 fair hand lay drooping over the cover; on the other her cheek 
 was pillowed. Borne down by the oppressive tenderness of 
 his emotions, Koland knelt by the bedside, and his soul went 
 up in prayer to God for the treasures he had committed to 
 his keeping. 
 
 " I will not wake thee, my beloved," he sighed, rising from 
 his knees, and bending his face to hers; " I will not wake 
 thee even by a kiss; but I will bless thee now and bless thee 
 forever." 
 
 Pressing his lips on a soft ringlet that lay slumberously on 
 the sheet, he turned away and left the room. 
 
 As he passed out into the open air, he paused under the 
 shade of the verandah, that he might meet his friends with a 
 tranquil brow. The singular lustre of the hour impressed 
 him, pre-occupied as he was, with a new sense of beauty. 
 The dim gold of the morning twilight was gleaming up from 
 the verge of the eastern horizon in lengthening radii, and 
 melted off in pencilled softness on a sea of azure; while the 
 moon, shining with languishing glory, seemed to mourn over 
 the world from which it was about to withdraw its light. 
 
 The voices of his friends, who were ready to accompany 
 him to the river, and the awakening sounds of negro life heard 
 in the yard, warned Roland that the moment of departure was 
 arrived, and no one ever waited for him. He was gone, and 
 the mistress of Rosavilla felt the first day of absence long and 
 desolate. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 123 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AN incident occurred a short time after Roland s departure 
 which interrupted, in a startling manner, the quietude of the 
 household. 
 
 It was in the early evening, Southern, not Northern evening, 
 commencing after the sun s zenith hour, Lettuce, the sub-nurse 
 of little "Walton, (Judy considered herself the principal,) was 
 in the habit of carrying him abroad in pleasant weather, and 
 sometimes she indulged her rambling propensities farther than 
 Linda would have approved, had she been aware of the length 
 of her excursions. But as the child was exceedingly fond of 
 her, and she always brought him back in safety, with his baby 
 cheeks blooming with exercise and excitement, Linda did not 
 dream of danger, especially on her own grounds. She and 
 Roland often accompanied them ; but now Roland was gone, 
 and she had friends with her whose demands upon her time 
 and attention forbade the excessive indulgence of a mother s 
 cares. Every bright, sunny day, little Walton, looking, as 
 Aunt Judy said, "like a show baby of the Lord," was carried 
 out by his proud young nurse, who thought his little sky-blue 
 cloak, edged with snowy ermine, his white beaver hat and fea 
 thers, fastened under his chin with blue ribands, were the 
 " beautifullest things" her eye ever beheld; far more beautiful 
 than the fair baby himself, dearly as she loved him. Lettuce 
 was a smart, trim, bright-looking girl herself, who was very 
 fond of dressing nicely, and her inclination was always in 
 dulged. The nurse of little Master Walton respected herself, 
 and she would have thought it profanation to wait upon the 
 child in soiled and untidy garments. So they were quite a 
 remarkable pair, Lettuce and the infant master of Rosavilla; 
 and as they were seen gliding about the woods, he in his 
 princely costume, and she with a handkerchief of bright yel- 
 
124 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 low or brilliant scarlet twisted coquettishly round her head, 
 they lighted them up with a glow and a colouring, as if the 
 wings of gorgeous plumed birds were fluttering among the 
 shades. Sometimes Lettuce would spread her bright-plaided 
 handkerchief on the ground, and placing the baby on the mimic 
 carpet, fill his lap with hickory nuts, or some of nature s wild 
 toys, while she explored some dingle where she did not think 
 it prudent to take him. He was the most fearless little crea 
 ture in the world, and would sit alone in the deep woods, look 
 ing round on the tall trees, wondering (we suppose) if they 
 were whispering all the time of him, or looking up to the blue 
 sky, that peeped through their green tuft-knots, with his soft, 
 innocent hazel eyes. It is true Lettuce never left him but a 
 few moments at a time, for he was dear to her as the apple of 
 her eye; but she loved freedom, and took great delight in poking 
 about among old, dry leaves, peering into hollow trees, and 
 scraping moss from the ancient bark. Perhaps she had 
 dreamed of finding some hidden treasure, or was seeking a 
 charm against the witches ; she certainly had an exploring pro 
 pensity, which endangered in one instance the safety of her 
 precious young charge. 
 
 One evening Robert was returning from the cabin of Tus 
 carora by the path in which Lettuce was roaming. He was 
 walking slowly, absorbed in meditation, when his attention was 
 arrested by the figure of a man stealing along through the 
 woods directly in front of him. He evidently did not perceive 
 the approach of Robert, as his back was to him, and Robert s 
 slow footsteps on the sandy path roused no echo to alarm the 
 ear. He was dressed like a sailor, with a red woollen shirt and 
 blue trousers. He had, however, a Spanish sombrero on his 
 head, and his long black hair, and the dark edge of skin visi 
 ble on his neck, which was all Robert could now see, indicated 
 ihat he belonged to the Spanish or Indian race. Why was 
 this man skulking along so stealthily, and looking before him 
 with such an intent gaze, as his bending neck and advanced 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 125 
 
 head betokened ? He might be a hunter. He held a rifle in 
 his left hand, but these woods skirted the plantation, and the 
 hunter sought in more unfrequented shades the wild trophies 
 of the chase. Whatever was his object, there was something 
 dark and ruffian-like in his appearance that steadied the gaze 
 of Robert. Slowly, silently he followed his steps, till a glimpse 
 of little Walton s sky-blue cloak appeared, just beside the path 
 before them. The child was seated on the ground, in the 
 sweet fearlessness of innocence, and looked up into the dark, fero 
 cious face coming near him with mute astonishment. Before his 
 .astonishment had time to ripen into terror, or to manifest itself 
 as such, the ruffian seized the infant in his arms, and leaping 
 across the path, plunged into the woods. Then it gave vent 
 to the most piercing shrieks, which the wretch stifled with his 
 right hand, still grasping his rifle in the other, with his left 
 arm round the child. Lettuce came rushing from her woody 
 recess, answering shriek for shriek, and looking round her in 
 vacant horror. But there was one, with steps fleeter than hers, 
 pursuing the child-robber swift as an avenging angel. Robert 
 was unarmed, but he thought not of that. He thought only 
 that it was Linda s child, the child committed to his protection 
 by a confiding father. He did not run, he flew ; he crushed 
 the branches that impeded his way; but the ruffian flew also, 
 and was at least a hundred yards in advance. But fast as he 
 ran, Robert felt that he was gaining on him. The forked light 
 ning is hardly swifter than his steps. All at once the ruffian 
 seemed endowed with superhuman speed, and the distance 
 widened between them. 
 
 "My God!" cried Robert; "he escapes me! Linda f* 
 shild is lost." 
 
 But, even as he spoke, the man s foot stumbled against a 
 gnarled root covered with leaves, and the rifle dropped from 
 his hand. As he stooped to pick it up, the avenger was upon 
 him, his shoulder wrenched with an iron grasp, and the child 
 rent from his desperate grasj 
 26 
 
126 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 The rifle, too for Robert seemed to have the strength of a 
 giant in his single arm. The moment he felt the soft bosom of 
 the child pressed against his own, a shiver of delight, gratitude, 
 transport, ran through his frame. 
 
 " Wretch ! ruffian !" he cried ; " how dare you lay hands 
 on this infant ? What urged you to such a fiendish deed ?" 
 
 The man, deprived of his rifle, cowered before the indignant 
 mien of Robert, whose eyes rained fire from their flashing orbs. 
 Without uttering a syllable, he turned away, and ran into the 
 woods as fast as his feet could carry him. 
 
 Robert drew a relieving breath. He was grateful that the 
 rescue had been accomplished without spilling the blood of the 
 robber or his own. The poor, terrified infant appeared to 
 know that it was in the arms of a friend, for it clung to him 
 closer and closer, putting its arms round his neck, and press 
 ing its face on his breast, as if to shut out the hideous aspect 
 that had lately scowled above it. 
 
 Inexpressibly touched by the innocent confidence so sweetly 
 manifested, Robert turned on his homeward way, refusing to 
 yield up his charge to Lettuce, who was now crying as audibly 
 for joy as she had screamed vociferously from terror. He 
 walked leisurely, still panting from the recent chase, when 
 suddenly the report of a pistol was heard behind, and a bullet 
 passed through his left arm near the shoulder, grazing against 
 the child s cloak. He was scarcely conscious of the wound till 
 the infant fell from his grasp. Quick as thought, he caught 
 it with his right arm, still retaining the rifle as a weapon of 
 defence. The ruflian must have had a pistol in his bosom, 
 and returned upon the footsteps of him who had robbed him 
 of his prey. Thinking he might be one of a band lurking in 
 the woods, Robert hastened on, the blood flowing from his 
 wounded arm, and reddening the path behind him. Though 
 he was no longer subject to those hemorrhages which had 
 brought him to the threshold of the grave, he had not the 
 giant strength that could bear, unmoved, so sudden a shock ; 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 127 
 
 and, exhausted by his previous efforts, he began to feel dizzy 
 and faint. He was now near the garden-gate, and secure from 
 pursuit. He dropped the rifle, or rather left it leaning against 
 the wall, consulting in every thing the safety of the child. 
 It might go off in falling to the ground, though it had not 
 done so in the ruffian s hand. He was sorry to stain the beau 
 tiful flowery avenues with his fast-dripping blood, and he was 
 sorry to think of the terror Linda would feel when she saw 
 her infant stained by the sanguinary stream. The charming 
 picture he had drawn of placing it in her arms, and receiving 
 his reward in her glance of grateful affection, vanished in a 
 dim, gray cloud. It seemed floating before his eyes, as he as 
 cended the steps, crossed the hall, and entered the room where 
 Linda sat, with Nora and Julia, unconscious of the danger 
 from which her infant had been rescued. 
 
 He paused on the threshold, unwilling to bring his bloody 
 tracks in that peaceful, charming retreat ; but, before he could 
 speak the words that hovered on his lips, Linda sprang up, 
 with a wild cry, and rushed toward him. 
 
 " Oh, Robert ! oh, my child ! Good God tis covered 
 with blood !" 
 
 " Tis my blood, Linda/ exclaimed Robert, unconsciously 
 repeating the words of the dying Rolla, when he gave her 
 rescued child to Cora s arms; and, staggering forward, he 
 sank, pale and exhausted, at Linda s feet. The infant smiled 
 in its mother s face, and she knew that it was safe. But 
 Robert looking so like death, lying there bathed in blood, 
 that still kept flowing from some unseen wound what had be 
 fallen him ? Had he sacrificed himself to save her child ? 
 She heeded not the screams of Nora, who repeatedly ejaculated 
 Julia s name in terrified accents; she scarcely heeded when 
 some one took the infant from her; she knelt over the bleed 
 ing Robert, and, putting her arms wildly round him, entreated 
 him to tell her that he was not wounded unto death ; that 
 her child s life was not purchased by his own. 
 
128 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " Oh, Robert, dear brother !" she cried, " speak, and tell 
 me wliat this means. 7 
 
 Robert, who was faint from loss of blood, not insensible, 
 would willingly have yielded up life itself for these demon 
 strations of affection, though emanating only from a sister s 
 love. He could not help thinking it would be sweet to die 
 thus, and end the bosom strife which had so often left him 
 weak, if not vanquished; but he knew the wound was not 
 dangerous, was comparatively slight, and he hastened to 
 allay her fears. 
 
 " Bind your handkerchief round my arm, that I may not 
 efface all your roses," said he, looking, with a faint smile, at 
 the carpet where he lay. " I suffer from nothing but the loss 
 of blood. The ball passed through my arm, and made only a 
 flesh-wound." 
 
 Linda shuddered, and, taking her handkerchief, bound it 
 round his arm ; but seeing the linen reddening as she swathed 
 it, she unfolded a light scarf from her shoulders, and bound 
 that round it also. Her hands trembled, the tears dropped 
 from her eyes, her colour came and went, and, as soon as she 
 had finished, she bowed her head on her clasped hands, ex 
 claiming 
 
 " Oh, Robert, from what dreadful doom have you saved my 
 child?" 
 
 " It is all over now," he cried, raising himself from the 
 floor, and, bending on one knee beside her, he supported her 
 with his unwounded arm. " You weep, Linda; but I know 
 they are tears of joy and gratitude. When you are more 
 composed, I will relate to you all you owe to the guardian 
 God of innocence. But look, Linda, merciful heaven ! am 
 I the cause of this?" 
 
 As he raised his head from its bending position, he saw 
 through the opened doors a group assembled in the opposite 
 room round a sofa, on which Julia reclined with such a death- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 129 
 
 resembling aspect, it is not strange that Kobert sprung to bis 
 feet, forgetting his weakness in new alarm. 
 
 As Julia had told Nora, she had a constitutional tendency 
 to faint at the sight of blood. Even a drop of blood from 
 her own finger following the needle s point made her sick and 
 pale. What wonder, {lien, she should fall in a death-like 
 swoon at the aspect of the bleeding Robert? She sank, 
 inanimate as a corpse, into Nora s arms the moment Robert 
 fell at Linda s feet; and Nora, though shrieking with terror, 
 had presence of mind enough to carry her into another apart 
 ment, where the negro women soon collected. It was well for 
 Robert that the current of feeling was thus divided, or he 
 might have been deluged with the cologne which Nora dashed 
 so profusely on Julia s head. She came near pouring a 
 bottle of hartshorn in her face, but fortunately Aunt Judy 
 caught it from her hand in time to prevent the catastrophe. 
 
 Poor Aunt Judy ! she hardly knew which way to turn, in 
 the ubiquity of her sympathy. On one side, the young mas 
 ter, bleeding on the floor; on the other, the " blessed baby," 
 looking as if it had just escaped from the lion s jaws, all spot 
 ted with blood; and this beautiful young creature, lying still 
 and white as a corpse, and Miss Nora taking on like a dis 
 tracted person, and Lettuce, standing like a big baby, doing 
 nothing but cry and snivel, instead of trying " to help a body 
 in their diversity." 
 
 "Praise a Lord!" cried Judy, when Robert and Linda 
 entered the room, and pressed toward the couch where Julia 
 lay, " Praise a Lord !" pushing Lettuce vigorously aside, and 
 giving somebody else a momentum backward. tl The master s 
 on his feet agin though he looks as white as the dead 
 and see, the young lady opens her eyes as he comes near, just 
 as if he worked a miracle. There, honey, lie still, and keep 
 your brains from a swimming." 
 
 When Julia opened her eyes, and saw Robert, with ban 
 daged arm and Dallid cheek, standing over her, she looked 
 
1 30 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 at first amazed and terrified, then a bright ray of joy and 
 gratitude shone, as through a mist, and lighted up her face. 
 
 (( I thought I saw you bleeding to death/ she said, closing 
 her eyes again, with a shiver at the recollection. 
 
 " She s cold," cried Aunt Judy, shooting out of the room 
 for a blanket; "and it s no wonder, when Miss Nora kept 
 a-drownding her with all sorts o sperrit. If I could only 
 have got some burnt feathers under her nose, she d been as 
 well as ever by this time." 
 
 " I grieve that I have alarmed you so much, Julia," said 
 Robert, taking her hand, which was still deadly cold ; "I 
 ought not to have rushed in, in such a frightful manner, but 
 I hardly knew what I was doing. I have only lost a little 
 blood, which I doubt not will do me good. I am quite well 
 now." 
 
 But are you not wounded ?" she asked, the warm blood 
 flowing into her hand, and beginning to colour her white 
 cheeks. 
 
 "A mere trifle; I regret it only as it has been the cause of 
 alarm to others. I cannot forgive myself for the mischief I 
 have done." 
 
 " She always faints at the sight of blood," said Nora, with 
 the true instinct of womankind ; " she s a poor, dear little 
 coward, who ought to be put up in cotton, like those little 
 French essence bottles, that a mere touch will break." 
 
 " I am good for nothing," said Julia, who felt in every 
 languid vein electric life returning ; " I wish I did not give 
 so much trouble to my friends. Indeed, you are all too kind, 
 too good. Do not stand by me looking so pale," added she, 
 to Robert, gently drawing away the hand which was only too 
 willing to linger in the clasp of his. "And you, dear Linda, 
 never mind my wet locks. They will dry of themselves ere 
 long/ 
 
 Julia now seemed quite restored. Her cheeks had a 
 bright, rose spot, and her eyes the sapphire s blue. She sat 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 131 
 
 up, and gathering her saturated tresses, the odorous waters 
 with which they had been bathed perfumed the apartment 
 with fresh fragrance. 
 
 " You should be willing to faint once in a while/ said 
 Linda, looking at her with painful interest, " since you wake 
 to such brilliant life. Do you feel as well as you look?" 
 
 " Oh, yes/ said she, with animation. " I will go into my 
 room now, that Henry, when he comes in ; may not be alarmed 
 at my dishevelled appearance." 
 
 She rose, and attempted to walk, but faltered, and sat down 
 again. 
 
 " Perhaps I had better keep still a little longer," said she, 
 and the colour went out in her cheek, like a flame extinguished 
 by the wind. 
 
 "You must not stay here, wet and chill," cried Linda, 
 watching her fluctuating colour and quick-drawn breath with 
 increasing anxiety; "you must go to your room, and keep per 
 fectly quiet the remainder of the evening." 
 
 " Let me assist you," said Robert; "I have one sound arm, 
 capable of supporting a far heavier burden." 
 
 And putting it round her waist, he raised her from the 
 sofa, and carried her as easily and tenderly as he had the little 
 Walton, to the door of her apartment. 
 
 "You are very good," said she, smiling and blushing; 
 " Henry could not be kinder." 
 
 " Don t thank him," cried Nora, with a look full of grati 
 tude; "I am sure you are under no obligations to him. After 
 frightening you out of your senses, and all the rest of us, too, 
 the least he can do is this. You little, downy feather, you 
 could ride on a butterfly s wing." 
 
 "I cannot help thanking him," said Julia, after listening 
 till she could no longer hear his footsteps in the hall, " to be 
 so thoughtful of me, when he must be suffering himself. 
 Something dreadful must have happened. I could not ask 
 him now. And tell me, Nora, was the sweet baby hurt ?" 
 
132 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 "Not a bit. Did you not hear him say, as lie fell, < Tis 
 my blood, Linda ? Oh ! he did look like a dying man then. 
 I would have fainted myself if you hadn t got the start of 
 me. But mercy on me ! I hadn t time to think of it, so much 
 was happening at one moment ; Linda rushing to Robert and 
 snatching her baby with such a thrilling cry, Aunt Judy 
 tearing in and snatching the baby from her, then Linda weep 
 ing on Robert s neck, and you falling like a piece of lead on my 
 bosom. Was it not a scene? I wish Henry had been here. 
 I wonder what he would have done. Perhaps lie would have 
 fainted at my feet. Do tell me, Julia, how you do contrive to 
 faint. It looks so interesting, and creates such a sensation." 
 
 " Do you think it affectation in me, Nora ?" asked Julia, in 
 a wounded tone. " If you knew the deadly, sickening feeling 
 that precedes and follows this insensibility, you could not think 
 it possible to affect it." 
 
 "I do not think so. No, indeed. There was reality enough 
 in your clay-cold face, and white marble lips, to make me even 
 now peer into the blue depths of your eyes, to see if the balls 
 are in motion. But seriously, my darling Julia, I do not like 
 to be so rude in health, and wear this unvarying apple bloom. 
 I never look in the glass, without thinking my name should 
 be Bouncing Bet, or Kitty Clover." 
 
 While Nora s thoughts, dancing on the surface of her mind, 
 skipped forth in words, she was acting as Julia s tire-woman ;., 
 changing her moistened garments, and drying with the brush 
 the dripping gold of her hair. Then she made her lie down 
 on the bed, while she carelessly arranged her own wild, gipsy 
 locks. 
 
 " Be my looking-glass, sweet Julia," said she, twisting her 
 fingers here and there in the dark labyrinth ; " tell me if that 
 will do. Is that pretty ?" casting her eye up toward a curl 
 that threw its shadow on her brow. 
 
 " Nothing could be more graceful," replied Julia. "What 
 is the reason that, when I Jook at you, I think you must have 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 133 
 
 drest yourself by a mountain stream, making a mirror of its 
 
 wave ?" 
 
 " Do you indeed think so, charming creature ? I shall like 
 myself better for inspiring so sweet an idea. I will look at 
 myself/ 
 
 As she jumped up and went to the glass, her eye caught a 
 glimpse of figures walking in the avenue in front of the house, 
 and she stopped at the window which she was passing. 
 
 " There is Linda/ she cried, " walking with Robert, and, 
 would you believe it ? he looks almost as well as ever. He is 
 trying to lead her in a different direction that she may not see 
 his bloody tracks. The baby hurt ! no, indeed. He is smiling 
 in her arms, in a rose-coloured dress, looking as if nothing had 
 happened. Robert is telling her all about it, I know, and I 
 wish I was there to hear it. How earnest and serious he 
 looks, and with what breathless interest she listens ! Dear 
 me ! I wonder what makes her take that baby herself when 
 she has so many negroes to wait on her. She is too lovely, 
 too ethereal for such common offices. There, I am glad Let 
 tuce has taken it. She and Robert look so much more 
 romantic without it." 
 
 " Nora, you have a heart. You know you have. Why do 
 you take such pains to hide it ?" 
 
 " What have I said that implied I had no heart ?" 
 
 " You spoke as if you did not love children, and Walton is 
 such a beautiful child, it seems as if he could belong to no 
 other than Linda. Then, she has just feared for him, and 
 fear for the safety of those we love always makes us more 
 oving." 
 
 " Do you not think Linda lovely ?" asked Nora, still watch 
 ing her and Robert from the window where she stood. 
 
 " Surpassingly so," answered Julia, and an involuntarily 
 sigh escaped her lips. a There is about her a charm, a fasci 
 nation, which I constantly feel, but cannot define." 
 
 " Do you know, Julia," said the thoughtless Nora, "that 
 
13 1 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 if I were Roland Lee, I would not like to leave my wife with 
 such a splendid creature as Robert, knowing how passionately 
 he once loved her , and," lowering her voice, while she tripped 
 up to the bed-side, " I do believe he loves her yet, whether 
 he knows it himself or not." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" said Julia, and the tone in which she 
 uttered the simple interrogation expressed as much anguish as 
 if a knife had entered her heart. " Do you think so?" 
 
 " Julia," said Nora, fixing on her her dark bright eyes, 
 "you have a heart, if I have not." Then, with an instanta 
 neous change of voice and countenance, she exclaimed, 
 
 " I would sooner rend from its roots this wayward tongue, 
 than willingly give you a moment s pain. Think so ! No I 
 don t think so. It is only my insufferable nonsense." 
 
 "Do not recall your words, because you believe you have 
 wounded me," said Julia, pressing her hand on her fluttering 
 heart, that heart whose beatings were fearfully quickened by 
 every sudden emotion. " I cannot help being shocked at the 
 thought of one, who seems so pure and good, loving the wed 
 ded wife of another. Surely you do greatly wrong him." 
 
 "I dare say I do. I know I do," answered Nora, quickly; 
 " that is, I dare say I am mistaken. But I do not see how 
 this love, supposing it exists, which is all nonsense, detracts 
 from his goodness or piety." 
 
 " Oh, Nora, how can you say so ? Is it not breaking the 
 canons of the living God ? and he too a Christian minister, a 
 heaven-devoted missionary 1" 
 
 "It is not the feeling passion, but indulging it, that consti 
 tutes a sin," said Nora, with the gravity of a sage. " Sup 
 posing a ruffian came to your door and knocked, and clamoured 
 for admission, you could not help it, could you? But you 
 could help opening the door, taking him by the hand, and 
 giving him the welcome of a friend. Besides," she added, 
 forgetting in her earnestness the caution she had just imposed 
 on herself, " how can we expect that the love which has been 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 135 
 
 the growth, of years, and entwined with the very life-chords 
 of one s being, to pass away like the ephemera of a summer s 
 day ? That love itself is holy as the religion that sanctifies 
 and controls it." 
 
 This was one of those sunbursts of feeling which at rare 
 intervals flashed out on the light foam of Nora s mind. Jul : a 
 felt the truth of what she uttered, the more deeply because it 
 came from her usually gay and unreflecting lips; and the 
 morning dream of hope vanished. She wanted to be alone. 
 Kind as Nora was, there was something in her exultant vital 
 ity and independence of character that contrasted too pain 
 fully with her own weakness. 
 
 " Leave me, dear Nora/ she said; "all I need is rest. Go 
 and watch for Henry s coming, that he may not be alarmed as 
 we have been. You will learn, too, all that has happened, 
 and tell it again to me." 
 
 Nora was indeed full of curiosity which she was anxious to 
 gratify, and believing Julia ought to rest, she hastened to obey 
 her injunctions. She felt uncomfortable, too, for what she had 
 said of Robert, and pained for its effect on Julia. She had 
 really believed, when at Pine Grove, that Robert was transfer 
 ring his affections to Julia, and, as usual, uttered what she 
 believed ; but she dreamed not of the mighty hold he had taken 
 on her childlike and susceptible heart. 
 
 When Julia found herself alone, the strained chord of her 
 sensibility relaxed, and drawing the sheet over her face she 
 wept, as the young child weeps, without any effort at self-con 
 trol. She did not ask herself why she wept, or why she felt 
 all at once so desolate and homesick, when she had been so 
 happy since the first night of her arrival. She wished 
 she had never left her Northern home. She would have 
 given worlds to lay her head on her mother s bosom, to feel 
 the pressure of her sister s gentle hand. These deadly faint 
 ing-fits always left her so weak, so palpitating and nervous, 
 their remembrance was like the shadow of death. 
 
136 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 There was a light tap at the door, and 
 
 " May I come in, sister?" sounded so like a voice from 
 home, that when Henry entered and came up to the bedside, 
 she could not help throwing her arms round his neck and 
 bursting into a fresh flood of tears. 
 
 " Why Julia, my darling, what is the matter ?" lie cried, 
 alarmed at her passionate sobs. , " Why do you weep so bit 
 terly ? What can have occurred ? Speak, Julia, I know 
 not what to think !" 
 
 " Nothing nothing," she cried, hiding her face on his bo 
 som, and ashamed of her emotion, so inexplicable even to her 
 self; " I feel so weak, so gone, as it were, I cannot help it." 
 
 " Poor child poor child," said he, tenderly, smoothing 
 back her disordered hair and kissing her throbbing temples ; 
 " I thought you were growing stronger. They told me you 
 had fainted. Is that all, sweet sister ? I am unspeakably 
 relieved. This nervous depression will soon pass away. No 
 thing does one so much good as a hearty fit of crying once in 
 a while. It carries off the cobwebs and dust from the brain. 
 Come, cheer up, Julia I have brought you letters from 
 home, all overflowing with the elixir of affection. Keep still, 
 and I will read them aloud." 
 
 Julia listened to the sweet breathings of family love, and 
 her spirit was lulled by their harmony. 
 
 " Oh, Henry," she cried, pressing each signature to her 
 quivering lips, " let us return. Why should we linger in the 
 land of strangers, when there are those afar who love us dearer 
 than all ?" 
 
 "Not at this season, Julia. Impossible! You would be 
 in far greater danger than ever. The Northern winds would 
 chill you to the heart s core after inhaling this soft, delicious 
 atmosphere. Are you not happy here, my sister ? Surely 
 every one is kind." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know they are." 
 
 "Then is it not ungrateful to wish to leave them so soon. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 137 
 
 when you must be gaining health, whether you know it or not. 
 I felt, myself, some misgivings about coming to an entire stran 
 ger s ; but we have been so cordially welcomed, so hospitably 
 entertained, so urgently pressed to remain longer, that I do 
 not see how we can make a graceful congee quite so soon, 
 especially as Captain Lee is gone, and his wife relies on us, in 
 some measure, to fill the household void he has made." 
 
 "I do not think I am getting better, Henry/ 7 said Julia, 
 taking his hand and laying it on her heart; "feel this wild 
 beating. Such incessant flutterings must break the frail bars 
 of the cage ere long. I did not feel so at home." 
 
 "You are nervous, dear sister," he answered, suppressing 
 his rising solicitude ; " it is owing to the fright you have re 
 ceived. You must take an anodyne. It is all you need. Ro 
 bert told me I had better bring you one." 
 
 The sudden change of her countenance as he uttered the 
 name of Robert, the tremulous agitation, the mantling glow, 
 did not escape his observation, and as he perused her face his 
 brow darkened. Her passionate tears, her desire to return 
 immediately, when she had seemed so charmed with the South, 
 so enchanted with her new friends, must have some mysterious 
 source. Was he trifling with her guilelessness and simplicity, 
 or had her young affection wandered like stray lambs to a 
 barren plain ? Were the snowy wings of her heart indeed 
 fluttering for the pure air of heaven ? Was he doomed to see 
 all that he loved fade away and die ? As these questions arose 
 in his mind, the severity of deep, anxious thought hardened 
 his countenance. 
 
 " Are you angry with me, brother ?" asked Julia, timidly. 
 
 "Angry with you! Good heavens! No. Why do you 
 dream of such a thing ?" 
 
 " It seemed as if a shadow came between me and the sun 
 shine. You looked cold, and /felt so." 
 
 " You should be called Mimosa, Julia, you are so sensitive. 
 What a pity you could not borrow some of Nora s superfluous 
 
138 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 carelessness. She can feel, however, can she not, on extraor^ 
 dinary occasions ?" 
 
 "I think she is capable of great feeling/ answered Julia; 
 " but she has never known sorrow yet." 
 
 " She is motherless." 
 
 "Yes, but her mother died when she was too young to feel 
 he loss." 
 
 " Sorrow and love are the two great refiners of the human 
 heart. Nora, then, is a stranger to both?" 
 
 The assertion was uttered in an interrogative tone. 
 
 "I believe she is," answered Julia. "I did think that 
 is I once thought" she paused in evident embarrassment, 
 then continued, "I imagined, when I first knew her, that 
 she might love Robert Graham, but I was probably mistaken." 
 
 " "Why did you suppose so ?" asked Henry, and his face 
 glowed with excitement. 
 
 " I don t know," said Julia, artlessly, " only it seemed so 
 r itural that she should ; and she always spoke of him with 80 
 much admiration." 
 
 " Open praise does not always betray secret love," answered 
 Henry, rising. " She is an enigma that would puzzle a more 
 subtle brain than yours." 
 
 " She is all that is tender and affectionate to me," said Julia, 
 fearful that she had injured Nora in Henry s estimation, by 
 the suggestion she had made; " and lightly as she generally 
 talks, she sometimes expresses sentiments of the most exalted 
 kind. I know not why you call her an enigma. She is in 
 genuous even to a fault." 
 
 " She is a living kaleidoscope," replied Henry, his counte 
 nance lighting up with pleasure at Julia s earnest vindication 
 of her friend. " She never exhibits twice the same figure or 
 colouring of mind. She is an Aurora Borealis, sparkling in a 
 clear electric atmosphere. She is a civilized gipsy, an em 
 bodied Allegro. I cannot think of any more similitudes just 
 now, so I will go and send you the anodyne, which will attract 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 139 
 
 the soft dews of sleep to your drooping lids, and sooth the 
 fluttcrer in your bosom to sweet repose." 
 
 " Kind and gentle brother !" said Julia, as he closed the 
 door with a cautious hand, " how can I feel desolate, folded 
 in the cherishing warmth of thy fraternal love ? And Robert, 
 oo ! he calls me his adopted sister his soul s friend. For- 
 g ve me, thou divine Searcher of hearts, compassionate remem 
 berer of the dust thou hast animated," she murmured, raising 
 her submissive eyes to heaven, "if I have yearned for a 
 dearer title. Let this short, fleeting dream of life be filled 
 with holier thoughts, diviner aspirations. Let me not indulge 
 in vain cravings for earthly love, when the arms of a heavenly 
 Bridegroom may soon enfold me. Like the daughter of Jeph- 
 thah, I will pass to the mount of sacrifice, adorned with the 
 garlands of youth, and my companions will weep over my fate. 
 But the early-called are God s beloved. He commanded the 
 sons of Judah to lay unblemished lambs upon his altar ; and 
 fresh and unleavened was the bread of consecration." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 JULTA slept under the influence of a gentle opiate. Nora 
 sat at the piano, now playing a gay quickstep or airy waltz, 
 and now talking with Henry, who stood beside the music- 
 stool, while she passed the fingers of her right hand lightly 
 over the keys. 
 
 Linda was seated in the opposite room to the one in which 
 she first greeted her guests. Robert reclined on a sofa near 
 her, for he felt languid from the recent effusion of blood. 
 Aunt Judy had dressed his wound in a scientific manner; and, 
 with his arm suspended in a sling, he looked, as his dark 
 leech observed, " like the hero of a militia." 
 
 Linda sat her cheek leaning on her hand in a pensive, 
 
140 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 thoughtful mood. The danger from which her child had es 
 caped made her tremble for that which might still be impend 
 ing over him. What secret, unknown enemy was lurking 
 near, seeking to pierce her or Roland through the bosom of 
 their infant ? What motive could prompt so strange an out 
 rage ? Who was the instigator or perpetrator of the cruel 
 deed ? She would be henceforth subject to thick-coming ap 
 prehensions. Every feeling of security was lost. She would 
 never more suffer him to go beyond the limits of the garden, 
 lest the human wolf should be still prowling in ambush, to 
 rob her of her lamb. Again and again she asked Robert to 
 describe the appearance, the features of the ruffian. She 
 could not identify them with any one she had ever seen. 
 Robert endeavoured to allay her fears of having a secret 
 enemy, by telling her that the man was probably a vagabond, 
 who, attracted by the richness of the child s dress, resolved to 
 steal it, that he might profit by the reward which would be 
 offered for its restoration. 
 
 " Oh, what do I not owe you, Robert !" said Linda, her 
 eyes filling with grateful tears. " My brother, my friend, 
 guardian of my child ! how will Roland bless you, on his re 
 turn, for the salvation of his soul s treasure for mine too, 
 Robert; for, had you not rescued Walton, my reason would 
 have yielded to a mother s agony. Even now, I shudder at 
 the wretchedness that would have been ours had you not in 
 terposed as a guardian angel, to shield our household joys 
 from ruin." 
 
 U A more generous service would be repaid with far less 
 gratitude, Linda/ replied Robert. " I bless God that, after 
 having imbittered so many years of your young life, I have 
 been able, if not to add to your happiness, to save one of its 
 sources from danger. Were it not impious, I would repine 
 that the wound were not deeper, that the blood had not flowed 
 in a more exhausting stream." 
 
 * Speak not of the past, dear Robert," said Linda, inex- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 141 
 
 pressibly touched by the profound melancholy of his tone. 
 "I remember nothing but a love far, far beyond my deserts, 
 most nobly renounced, and converted into the purest friend 
 ship and tenderest esteem. Never reproach yourself unless 
 you would wound me; and do not, I pray you, Robert, speak 
 so wearily of life, you, with so much to endear it to your 
 possession : such splendid endowments, such capacities for 
 happiness, such means to be a blessing to others, and re 
 ligion, like a crown of glory, resting above all. Surely life 
 should be to you a source of the purest gratitude, instead of 
 weariness and discontent. There are thousands and tens of 
 thousands of the sons of suffering, of oppression and want, 
 who might envy Robert Graham the munificent gifts of 
 nature and of fortune." 
 
 "I am wrong, Linda I feel that I am," said Robert, rising 
 and walking backward and forward the whole length of the 
 room, as he was wont to do in moments of strong excitement. 
 " What am I, that I should sigh for the wine of Cana, when 
 my Saviour drank the wormwood and the gall ? that I should 
 pine after the home of love and joy, when He had not where 
 to lay his head ? Oh ; Linda, it is not well for me to be here, 
 when the distant fields of my Master are wearing the harvest- 
 gold. At the post of duty my loins are girded with strength, 
 and the Spirit of God breathes in burning words through these 
 now murmuring lips. The Christian must not slumber in 
 bowers of ease. Temptation was hidden in the roses of Para 
 dise. It climbs not the mountain heights of toil." 
 
 " Listen to me, my brother," said Linda, in accents of 
 sweet persuasion; and rising also, she linked her arm in his 
 as if what she had to utter must come as near his heart as 
 possible. " You have devoted three of the brightest years of 
 your life to the holiest service in which man ever engaged 
 When scarcely twenty years of age only think how young 
 you took the cross upon your shoulder and the pilgrim s staff 
 in your hand leaving all, sacrificing all, in imitation of TOW 
 27 
 
142 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 divine Master. You have shown your zeal and devotion. 
 You have condensed the labours of a long life in a few short 
 years. You could not bear such continual exertion. Health 
 and life itself would yield ere long. You must not think of 
 returning. Heaven has marked out a path for you in your 
 own country and in the midst of your friends, in which you 
 can confer as holy blessings, and offer up as acceptable sacrifice 
 to God, as ever ascended from a Christian altar in a pagan 
 land." 
 
 " Speak, Linda ; and tell me whence and where this path 
 leads." 
 
 " I will ; but do you not think, Robert, that our heavenly 
 Father, who set the solitary in families, blesses the domestic 
 altar as well as the dedicated fane ? If you were convinced 
 that there was one pure, innocent heart clinging unconsciously 
 to you for happiness, a heart enshrined in so frail a casket 
 that a sudden wrench might shiver and destroy it such as an 
 entire separation from you would you not think that heart a 
 sacred deposit placed in your keeping, which it was your duty 
 to watch over and cherish with lifelong care ? You under 
 stand me, Robert ; I know you do." 
 
 The colour mounted high in Robert s pallid cheek, as 
 Linda fixed upon him her entreating eyes. He did not wish 
 to understand ; he could not deceive her. 
 
 " You mistake the expression of sisterly affection for a 
 warmer feeling, Linda. I know to whom you allude; but, 
 believe me, there is no bond between us, save that of disin 
 terested friendship and Christian sympathy. She has accepted 
 le as her adopted brother, and I love her as such, and 
 tithing more." 
 
 " Nothing more, Robert ? How can you be insensible to 
 BO much sweetness and sensibility ? She loves you, Robert, 
 as no sister ever loved a brother. A sister weeps at a brother s 
 danger, but the pulsations of her heart do not stop as hers 
 did this evening at the first glance of your bleeding wound. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 143 
 
 The slightest word you address to her brings the warm tide to 
 her snowy cheek, and the love-light to her soft, blue eye. 
 Have you not seen have you not felt this ? I would not 
 say this, fearing to infringe on the maiden delicacy of her 
 feelings, but your apparent insensibility and her fragile health 
 urged me to do it. I believe it is not only in your power to 
 make her supremely happy, but to snatch her, by timely in 
 terposition, from a premature grave/ 
 
 " Surely, Linda, you cannot mean what you say. How 
 can my feeble hand avert the arrow of the Almighty, if di 
 rected to a human heart ? Would you place me in the stead 
 of Omnipotence, and make me answerable for its mysterious 
 decrees ?" 
 
 " No ; but I would arouse you to a conviction of the power 
 you really do possess } and urge you to use it, not as a despot, 
 who recks not of the hearts that are crushed by his sceptre, 
 but as the benefactor, who lives but to bless and to save. Oh, 
 Robert, I thought I could be so eloquent on this subject that 
 words would come at my bidding, of such pui j, persuasive 
 eloquence, you could not help but listen and b& convinced. 
 But I am weak, and a very bankrupt in spee . li. Yet hear 
 me, my brother, for the pure cause I plead ; hoar me by the 
 fraternal love you bear me, and which I so dearly prize ] by 
 the priceless worth of woman s spotless truth, and by the 
 heaven of domestic happiness that may be yours ; doom not 
 this sweet young creature to the misery of unrequited affec 
 tion. Nay, I know what I am saying ; there is no exaggera 
 tion or romance in it. Her brother fears lest consurnptun 
 mark her for its prey ; but the malady is in her heart, physi 
 cal malady, I mean. The sudden brilliant colour that flashes 
 in her face, the quick, panting breath, the sudden tremor of 
 her whole frame these symptoms show that the citadel of life 
 is attacked. How fatal is the effect of disappoint .v.ent or sor 
 row when there is such a frail security against 1 . ;ir wastiuy 
 power \" 
 
144 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 All the time Linda was thus earnestly, eloquently plead 
 ing, her arm was linked in Robert s, her face was upturned to 
 his, beaming with enthusiasm and softened by sensibility. 
 Robert was moved, agitated, startled. He did not like to be 
 lieve the truths she uttered ; yet, even as she spoke, circum 
 stances, unheeded before, rose to his remembrance and veri 
 fied her words. He would sooner die than suffer Linda to 
 suppose that he cherished one feeling for herself she would 
 not sanction as the wife of Roland. He could not tell her 
 that where one image was, another could not dwell ; neither 
 could he be so untrue to himself, so false to Julia, as to make 
 professions which he did not feel. 
 
 " I am not insensible," he answered, in a troubled voice, 
 "to the loveliness and excellence of your friend; but if it 
 were true that I have excited so deep an interest in a guileless 
 heart, would it not be an insult to its purity and truth to offer 
 her the mere dregs of mine ? to take the wine and give the 
 lees of affection ? Instead of securing her happiness, it would 
 entail upon her unutterable misery." 
 
 "No, Robert; there are no lees in such a heart as yours. 
 The wine and the oil are supplied by the same hand that filled 
 the cruse of the widow and the net of the fisherman. They 
 cannot, will not fail. She will not prize your love less be 
 cause she may not be the object of its first youthful ardours. 
 Few, few indeed, are so happy as to reign the unrivalled mis 
 tress of the heart; and a second love is ofttimes stronger and 
 deeper than the first. Circumstances have such a controlling 
 influence on our destiny, that we scarcely know what we would 
 be or do if left to ourselves. But that is not what I intended 
 to say. Let Julia herself decide. Offer to her acceptance 
 your esteem, tenderness, regard all that she is worthy to 
 inspire and you to feel all that you can and must feel, if you 
 yield yourself unreservedly to her influence and see if she 
 reject the offering." 
 
 Robert gently drew away his arm from Linda s, and, 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 145 
 
 sinking on the sofa, pressed his hand to his forehead. He 
 looked excessively pale, and Linda, reproaching herself 
 for forgetting the languor he must feel in the cause she had 
 espoused, brought him a glass of water, and entreated him to 
 forgive her if she had transgressed the limits of a sister s 
 solicitude. 
 
 " I know I have no right to urge you," she said, tremu 
 lously, quite disheartened at the ill success of her self-ap 
 pointed mission, " but I have been so sanguine, so hopeful ; 
 I saw such a bright light before me, and it seems so dark 
 now. Poor Julia ! better had she stayed in the land of snows 
 than have come to find among our flowers something colder 
 and more unmelting." 
 
 Linda was really vexed at Robert s insensibility. She 
 had thought the knowledge that he was beloved by such a 
 being as Julia, would be welcomed with rapture; that he 
 would open his arms to receive her as a heaven-sent treasure, 
 and shelter her from sorrow, sickness, and death itself. Linda 
 was accustomed to find herself irresistible, now she pleaded 
 in vain. She had compromised Julia s delicacy, and her own 
 too, in proclaiming an unsolicited attachment, in the enthusi 
 astic hope of a happy result, and she was doomed to disap 
 pointment. If Robert was determined to close his heart to 
 domestic love and joy, to reject one whom her imagination 
 clothed with the attributes of an angel, whose life she had 
 represented as trembling on his will, why should she make 
 herself wretched ? She could not help it. She had suppli 
 cated, she had prayed; there was nothing left for her but to 
 weep. That she would not do; it was too childish. So, 
 turning away her head, she took some flowers from a vase 
 that stood in the centre of the table, and, bending over them, 
 the tears she resolved Robert should not see dropped upon 
 the petals. 
 
 "Are those tears for me or for Julia?" asked Robert, 
 
146 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 hastily rising and approaching her, stung to the soul by her 
 last words. 
 
 "For both!" she answered; then added ingenuously, "for 
 myself too ! I feel very much as the spoiled child when its 
 darling wish is refused gratification, or who, having erected a 
 beautiful card castle, just as it gives the crowning touch, sees 
 it demolished by a breath." 
 
 " You think me cold, selfish, and cruel, Linda I see you 
 do and I cannot repel the charge. I am not ungrateful for 
 the interest you feel in my happiness heaven knows I am 
 not ! You have taken me so by surprise ; my mind feels 
 unsettled, bewildered ! my head aches ! my brain reels! The 
 pillars of the lonely temple of my heart seem tottering, and I 
 ready to be crushed beneath the ruins ! I will think of it, 
 Linda, not lightly, but deeply prayerfully ! I will lay the 
 subject before God, in the stillness of the midnight hour, with 
 humility and solemnity, on bended knee, and with devout arid 
 earnest spirit. You have placed upon me a fearful responsi 
 bility, and if I am made to believe that it justly rests on 
 me, I promise you, my beloved sister, by my honour as a man, 
 and my faith as a Christian, I will assume it, whatever be the 
 sacrifice." 
 
 " Talk not of sacrifices," said Linda, unutterably affected 
 by the gentle sadness of his concluding words, and feeling 
 that his happiness had not its foundation in this world. 
 " When I began this subject, I did not think of its involving 
 such very painful interests. I fear I have been wrong. For 
 give me if for one moment I thought you inexorable and 
 cold. Forgive me for having dared to dictate in a matter of 
 so much delicacy, so peculiarly your own. I shall never renew 
 the subject, dear Robert; and whatever be your own views of 
 it hereafter, let not the remembrance of this scene rise as an 
 intercepting cloud between you and me." 
 
 She held out her hand with a smile of perfect reconcilia 
 tion, and a glance that deprecated his displeasure. Robert 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 147 
 
 took the offered hand, pressed it a moment, then suddenly 
 letting it fall, he walked to the door. 
 
 " Farewell, Linda V he cried, pausing on the threshold, and 
 looking back, lingeringly, as if on the eve of a long separation. 
 
 " Robert, where are you going ?" exclaimed Linda, following 
 him to the door. " Why do you say farewell in that strange, 
 unnatural accent ? Surely you are not going to leave me ?" 
 
 "Did I say farewell?" cried he, forcing a smile. "I 
 meant to have said good-night that is all. I did not know I 
 uttered so solemn a word. Good-night, Linda. Did I say it 
 right this time ?" 
 
 "Good-night, Robert. Stop a moment; you look sick. 
 What shall I do for you before you go ? Stay, if it be only 
 for a glass of wine." 
 
 " No, I thank you, I need nothing." 
 
 " Is the bandage on your arm easy ? Shall not Judy dress 
 the wound again before you sleep ?" 
 
 11 Oh, no; I would forget it altogether were it not for this 
 light fetter." 
 
 The scarf with which Linda had bound his arm now passed 
 round his neck as a sling. Judy had brought him one of 
 white linen, but he preferred that, he said, for it was lighter 
 and more elastic. 
 
 " Well, if you will not let me do any thing for you, you 
 had better go, for I am sure you need rest. I cannot forgive 
 myself for having disturbed you so, after suffering too, and 
 endangering yourself for me." 
 
 "No more, Linda, I pray you; good night." 
 
 He repeated it again, as if to assure himself that he was 
 master of his words, and retired to his chamber, but not to 
 rest. The moment he was alone, he cast himself on his 
 knees, and bowing his face on his right hand, gave vent to 
 his imprisoned emotions. He had been exercising such 
 mighty self-control, there was such a tension on the brain, 
 such a girdle round the heart, it seemed as it they had not 
 
148 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 loosened he must have died. Never had Liiida seemed so 
 unspeakably lovely, or so unconquerably loved, as when she 
 pleaded so earnestly, so warmly for another. Never had he 
 found it so hard to repress the wild waves that were surging 
 up, and threatening to overflow the limits of prudence, 
 honour, and religion. He felt so humiliated, so crushed by a 
 knowledge of his own weakness he who, a few months 
 before, had thought himself so strong and self-relying. 
 Where were his ministerial vows, his renunciation of the 
 world, his devotion to heaven? Were his Saviour and his 
 God dethroned for the human idol whose worship he had 
 himself pronounced sacrilege and sin? Where was the spirit 
 ual strength that had sustained him in all the heat and bur 
 den of the days of missionary toil ? Where was the angel of tho 
 roaring lion s den ? the guardian who, in the likeness of the 
 Son of God, walked with the Hebrew children in the fiery 
 furnace ? They were not near, but the tempter was ; and 
 whispered in his ear, while Linda was entreating him to give 
 his heart to another, that perchance the hand of destiny 
 might liberate her, and he could then claim her, without guilt, 
 as the purchase of his undying love. Ah yes ! the tempter 
 watched him, as the ancient warriors watched their foe, to 
 find the only openings in their iron armour where the sword 
 could penetrate. He did not promise him the kingdoms of 
 this world, nor power, nor glory, nor dominion, he would 
 have spurned them as dust, but he whispered to him, that if 
 he kept himself unbound, the day might come when, by the 
 decrees of Providence, she whom he had so long loved might 
 yet be his. This was the only accessible place in the steel 
 panoply of his integrity; but the moment he felt the arrow 
 of temptation enter, he wrenched it forth, and hurled it from 
 him, though the flesh quivered on its barbed point. 
 
 "My God !" he exclaimed, torn by remorse, and steeped in 
 self-abasement, "my God! forsake me not; forsake me not 
 in my extremity. I return to thee in the deep humility of a 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 149 
 
 broken and contrite spirit. Oh ! Thou who wast strengthened 
 by angels in thine hour of mortal agony, and who hast now 
 ten thousand legions at thy command, send down one, even 
 one ! oh, my Saviour ! to bear me up, and keep my feet from 
 stumbling, as I tread the dark and narrow path. Methinks I 
 hear thee, sacred Mourner, say : ( Couldst thou not watch one 
 hour while I went apart from thee ? And thou, too, Holy 
 Spirit, divine Comforter, thou whom I have grieved from my 
 bosom, return and fold thy wings once more in thy deserted 
 nest. The storm that rent the foliage which sheltered thee 
 will be lulled, as soon as thy downy touch is felt." 
 
 Prostrate on his knees, with his face buried in bis hands, 
 Robert lay, till the midnight hour rolled near, and the stars 
 trembled through a chill, dewy atmosphere. Then he rose, 
 and his footsteps muffled by the soft carpet on which they were 
 pressed, he walked till he found himself silvered by the rising 
 moon, whose waning face looked down reproachfully on his for 
 disturbing the mystery of her beams. 
 
 Robert lived a century in that single night, counting 
 hours by the dial of thought. As soon as he was sufficiently 
 composed to reflect with calmness, he brought before him 
 every argument Linda had urged in Julia s cause, and weighed 
 them in the balance of reason and conscience. He acquit 
 ted himself of all intention or thought of deluding her 
 into a belief that he loved her otherwise than he professed to 
 do ; but her pale, sweet face haunted him, with its expression 
 of dove-like innocence and profound sensibility. He saw it in 
 the shadows that gathered in the room ; he saw it in the moon 
 light that glimmered in the heavens; he saw it, too, looking 
 up toward him from the depths of a new-made grave, and a 
 voice seemed to issue from it, saying, " Oh, cold and hard of 
 heart ! Thy hand dug this clay-cold bed. Thine eyes beheld 
 me fading in my early spring, and though one tear of pity 
 might have revived my wilted bloom, thou hadst no tear for 
 me. I came a young and tender blossom from my nati 
 
150 ROBERT GRAHAM ! 
 
 and tiiou didst shine upon me like the tropic sun, with wither 
 ing power. Like a flower of the field I have perished, and the 
 places that once knew shall know me no more forever." 
 
 And then it seemed to him the wail of a broken heart was 
 in his ears, and the rising breeze sighed with dirge-like sound, 
 and the stars gleamed like funeral lamps on the sweeping pall 
 of night. 
 
 And then the shadows rolled away, and a vision rose before 
 him of domestic peace, if not joy, of a fireside sacred from intru 
 ding passions, where the world-weary spirit found some serene 
 repose. That sweet, haunting face was there, wearing a smile 
 of celestial happiness, and the cheek blooming with renovated 
 roses. If solar warmth and splendour were wanting, the purity 
 and tranquillity of moonlight reigned. If it was not the Eden 
 for which he had panted, it was a bower of rest, such as the 
 wayfaring pilgrim on the journey of life might welcome the 
 more joyfully, that though it was sweet enough for earthly re 
 pose, he was not in danger of forgetting his heavenly home; 
 and over that fireside was written in large, luminous characters, 
 tl Security from temptation, safeguard from sin, proof of the 
 sincerity of repentance, the steadfastness of faith, holiness to 
 the Lord, justice to men." 
 
 One by one the mystic characters came forth, and assumed 
 the most startling distinctness, like letters traced on an elec 
 trical jar. Then they seemed to be gifted with sounding 
 tongues, and chimed in his ear like the Christmas bells of a 
 great cathedral; and again they appealed to another quickened 
 sense, and swelled out beneath his imaginary touch, as the 
 words do fashioned for the blind man s fingers. Then sight, 
 hearing, and touch all united in a wild, inexplicable melange, 
 and sleep rolled over him in a dark, heavy wave. 
 
.A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 151 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WE left Nora at the piano, and Henry standing by the music 
 stool of the versatile mocking-bird, trying to make her finish 
 one song before she began another. She had a wild, sweet 
 voice, and a brilliant touch, and might have made a superb 
 musician, could she have commanded patience enough to prac 
 tise, and perseverance enough to execute all her genius grasped. 
 
 " Do finish that song, Nora," said Henry, " it is my favour 
 ite. My wife used to sing it to me at the twilight hour, and 
 her voice was as soft as the stilly dews." 
 
 " Then you should not wish me to desecrate it," replied 
 Nora, "and break the sweet charm of associations. It ought 
 to be an air enshrined and holy, for no female lips to breathe." 
 
 " I never asked one to sing it but yourself, since the lips 
 that endeared it have been silent. I would not ask another, 
 Nora, for there does a holy charm rest upon it that renders it 
 sacred to me." 
 
 Nora looked up in his face, struck by the peculiar tone of 
 his voice; but she read something there that beat down her 
 eyes, bright and saucy as they were. She could not at that 
 moment jest lightly on any thing consecrated by sacred memo 
 ries, and immediately commenced again the song he loved, and 
 actually finished it, in soft and sweetly modulated tones. Henry 
 listened with trembling eagerness, fearful lest the wild crea 
 ture should break the spell by suddenly dashing into a differ 
 ent strain. He gazed upon her with intense admiration. The 
 image of the fair young wife whose memory hallowed the song, 
 faded before the living brightness of Nora s form. The truth 
 was, the gay, brilliant, and capricious Southern girl had com 
 pletely fascinated the Northern student. He had resolved to 
 study her character more fully before he yielded his judgment 
 
152 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 to the allurements of fancy, to discover if she really had a 
 heart lying beneath the foam and sparkle of her words, but 
 the spell of her witchery was too strong. He was no longer 
 master of himself. Nora, whatever she was, all foam and 
 sparkle, or perchance the fountain s depth and clearness, was 
 tis destiny. 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times," said he; "the strains will 
 henceforth be doubly dear; they are consecrated by the two 
 fold charm of memory and hope." 
 
 "I do not like sad songs," said Nora; "they make me feel 
 as if I could be wretched, and if I have the capacity, I do 
 not wish to know it. This is more to my taste." 
 
 And she began one of the liveliest, merriest strains, smiling 
 and nodding her head in accompaniment, now and then glanc 
 ing at Henry her gipsy, black eyes. 
 
 " Do be serious a few moments, Nora," cried Henry, boldly 
 arresting the jewelled fingers that flew over the keys; "it is 
 not often we are alone, and I have that to say which cannot 
 be breathed in another s presence. My heart is full; it must 
 speak, and find a listener, too." 
 
 " Well !" exclaimed Nora, turning gravely round, and lean 
 ing her head on her hand, while her elbow rested on the 
 piano, with the most demure expression imaginable; "I am all 
 attention." 
 
 Poor Henry ! if she had dashed a goblet of cold water in 
 his face, he could not have been more disconcerted. Just as a 
 most fervid declaration of love was trembling on his lips and 
 flashing in his eyes, just as he had imprisoned that perverse 
 hand, and imagined its yielding softness responded to the pres 
 sure of his, to meet that face of mocking gravity and air of 
 frigid attention, instead of the averted cheek and downcast 
 eye that marks a lover s triumph, it was outrageous, unen 
 durable. 
 
 " Nora, you are enough to drive a man crazy !" cried he, 
 dropping her hand, his face turning a crimson hue. " I never 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 153 
 
 saw a creature so wayward, so tantalizing, and, I fear, so 
 heartless/ 
 
 " Why, what have I done, sir ? You asked my attention, 
 and I gave it. I am sure I did. I thought I was behaving 
 very prettily indeed. Well, if you don t choose to speak, I 
 will finish my song/ 
 
 " No, you shall not sing, nor play, nor mock me either with 
 you elfin pranks; but you shall listen to me, as woman ought 
 to listen to the man that loves her with a true and loyal heart. 
 You shall listen, that I may know whether I am wasting my 
 soul s treasures on one who heeds them not, or whether I am 
 enshrining them in a golden casket, that I will wear in my 
 bosom forever." 
 
 And Henry again took her unresisting hand, and leading her 
 to a sofa, placed himself beside her, while he compelled her to 
 listen to many eloquent and impassioned words. She listened 
 till she seemed magnetized by the spell he threw around her. 
 Her colour grew brighter and warmer, rays of pleasure stole 
 from her downcast eyes, and the quick, tremulous motion of 
 the lace that shaded her bosom denoted the quickened pulsa 
 tions of her heart. No art could have dissembled such rap 
 ture of attention, such passive acknowledgment of another s 
 power. 
 
 " Speak, Nora!" exclaimed Henry, enchanted at an effect 
 so much beyond his most sanguine hopes; " thou most be 
 loved, as thou art most bewitching of human beings, speak, 
 and tell me that the warm heart, which now glows and speaks 
 in every feature of your face, in every glance of your eye, is 
 mine, and mine alone. Tell me this, and receive in return 
 the gratitude and adoration of my whole life." 
 
 Henry, who was lifted to the third heaven on the wings of 
 triumph, was about to commit some of the usual extravagances 
 of young lovers, when Nora sprang up with the quickness of 
 the antelope, and flew to the opposite side of the room. 
 
 "Mr. Bellenden, it is you who are crazy," she cried; "you 
 
154 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 really cannot know what you are doing. You are too demon 
 strative; indeed, you are." 
 
 She shook back her wild ringlets, and tried to frown; but 
 Henry saw the gleam of her pearly-white teeth, and knew the 
 smile was there. 
 
 " This is not a moment for levity," said Henry, again ap 
 proaching her; " the happiness of my future life hangs trem 
 bling on it, and so does yours, dear Nora. I know it I feel 
 it. Be true to yourself, and ingenuously acknowledge it. 
 Yield that wild heart unreservedly to my safe and holy keep 
 ing. Give it nobly give it generously: you never, never 
 shall repent the gift." 
 
 " I have no heart I have nothing to give," cried Nora, 
 visibly agitated, and snatching away the hand which Henry 
 had again taken; "I know nothing about love, and I don t 
 wish to know; I am a thousand times happier as I am. I 
 would not place my happiness in any man s keeping; no, 
 though he came to me in the guise of an archangel. I like 
 you as well as I do any one, perhaps better; but never talk 
 to me in this way again, if you have the least regard for my 
 good opinion. I really thought you had more sense." 
 
 " And I thought you had more feeling," said Henry, vexed, 
 tantalized, angry, yet still more fascinated than ever. " But 
 if you like me better than any one, on that confession rise 
 mountains of hope. If I have no rival, I must and will pre 
 vail, for every woman s heart was formed for love. Your lips 
 deny my suit, Nora, but your eyes beam assent." 
 
 tl If they do, they belie my heart," said Nora, her cheeks 
 dyed with deepening crimson ; " for, whether you believe me 
 or not, I utter the words of truth and soberness. I never 
 intend to marry, and you shall not call me a coquette. Sit 
 down, if you please, and listen to me one moment, even as I 
 have done to you. No, not in that chair, the one farther off, 
 Don t look angry; I don t wish to provoke, but convince. No 
 one believes a young girl when she says she does not intend 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 155 
 
 to marry. They laugh, and shake the head, and exclaim, 
 Let her wait till she is asked. Now, I have been asked 
 before, more than once; but I did not like the wooers, and it 
 was very easy to say, Nay. I do like you, as well as I ever 
 expect to like any one, and my resolution is still unshaken. 
 
 " But, Nora" 
 
 " Hush ! I have the floor, and you must hear me through. 
 The man who tried to govern me, I should hate; the man 
 who allowed me to rule him, I should despise. The man who 
 permitted me to have my own way, I could not respect, and, 
 therefore, could not love, and yet my own way I must have. 
 I know it is a bad one a daring, headstrong, wild-coltish 
 way; but it is mine, and I cannot live without it." 
 
 "But, Nora, listen one moment." 
 
 " Hush, I say, Henry Bellenden. You believe me heartless; 
 but had I less heart, I would be willing to marry. Had I less 
 feeling, I would be willing to incur fond, believing woman s 
 almost certain doom indifference, neglect, or alienation." 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Henry, rising hastily from his 
 chair; " what a libel on man !" 
 
 " Yes, \continued Nora, laughing at his excitement, yet dis 
 regarding the interruptions, "it is because I know that I could 
 love so deeply, so passionately, that I will not love at all. Men 
 are all tyrants all Napoleons in their way : some wrap their 
 sceptre in down, and twine it with flowers, but it is, never 
 theless, the rod of empire, and wo to the wife who disputes 
 its awful sway. No, Henry, I would rather l be a kitten and 
 cry mew in the chimney-corner, than lead the humdrum, 
 treadmill life half the married women in the world do." 
 
 " Captain Lee and his Linda are signal proofs of tho truth 
 of your assertion," cried Henry, sarcastically, wrought up t<? 
 quite a feeling of vengeance for the wrongs of his sex. 
 
 " There is but one Linda in the universe, and Captain Lee 
 is her counterpart. If I were Linda, I might rely on the con 
 stancy of men ; but being nothing more nor less than what 
 
156 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 I am, I dare not cast my maiden hopes on the hazard of 
 a die." 
 
 "I could bring forward such proofs of man s constancy as 
 to redeem the whole sex from your charge," said Henry, 
 warmly ; " man s heart is the rock, which neither wavering 
 winds nor beating billows can move woman s, the wave curl 
 ing by the faintest breath of air." 
 
 " Is it you that boast of constancy, Henry, when not one 
 hour ago you bade me sing a song hallowed by the memory of 
 one to whom you once breathed vows as warm, nay, I doubt 
 not, warmer than you have just now uttered to me ! You talk 
 of constancy ! She should have purchased your immortal 
 love, for she passed from you in all her fair bloom and beauty, 
 before time had robbed her of one youthful charm ; and yet 
 you have suffered her image to be supplanted by such a mere 
 flippategibbet as I am." She spoke with well-dissembled scorn, 
 and her eye had a mocking gleam. 
 
 Henry started as if pierced by an unseen weapon. His face 
 turned as pale as the linen collar below it, and his blue eye 
 looked the colour of steel. Nora had gone too far, and she felt 
 it, felt it too late. She had roused the couchant lion, while 
 she only thought to lay her hand lightly on his mane. 
 
 "And is this cruel taunt your only return for the outpouring 
 of every bosom thought, the full confidence, the sacred trust I 
 have reposed in you ? But I deserve it for my weakness and 
 delusion, deserve it for having placed an idol of stone on the 
 altar where a saint was once worshipped." 
 
 He spoke in the low tones of suppressed emotion, then turned 
 hastily and quitted the room ; quitted it before the repenting 
 Nora could open her lips to bid him stay. 
 
 She sat perfectly still a moment, listening for his return. 
 He was not really as angry as he seemed. He would certainly 
 come back and seek the reconciliation he must know she was 
 willing to grant. But he came not. Five, ten, fifteen minutes 
 passed ; she counted them as she would dropping sands, by 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 157 
 
 the French clock over the mantelpiece, counted them till she 
 felt lonely and dreary, and wretchedly out of humour with her 
 self. What evil spirit had instigated her lawless tongue to 
 upbraid him for an attachment he had described in such beau 
 tiful harmony with the sentiments he still cherished for the 
 dead ? "Why had she so cruelly trifled with a heart she had not 
 fully appreciated till she deemed it forever lost ? 
 She would have exclaimed with the tender Juliet, 
 
 " for a falconer s voice, 
 To lure this tassel gentle back again !" 
 
 But he was gone beyond recall ; gone in pride and resentment, 
 only too justly roused. Nora sat, with her hands clasped, list 
 ening, starting, resolving if Henry did return to make a charm 
 ing apology, and be all that was gentle and amiable. But she 
 " found no place for repentance" then, though earnestly and 
 sorely she craved it. 
 
 "I did not wish to marry him. I never wish to marry any 
 one/ said Nora to herself, trying to test the sincerity of her 
 words ; " but I did not mean to cast him from me as a friend. 
 He is a charming companion, a noble-hearted fellow; oh ; dear, 
 what a matchless goose I am !" 
 
 Here Nora raised her hands to her face, and actually burst 
 into tears. She had been trying to keep them back, but they 
 would come, come in a gush, free and warm as a summer 
 shower, and soft and refreshing as the dews of evening. 
 
 What a pity Henry had not left his glove or handerchief, 
 and returned at this propitious moment ! What a pity he had 
 not seen her in the sincerity of her penitence, the abandonment 
 of her sorrow ! But Nora was doomed to weep alone, and to 
 wipe away her tears with her own handkerchief, and we are 
 sorry to say that her heart grew hard as the tears ceased to flow. 
 
 " I will not be such a fool, such a baby, as to sit crying and 
 sobbing here," thought she, rising and shaking her handker 
 chief indignantly. "I don t care, I m sure; if he chooses to 
 give me up so lightly, he s welcome to do it. I am not going 
 28 
 
158 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 down on my knees to his royal highness, entreating to be re 
 stored to his regal favour, not I. As quick as he is to resent, 
 let him be slow to forgive. I ought not to have said what I did, 
 but it is true every word is true. After loving and being 
 loved, by such a being as he describes her to have been, how 
 can he transfer his affections to me ; me, so wilful, so incorri 
 gible, so little worthy of his love ?" 
 
 "When Nora retired to her chamber, she rejoiced that Julia 
 slept, so as not to observe the traces of her unusual agitation. 
 It was a strange thing for her to lie awake, listening to the 
 breathings of another, but her eyes seemed propped open by 
 some invisible hand. She tried to shut them, but they would 
 fly wide open. Every thing looked so dim and ghostly by the 
 glimmering starlight even Julia s face on the white pillow, 
 so still and deathlike in its serene repose she did not like 
 to glance around her. All at once she saw a star shining 
 through the parting of the window curtains. It seemed to fix 
 upon her its bright, resplendent eye, and speak to her of 
 the mystery of its beams. It was the only one visible of all 
 the host of heaven, through the parted drapery, and Nora s 
 wandering thoughts steadied under its solitary brightness. It 
 was a burning ray from the All-seeing, penetrating the secrets 
 of her heart, and rebuking its folly. Oh ! how long it had 
 been shining ; that little star, holding its silver lamp over the 
 bosom of the sleepless, for the eye of God to read ! 
 
 Perhaps Henry was gazing, too, on that very planet, and 
 thinking how sweetly it shone on his wife s distant grave, 
 and in how short a time, in the course of human events, it 
 might be beaming on his own. For the first time in her life, 
 Nora reflected deeply on the vanity of her own pursuits, and 
 the wings of her spirit fluttered for a heavenly flight. She 
 was sorry she was in the habit of sleeping so soundly when 
 the stars were such glorious company. She would try to lie 
 awake every night, and learn the sacred lore of the skies. In 
 the midst of all this wisdom, she caught herself several tiinea 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 159 
 
 wondering how Henry would look when he met her in the 
 morning, and how he would address her, if he spoke to her 
 at all. 
 
 He did speak to her very courteously, but very coldly, and 
 she answered him in the same manner. The others were too 
 much pre-occupied to observe any thing peculiar, so their 
 estrangement was not noticed. 
 
 Robert looked so ill that Linda was alarmed, and insisted 
 upon sending for a surgeon. Aunt Judy, when she examined 
 his wounded arm, said that it was mightily inflamed, and that 
 Tuscarora ought to attend to it, for he was wonderful in cures. 
 Robert, who resisted Linda s entreaties that he would put him 
 self under the care of a physician, willingly consented to 
 Judy s proposition; and the Indian leech came, his simple 
 medicines contained in the brilliantly wrought hunting-pouch, 
 suspended from his neck. 
 
 Though Nora and Julia had visited his cabin, they had not 
 seen Tuscarora. He was absent, and the gentle Naimuna, 
 exalted into a heroine by her association with Linda s forest 
 adventures, received them with the grace of civilization. 
 
 Nora, who had been unusually sober and silent the whole 
 morning, kindled into rapture at the first glance of the Indian s 
 stately figure, and Julia, though less demonstrative, gazed 
 with equal interest on the noble Christian savage. We are 
 glad to welcome thee once more, princely scion of a kingly 
 race, majestic specimen of the sons of the wilderness. The 
 same serene gravity rests upon thy brow, the same melancholy 
 sweetness softens thy firmly-closed lips, and the same slumber 
 ing power is felt in thy glittering eye. 
 
 " What a magnificent creature !" exclaimed Nora, quite 
 audibly, as he entered the room, his waist girdled by the 
 many-coloured belt of wampum, and moccasins, wrought with 
 brilliant porcupine quills, encasing his feet. Little Walton, 
 the moment he beheld him, stretched out his arms with a cry 
 of delight, and laid his soft cheek lovingly on his deer -skin 
 
1GO ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 robe. Tuscarora loved the child of Linda with exceeding ten 
 derness, and taxed his forest skill for the invention of play 
 things for the young eaglet, as he called the infant, and no 
 thing could be more attractive to the eye of childhood than 
 the picturesque costume and gorgeous colours that still dis 
 tinguished the Indian from his white brethren. It was not 
 from a gaudy taste, but a respect for ancestral customs, that 
 Tuscarora wore the dress of the aborigines in the midst of 
 civilized life. 
 
 " Why is my young brother so pale, and why is his hand 
 burning with fever ?" asked he, walking directly to Robert, 
 who reclined on a sofa, suifering more from his wounded arm 
 than he had expressed to Linda. " And why is he bound like 
 the oak when the forest vine ties itself round its branches ?" 
 
 " The enemy whom I had defeated face to face, stole after 
 ward on my footsteps, and shot like a coward at my back," 
 answered Robert, "else he had not given me this wound." 
 
 He then gave a slight sketch of his yesterday s adventure, 
 but Linda s grateful tongue supplied all that he omitted. 
 
 " The foe lurks in ambush, gallant Tuscarora," said Linda, 
 (she always addressed him in figurative language, for she knew 
 it pleased him,) " but the arm of the hunter is strong ; it will 
 guard us from danger while the master is away on the deep 
 waters, and our friend is weak from the blood he has shed in 
 our defence." 
 
 " Wo to the wolf that prowls near the home of my bene 
 factors/ cried the Indian, his eye glittering for a moment with 
 vindictive fire; then his countenance resuming its expression 
 of placid dignity, he added 
 
 " Will my brother come with me, or will the young maidens 
 leave him a while to the mysteries of the healing art?" 
 
 " Let him not go," said Linda; "we will retire, and you 
 must exercise your best skill as an antidote to my imprudence. 
 I treated him last night as if he were well and strong, and 
 to-da^ he suffers from my thoughtlessness." 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 161 
 
 As Nora and Julia were passing out arm in arm, Tuscarora 
 seemed much struck with the appearance of the latter. She 
 had been seated in the shadow of the curtain, and she glided 
 forth, to his forest eye, fair as the swan on a sunny wave. 
 
 " The maiden is from the land of snow," he observed, with 
 a look of calm dignity. " Has my young brother brought her 
 to the country of flowers to dwell ? It is good." 
 
 "Yes!" answered Henry, coming forward and applying to 
 himself words which evidently embarrassed Robert, and covered 
 Julia s cheek with a conscious blush, " I brought her hither 
 because our Northern winds are too cold, and our wintry 
 snows too deep. You have never, I suppose, travelled to 
 ward the granite hills ?" 
 
 " My fathers dwelt between the rivers of the North and the 
 blue streams of the South," answered Tuscarora; "but the 
 friend who gave me education brought me near the waves of 
 the great gulf, and I have never since gone far from the sound 
 ing music of its surges. I love the woods and the waters. 
 My white sister has built me a cabin near the mighty Missis 
 sippi, where I can hear the voice of the Great Spirit, and adore 
 the God of Christians." 
 
 He turned a glance of affectionate gratitude to Linda, who 
 lingered at the door to hear his musical language, which she 
 said always reminded her of the autumn wind murmuring 
 among her native pines. 
 
 " Great brother !" cried Nora, running back with her cus 
 tomary unexpectedness of motion ; "you have not noticed me 
 at all, and I belong, like you, to the wilderness. Do you not 
 see that I am of kindred blood and spirit ? Brother of the 
 wigwam, I greet thee, I long to smoke with thee the caluniet 
 of peace, and shoot the arrow from thy sounding bow." 
 
 " The quiver of Tuscarora is full of arrows, and the calu 
 niet hangs from his cabin wall," answeredhe, with imperturbable 
 gravity; "we bid you welcome. You have the tongue of the 
 mocking-bird and the foot of the antelope." 
 
102 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " And you, you have the eye of the eagle and the step of 
 the lion," cried Nora, enchanted with her new acquaintance. 
 
 " Fast speech agrees not with the feverish brain," said 
 Tuscarora gravely, looking at Robert, who smiled at Nora s 
 characteristic address. 
 
 " Dismissed with such a kingly grace !" exclaimed Nora, 
 leaving the room, and making at the door the graceful salaam 
 of the East. " I never saw any thing like it. Do you think 
 he would give me lessons in archery, Linda ? I am serious. 
 I will certainly ask him." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Nothing would give him more pleasure. There 
 is a beautiful bow he made for "Walton, hanging in the hall, 
 with a quiver bristling with arrows by it. Try your skill in 
 the garden, and make a target of roses." 
 
 Nora, who was pleased as a child with novelty, sprang up 
 and caught the bow and arrows, purloining at the same time 
 Linda s gipsy hat, and many a flower and leaf bore witness to 
 her arrow s barb. She could not help hoping Henry would 
 follow her, and give her an opportunity, not to apologize, her 
 pride forbade such a thought, but to reinstate herself in his 
 good opinion. She could see him through the wreathing 
 vines, seated quietly within. She could see the lofty head of 
 the Indian bent over the couch where Robert lay. Henry s 
 assistance did not seem required. The seat he occupied com 
 manded a full view of the garden and the charming archer, 
 who was enacting the part of Diana with so much grace and 
 spirit. But bewitching as Nora looked in the gipsy hat 
 perched so carelessly on her wild ringlets, and whose rose- 
 coloured riband sported with them so fantastically as she 
 pursued with winged feet the flying arrow, Henry maintained 
 Ins seat with the immovability of a judge, and Nora had to pick 
 up her own arrows and select her own targets. She had been 
 so accustomed to his attentions, he seemed always to have such 
 an intuitive knowledge of her movements, which were the 
 guide of his own, that she felt as if a vital ligament were 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 163 
 
 severed, and a part of herself taken away. She did not realize 
 her dependence on his companionship for enjoyment, till she 
 was deprived of it, and, worst of all, by her own folly. She 
 had not intended to wound his sensibility, she did not know 
 what she did mean, but the wound was made, and the Indian 
 leech had no balm to heal it. 
 
 Unwilling to remain in his sight, since he would not join 
 her, she passed through the gate, shooting the arrow before 
 her, then trying to overtake it. She shot it on one side and 
 the other, making such devious traces it was difficult for her 
 to find her way into the main path. As she was looking round, 
 uncertain in which direction to turn, she perceived a man 
 skulking in a thicket of trees skirting the river. He was too 
 far from her to discern his features, but the red jacket, blue 
 trousers, and long black hair corresponded with Robert s de 
 scription of the child-robber, and her blood ran cold at the 
 thought. It would not be quite so easy to carry her off as 
 the infant, but there was no knowing but he might take a 
 fancy to her, and she was not pleased with the idea. What 
 was her joy when she beheld the wampum belt of Tuscarora 
 gleaming through the foliage, giving her the consciousness of 
 protection and safety. She ran to meet him, and laying her 
 hand on his powerful arm, pointed to the figure that was re 
 ceding from her view. 
 
 " The ruffian I" she whispered. " Do you not see him ? 
 There there. He is gone." 
 
 The Indian s eye gleamed like burning coals, and he in 
 stinctively tightened his wampum girdle. 
 
 "I saw him I saw him," he muttered through his shut 
 teeth, " and I shall know him a thousand years hence I will 
 watch him the livelong day. Say nothing of this to the mo 
 ther of the young eaglet, for the eye of the hunter is open 
 and she might tremble for naught." 
 
 " But you have no weapon, gallant savage/ said Nora, 
 "and the villain, you know, is armed." 
 
164 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 "Lend me that bow and quiver till I reach my cabin," 
 cried the Indian ; taking the light instrument in his sinewy 
 hand. 
 
 "But this is a child s plaything," said Nora, smiling; 
 "what can my great brother do with this?" 
 
 " The sling of the shepherd boy was more powerful than 
 the giant s spear," he replied; "you shall see what I can do." 
 
 Taking one of the slender arrows and fitting it to the airy 
 bow, he raised it levcl with his eye and drew back the elastic 
 string. 
 
 " The arrow shall pierce the summit of you leafless tree. 
 It shall sever the frail splinter which the lightning bolt has 
 left shivering there." 
 
 The arrow flew flew to the summit of the blasted oak, and 
 the tall splinter that cut the sky, like a broken knife, shivered 
 and fell. 
 
 " Think you it would not make the heart-strings quiver, 
 with an aim as sure as that?" asked the practised hunter, 
 gratified at Nora s admiring glance. 
 
 " You must teach me to shoot, Ninirod of the woods, and I 
 will furnish you with a hundred beaver skins, and the fur of 
 twice as many bears and wolves." 
 
 "I go to search for the track of the bear or the wolf. The 
 needle is lighter than the hunter s bow, and becometh better a 
 young maiden s hand." 
 
 " Even the savage rebukes my wild and untamed spirit," 
 mused Nora, as he strode away, with majestic steps that left 
 no echo on the ear. "He has fashioned himself after the 
 model of the white man, and of course lost much of his native 
 majesty. I wish I were a real Indian squaw, free to wander 
 all day in the forest, or to float in my bark canoe on the 
 roaring stream. Then I should not always be offending the 
 proprieties of life. I wish I were either one thing or another, 
 not the nondescript thing I am, with the heart of a woman and 
 the head of a wild-cat. The next book on Natural History 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 165 
 
 that appears, I expect to flourish in it, under the head of a 
 new and distinct species." 
 
 Nora was quite subdued the remainder of the day, for there 
 was a weight on her heart that robbed it of its specific levity. 
 Julia was sad because Robert suffered. He had retired to his 
 own apartment, in which aunt Judy occasionally went in and 
 came out with consequential air. Linda was anxious too from 
 the same cause, and in addition nervous apprehensions for her 
 child made her start at the sound of a shutting door or an 
 entering footstep. Never had she felt so depressed at the 
 thought of Roland s absence, or so solicitous about his own 
 safety. The sudden danger that had threatened her infant 
 made her feel the insecurity of every blessing, and every link 
 in the electric chain that passed round her heart participated 
 in the shock. 
 
 Thus passed several days. The inflammation of Robert s 
 arm, though yielding to the skill of his Indian leech, kept 
 him a prisoner, or perhaps he secluded himself from choice ; 
 and Tuscarora said, " It was good : for quiet was the nurse of 
 strength." He had told Nora, " that the wild beast kept at 
 bay, but the hunter s eye was still open," and she obeyed his 
 injunction of silence on the subject. 
 
 It was while Rosavilla was in this drooping state that it 
 was enlivened by the appearance of Aristides Longwood, who 
 went on his unspotted but eccentric career, just as he did 
 three years ago. His home was in the house of Linda, but 
 he radiated from it, coming back at will, sure of a joyous 
 welcome. Sometimes he taught, several months at a time, a 
 small school, similar to the one which gave him Linda for a 
 pupil; but, he assured her, that as soon as Walton was old 
 enough to profit by his instructions, he should devote himself 
 exclusively to him. He had already made a phrenological 
 chart of his head, as a guide in his plan of education. 
 
160 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 is this very lively and charming young lady," said 
 Aristides, gazing with a pleasant smile on Nora s blooming 
 face, after having received her cordial greeting, " the little 
 frolicsome child" 
 
 " Who dared to steal behind your desk, and drop chestnut 
 burrs in your classical locks, and commit a thousand other 
 audacities, which I trust you have forgotten/ interrupted 
 Nora, " and forgiven too." 
 
 " Tis easier for the generous to forgive than for offence to 
 ask it/ as Thomson sensibly remarks," replied Aristides; 
 " but I fear, puella formosa, if we recur to the days that are 
 past, I shall suffer more than yourself. Methinks your 
 memory might address the quondam pedagogue : 
 
 I ll have theo, as our rare monsters are, 
 Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, 
 Here may you see the tyrant/ 
 
 As Shakspeare pointedly affirms." 
 
 " Oh ! no, Mr. Longwood, I am inexpressibly grateful for 
 every tap of the ruler on my rebellious brains. I have no 
 doubt it stinted the growth of many a noxious weed. So 
 deep was my reverence of your wisdom, { that even in your 
 chidings I found grace and favour/ as Desdemona pathetically 
 observes." 
 
 Linda, though she could not help smiling at the inimitable 
 humour of her manner, looked anxiously at Aristides, fearing 
 he might be displeased, meek and gentle as he was ; but he 
 smiled benignantly on the merry maiden, whose spirits re 
 bounded from the weight that had oppressed them with the 
 elasticitv of whalebone. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 167 
 
 " How young you look, Mr. Aristides !" slie said, in quite a 
 glow of sincerity; "I never saw any one so greatly improved. 
 You must have discovered the fountain of perpetual youth/ 
 
 " Nay, maiden of the pleasant tongue, I feel the time ap 
 proaching when the l wheel may be broken at the cistern/ as 
 Solomon warningly utters. I am no longer young, and age 
 is dark and unlovely/ as Ossian most sadly remarks. But 
 time, though it may sprinkle with frost the once brown hair, 
 and darken the windows of sight, cannot touch with hoariness 
 the youth of the soul. ( Its snow cannot fall on the bloom of 
 the heart/ as an anonymous poet sweetly has sung." 
 
 The delicate and spiritual loveliness of Julia attracted his 
 poetic gaze. His imagination, ever on the wing for beautiful 
 similitudes, compared her to all that is fair and fleeting; and 
 as he, in his transparent simplicity, usually laid bare his 
 thoughts, he addressed her in strains of the tenderest admira 
 tion : 
 
 "Thou remindest me, oh, virgo purissima! of the lily of 
 the field, to which our Saviour so touchingly alludes of the 
 snow-flakes of your northern clime : for they tell me you were 
 born, like me, under the shadow of the Granite Hills. May 
 the soft gales of the South blow gently on thee, film formosa;" 
 then, forgetting that he was addressing her, he added, in an 
 unconscious soliloquy : 
 
 " ( The bloom of opening flowers, unsullied beauty, 
 Softness, and sweetest innocence she wears, 
 And looks like nature in the world s first spring, 
 
 as Howe has charmingly expressed." 
 
 At this moment the nurse introduced the little "Walton, 
 much to the relief of Julia, who knew not how to reply to 
 this remarkable burst of admiration. She had none of the 
 chain-lightning of wit and merriment that flashed so dazzllngly 
 yet harmlessly from Nora s lips. 
 
 The love which Aristides bore the child was affecting to 
 
1G8 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 witness. It possessed all the purity and tenderness wbicK 
 characterized his affection for Linda, blended with a worship 
 as deep as that which moved the Eastern magi to bring their 
 costly offerings to the Babe of the manger. He looked upon 
 it as the manifestation of ideal innocence and beauty as the 
 "nfant incarnation of all the beatitudes. It was his chief 
 delight to cradle it in his arms while it slept, and watch for 
 hours its tranquil slumbers. He would bend over it with the 
 most intense delight, press with the softest touch its velvet 
 cheek, inhale its pure, fragrant breath, then, lifting his deeply- 
 set gray eyes to heaven, in silent prayer, twinkle away the 
 starting tear, and draw the little innocent closer to his loving 
 heart. No words could speak his horror and indignation 
 when Linda told him of the attempted robbery of the child. 
 
 " Oh ! vulpa cru-delissima !" he exclaimed, raising his 
 trembling hands, " oh ! agnus dei, guard this little lamb : of 
 such is the kingdom of heaven/ Thy own blessed lips have 
 sweetly declared. But fear not, filia leata," turning to 
 Linda, with unutterable tenderness and solemnity, " l He will 
 give his angels charge concerning thee/ and thine also, for 
 thou art of the household of faith." 
 
 The arrival of the simple-hearted, the learned, the eccentric 
 Aristides was well-timed, and brought back the sunshine 
 which was for a while obscured. Robert was pronounced 
 convalescent by his Indian physician, and the freedom of the 
 house restored to him. Henry, who was enchanted with 
 Aristides, threw off the unnatural coldness which had chilled 
 for a while his genial manners ; and Nora was herself again. 
 They had neither of them sought a reconciliation, but they 
 were apparently friends. Henry was incapable of cherishing 
 vindictive feelings against any one ; and he forgave Nora for 
 the wantonness which had so deeply wounded, but he resolved 
 never again to expose himself to a similar bosom-stab. If 
 nature had denied her a heart, perhaps she was not to blame. 
 He had seen people trample on flowers, and wonder to see 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 169 
 
 them fade. They would not have felt so light a tread. Why 
 should flowers have more sensibility than themselves ? Nora 
 crushed the blossoms of his heart as unthinkingly. She pro 
 bably judged him by herself. Because she could not feel, she 
 doubted the existence of sensibility; like the king of Siam 
 who disbelieved the formation of ice, because his southern 
 majesty had never beheld the phenomena of colder climes. 
 It was foolish in him to be angry. He and Nora might be 
 very good friends ; she was certainly an amusing companion ; 
 but heaven forbid he should ever think of her again in a 
 nearer and dearer association ! So he laughed and talked 
 with her as usual, and thought himself disenchanted. He 
 could have out- Solomoned Solomon himself in his estimate of 
 woman s vanity of vanities. 
 
 Linda was true to the promise she had given Robert, never 
 to renew the persuasion which had so agitated and distressed 
 him. But she could not help watching with painful solicitude 
 his intercourse with Julia, to see if the day-spring of love 
 were not dawning on its coldness. But while she observed 
 with gratitude and joy an apparently growing interest in 
 Julia, she felt as if he were estranged from her. She could 
 not define in what the difference consisted; but he was not 
 the same. His words were as kind and gentle, but they 
 seemed cold to her warm, sisterly heart. Assured that Robert 
 loved her as a fond brother loves, she thought not of repress 
 ing her own pure affection, and, now it was exalted by grati 
 tude, it assumed a deeper, holier character. When he was ill 
 und feverish, she would sit down by him, and bathe his hot 
 brow and burning hands with the most tender assiduity; but 
 he shrunk so nervously from the gentle appliance, thanking hsr, 
 yet entreating her to leave him, that, convinced her attentions 
 were oppressive, she transferred to others the ministrations 
 she would gladly have rendered. And now he was with 
 them once more, with no traces of his illness but the light 
 in which his arm was suspended, and which constantly 
 
170 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 reminded her of her debt of gratitude, her spirit hovered 
 round him with watching solicitude, grieved at the inexplica 
 ble something that repelled its advances. She wanted him to 
 love Julia, but not to deprive her of the regard which she 
 prized next to Roland s wedded love. Oh ! had she seen him 
 that night, when, prostrate before his God, with bitter tears 
 and agonizing throes he prayed for strength to subdue his 
 unconquerable love ! Had she seen him wrestling with the 
 powers of darkness, with weapons drawn from heaven s ar 
 mory, till heart and flesh failed, and unseen angels came and 
 ministered to him ! But though the night storm may call up 
 the mountain billows of the deep till they dash against the 
 skies, and sprinkle them with wrathful foam, they may smile 
 with glassy smoothness in the morning sunbeams. The sur 
 face is calm and men talk of the unruffled sea. Linda saw 
 not the traces of warfare on Robert s marble brow. The 
 peace of heaven seemed resting there. 
 
 Imperceptibly a shade gathered over the affectionate fami 
 liarity of her manners. She often refrained from calling him 
 " dear Robert," when her heart glowed on her lips, because 
 his glance came to her like the rays of a distant star. She 
 did not take his hand, as she had formerly done, when she 
 greeted him in the morning, or bade him the evening adieu. 
 Thus she unconsciously assisted him in the sacrifice he had 
 resolved to make. 
 
 Julia, in the mean time, was the companion of many an hour 
 of social intercourse from which Linda purposely withdrew 
 herself. He read aloud, and Julia was never weary of listen 
 ing to his deep-toned, musical voice. Genius borrowed new in 
 spiration from the medium through which it reached her heart. 
 She could listen forever to his reading; yet when he talked, 
 she wondered that she ever cared to hear the sentiments of 
 others. She had never, never felt so happy. She lived in 
 the present. No matter what the future might be, there was 
 a blissful now. Robert thought of her watched for her coin- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 171 
 
 fort exerted himself to interest her sought the seat at her 
 side, and gave her his arm, in walking among the evergreen 
 shades. Every one said, " How much better she looked ! 
 what a brilliant colour every evening kindled up her cheek ! 
 what deepening radiance in her heavenly blue eyes ! When 
 
 hey told her this she smiled, and put her hand on her heart. 
 
 t was an involuntary motion. It might express pleasure or 
 pain. It might be the last, from the very excess of the 
 first. 
 
 " I do not like that bright colour on her cheek," Aristidcs 
 would say, his eyes softening with prophetic sadness ; " it 
 always comes just before the sunset fades, as if she had caught 
 the burning rays; I fear the life is leaving her heart that 
 glows so brilliantly there Early bright, transient, chaste as 
 morning dew/ as Young beautifully observes. The damsel is 
 modest, and fair to look upon ; but the rose blushes the sweet 
 est when the canker-worm is gnawing in the calyx. 
 
 " That same flower which blooms to-day, 
 To-morrow may be dying/ 
 
 as Herrick tenderly expresses." 
 
 One evening, and it happened to be a dark and stormy 
 one, Julia was left alone with Robert. This beautiful clime 
 is not exempt from clouds and tempests, and they come with 
 a suddenness and power unknown in colder latitudes. Linda 
 retired to her own room, unable to call the smile to her lip, 
 when every stormy gust that swept by the window reminded 
 her that Roland might be tossing on the billowy main. She 
 had not heard from him since his departure from New Orleans, 
 in the Eagle, bound for Liverpool. There had not been time 
 for communication, unless through some meeting vessel; but 
 still her heart craved for tidings of his safety with importunate 
 solicitude. When these yearnings were strongest she loved to 
 be alone, that she might think exclusively of her absent hus 
 band, or, with her child clasped to her bosom, talk to it of the 
 
172 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 father, whose brave, protecting spirit seemed ever hovering 
 round them. 
 
 Nora attempted to drown the voice of the storm-king in the 
 gay notes of the piano, to which she actually led the patient 
 Aristides, telling him that she could not sing without the 
 inspiration of his presence, and Henry followed, saying he 
 would not be separated from him. There was quite a merry 
 trio round the instrument, for, in the interludes of music, Nora 
 vied with Aristides in the number and brilliancy of his quota 
 tions ; and Henry, in whose mind the flowers of classic taste 
 had been bountifully nurtured by Castalian dews, scattered 
 them profusely at the social banquet. 
 
 Let us glance into the three rooms in which our friends are 
 seated, each illumined by a magnificent light-wood blaze. 
 
 Let us paint them in separate pictures. Linda sits in a low 
 rocking-chair at the fireside, with the sleeping Walton cradled 
 in her arms. The night is cool, and a sky-blue cashmere 
 dressing-gown, faced with down, is thrown loosely round her. 
 The flowing sleeves are turned slightly back at the wrists, par 
 tially revealing an arm fair and symmetrical as the Grecian 
 slave s. It is also open at the throat, and the cygnet s white 
 and graceful neck is not more faultlessly beautiful than Linda s, 
 round which her locks, glistening in the fire-glow, aie care 
 lessly straying. She bends down over her slumbeiing in 
 fant. She presses sweet kisses on its cherub lips, and blesses 
 it in the name of its absent father. She starts as the wind 
 rushes by on sounding wing, and looking wistfully through the 
 curtains at the drifting clouds, prays the God of the ocean to 
 guard from danger the bark of the mariner. Now and then 
 a bright, warm tear falls on the rosy cheek of Walton, a tear 
 do pure that angels might kiss it away. 
 
 Oh, lovely young wife and tender mother ! we love to lin 
 ger on so fair a picture. If our eyes were anointed as the 
 ancient prophets were, we have no doubt we should see a gar 
 land of celestial spirits twining round thcc, with snow-white, 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 173 
 
 glory-tinted wings, for the kingdom of heaven is in thy heart, 
 and surely " liveried angels lacquey thee." 
 
 How different the scene of which Nora is the central figure. 
 True daughter of earth, she personifies its blooming joys and 
 sparkling pleasures, in her fresh elastic form and mirth-ex 
 citing countenance. Everything about her is in keeping with 
 the individuality of her character. The crimson adornments 
 of her dress, and the crimson japonica glowing in the black 
 ness of her hair, seems as much a part of herself, as the jetty 
 lustre of her eyes, and the electric brightness of her smile. 
 How admirably the dark -grey garments of Aristides, his dark- 
 grey eyes, and thin, decided features relieve this warm, bril 
 liant figure, and place it in bold, yet charming relief! and 
 Henry s fair, intellectual face, light locks, and eyes beaming 
 with Attic fire, set off the picture like a frame of burnished 
 gold. 
 
 There is one more to look at. It is like turning from a gor 
 geous painting to a soft, rich inezzotinto. Every thing has a 
 subdued tint. The hearth-light has softened into harmony with 
 the moonlight lustre of the lamps. The outlines of Julia s 
 slender form meet in the soft, undecided, cloudy hue of the 
 dress she wears. She is seated so that a shadow falls upon 
 her, quenching the golden gleams of her hair, and leaving a 
 mellow, brownish shade in harmony with the pensive beauty 
 of her face. All the light seems to have gathered round the 
 brow of Robert, who sits near the lamp with a book in his 
 hand, from which he has been reading. It quivers in a halo 
 above his dark hair, and flows in silver rills along a figure which 
 might vie in symmetry with the Delphic gods. The book 
 hangs listlessly in one hand, his forehead is pressed on the other. 
 He hears the wind sighing through the tall magnolias. Julia 
 hears only the sigh which involuntarily heaves the bosom ot 
 Robert. He lays down the book, and takes the seat vacant at 
 her side. Ever since the evening when Linda pleaded with 
 him so earnestly in Julia s behalf, he had been arming himself 
 29 
 
174 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 with resolution to meet this moment, yet he trembled when it 
 was near. 
 
 "Julia," said he, in a low and distinct voice, "you know 
 the history of this passionate, yet I trust regenerated heart. 
 You know the hopes which were blighted, the love which, find 
 ing no home in another s bosom, was driven back to my own. 
 Your friendship and sympathy have been balm to the anguish 
 of a crushed and wounded spirit. I prize it more than I have 
 words to tell." 
 
 He paused, for his voice trembled from increasing emotion. 
 Julia pressed her hand on her heart, to still its wildly-tumul 
 tuous beatings. All day she had felt a strange oppression 
 there, as if a girdle were tightening round her. Now she 
 wanted room to breathe, to feel. She panted, and a burning 
 rose suddenly bloomed on her cheeks. 
 
 "Do not let me agitate you thus," continued he, pained by 
 the excess of her agitation, for it made it more difficult to mas 
 ter his own. "We have knelt beside each other, my soul s 
 sister, at the altar of our Saviour, and let the remembrance of 
 that hour hallow the emotions of this." 
 
 He took her hand with tenderness and solemnity, and his 
 voice became steadier, and his purpose strengthened, as he felt 
 its quick, throbbing pulses, its gentle, relying touch. 
 
 "I will not deceive you, Julia. I could not, to secure my 
 soul s salvation, bring to your spotless purity, your guileless 
 simplicity, a false and hollow offering. The freshness and 
 bloom of my heart is gone. Yours is in all its dewy spring 
 time. It is worthy the first and warmest affections, not the 
 aded relics of an unvalued love. Yes, Julia, you are lovely 
 nd pure as an angel, and had I met you in an earlier hour, I 
 might have loved you as you merit to be loved ; but now" 
 
 The hand he held grew suddenly as cold as snow, but he 
 clasped it with a firmer pressure, and his words, which had 
 fallen with a measured cadence, came with rushing eloquence 
 from his lips. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 175 
 
 " Now, even while I tell you that if she, the beloved of my 
 youth, were free, I could feel for her all the wild passion that 
 once desolated her life, and nearly destroyed my own ; when I 
 tell you, that under this very roof I have passed through strug 
 gles and conflicts in which I called on the principalities and 
 powers of heaven to save me, if you will trust your happiness 
 in the keeping of one so sorely tempted, yet so divinely 
 strengthened, I promise to watch over it with as undying care 
 as I would guard from extinguishment the flame of the vestal 
 temple, were I a heathen devotee. No ! I will not go to a pro 
 fane source for inspiration. I will protect it as I would my 
 Christian faith from the hands of sacrilege. I will cherish it 
 in life as my most sacred trust, and in death consign it with my 
 last prayer to the guardianship of our Father and our God." 
 
 She did not speak, but she looked up to him, as the wor 
 shipper looks to the image of the saint he adores. Words 
 could not express the thousand varying, yet blending feelings 
 that throbbed in her bosom, and burned upon her cheek. Had 
 Robert told her that he loved her as he had loved Linda, she 
 might have bowed beneath the burden of too mighty a joy; but 
 the manner in which he offered to become the guardian of her 
 happiness was so solemn, so sad even, that ecstacy was chas 
 tened into awe. She tried to speak, but the words trembled 
 unuttered on her quivering lips. She could only press his 
 hand in silence, in token that he had not poured out his soul 
 into ears of stone. 
 
 " Think not, presumptuous as I am," he added, with a deep 
 relieving sigh, a feeling of gratitude and triumph, a conscious 
 liberation from the tempter s power, " that it is your happiness 
 alone I consult, in asking for a charge so dear. Even now, I 
 feel your saving influence. Once assured that you lean on 
 me, frail and tottering pillar as I am, for support, I shall grow 
 strong, that I may sustain your weakness, and firm that the 
 garland which entwines me may not fall with me in the dust 
 I do not ask you to be my wife, Julia, with the ardour of 
 
176 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 youth s early passion. God knows I cannot do it; but I ask 
 you to be my companion in the pilgrimage of life, my guardian 
 angel from temptation and sin, my fellow-labourer in the cause 
 of religion and humanity, the bride as well as sister of my 
 soul." 
 
 Borne down by the intensity and weight of his emotions, 
 Robert bowed his forehead on the hand he now clasped in both 
 his own. It was not so much as a wooing lover he bowed 
 himself thus, as the man humbled before his Maker and his 
 God. 
 
 " Oh, Robert," said Julia, her countenance lighted up with 
 celestial joy, that shone like April sunbeams, through gather 
 ing tears, " Oh, Robert, I am not worthy such an office ; but 
 I would rather walk hand in hand with you, in life s thorniest, 
 most rugged path, filling any place in your true and noble 
 heart, than reign unrivalled queen of any other, and dwell in 
 Eden s bowers." 
 
 As Robert listened to this meek, unqualified expression of 
 the most devoted, self-annihilating love, this lavish return for 
 his poor, stinted offering, he felt there was something sublime 
 and elevating in being the object of such a generous worship. 
 He was not the ingrate that could hear it unmoved. He 
 clasped her to his bosom, with fervent gratitude, and vowed to 
 consecrate his future life, next to his God, to her. Perhaps 
 Julia tasted in this moment the purest happiness that ever 
 glowed in the heart of woman, it was so purified from all 
 earthly alloy so hallowed by their mutual hopes of heaven. 
 Since she had knelt at the altar with him in the rural church, 
 and the incense of his prayers had borne her up to heaven, she 
 had felt united to him by indissoluble ties. She was recon 
 ciled to the thought of an early death, that she might await 
 his coming in a world of everlasting communion. She 
 dreamed not of being his companion on earth, but she might 
 hope to be his fellow angel in heaven, where there is <( neither 
 marrying nor giving in marriage." 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 177 
 
 Now she seemed to receive anew the gift of life. The tight, 
 metallic band that girdled her heart was loosened, and downy 
 folds of heavenly joy enwrapped it. The shadow of an early 
 doom rolled away before the rising sun of love. She was not 
 destined to die so young, when such rare felicity awaited her 
 on earth. God was too lovingly kind, too tenderly merciful, to 
 raise her to such a summit of hope, and then plunge her 
 into the darkness of the tomb : that refuge of the miserable, 
 that goal of the weary of life. 
 
 " Young as I am," she said, when the bewildering excite 
 ment of her feelings had subsided, "I have for years looked 
 forward to the hour when the star of my life would set behind 
 the night-clouds of death. Now it beams like a dayspring 
 from on high. Oh, Robert, I feel that I shall live to fulfil 
 the holy mission you have given me. If I may not be your 
 helper and companion in labour, I can follow like Ruth the 
 steps of the reapers, and gather the grain that falls from the 
 golden sheaves. Let me find favour in thy sight, and the 
 blessing of God will follow." 
 
 Julia spoke with enthusiasm. The manner in which 
 Robert had addressed her was so different from that by which 
 youth and beauty are usually wooed and won, that their anti 
 cipated union on earth seemed only a type of their divine 
 espousals. When she retired that night, she was too happy 
 for sleep. She seemed walking in a blissful dream. The 
 voice of Nora sounded strange and harsh, compared with the soft 
 echoes still lingering in her ears. Even the lamp-light looked 
 dim to the remembered rays of Robert s dark-beaming eyes. 
 If Linda were only near her, she would pour into her heart 
 the overflowing tide of her emotions, for she would sympathize 
 with her, and sympathy in joy is sweeter even than in sorrow. 
 She sat up after Nora slept, wondering if Linda were awake 
 and would suffer her to intrude on her retirement. Her room 
 was near, and yielding to an irresistible impulse, she wrapped 
 
178 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 herself in a dressing-gown, and, gliding through the hall, tapped 
 lightly at Linda s door. 
 
 A gentle voice bade her enter. Linda was sitting as we 
 have described her; but Walton slumbered in the crib, and she 
 was intent on the pages of a book on which genius had 
 breathed its wizard spell. She looked up with surprise, while 
 a smile of welcome illumined her countenance. 
 
 Julia stood a moment, as if hesitating to speak her errand, 
 then hurrying forward, she knelt on the footstool at Linda s 
 feet, and throwing her arms round her neck, exclaimed with 
 a burst of tears 
 
 " Oh ! I am so happy, so happy !" 
 
 " And Robert is happy too !" cried Linda, tenderly embrac 
 ing her. <f I understand it all. And I I could weep with 
 joy likewise, sweet Julia. My fondest prayer is answered." 
 
 She had heard low and earnest voices in the next room 
 the whole evening. She knew that Robert and Julia were 
 there alone, and that the crisis of their destiny was near. And 
 when Julia opened her door, with such a radiant expression of 
 happiness glorifying her face, even through the soft mist of 
 bashfulness that veiled it, she knew all which Julia came to 
 tell. 
 
 " Robert has asked me to be his wife," she murmured. 
 " He has told me all. I know that I occupy but the second 
 place in his heart. I am content. I have not capacity for 
 greater happiness. I tremble now at its wild excess." 
 
 "Believe me, sweetest Julia," said Linda, folding her more 
 closely in her arms, "whatever may have been his boyish 
 feelings, they can never come between you and your wedded 
 felicity. If Robert has asked you to be his wife, he has done 
 it with the solemn purpose of devoting himself exclusively to 
 you, heart, soul, and life. He will love you more and more, 
 to the exclusion of every memory that is not associated with 
 you. He will bless heaven with every morning sunbeam and 
 every evening shade, for having wafted hither the Northern 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 179 
 
 flower to shed its fragrance on his Southern home. Oh ! you 
 will both be happy, and your happiness will not be the sport 
 of every wind and wave, for it is founded upon a rock, not 
 built upon sand. Oh, Julia, it is a blessed thing to be the 
 wife of a Christian a Christian even in the private walks of 
 life, how much greater honour to be the wife of a Christian 
 minister a Christian missionary ! Were I not the happiest 
 of wives, I could almost envy you such a glorious privilege." 
 Ah ! I am so unworthy to enjoy it." 
 
 " Depreciate not your own excellencies. Had Robert searched 
 the wide world over, he could not have found one more set 
 apart and holy for the office than your too humble and lowly 
 self. Your parents will surely sanction the union, for in a 
 worldly point of view it offers every advantage of wealth and 
 position." 
 
 " They are not worldly," she answered ; " I am confident 
 they will consult my happiness alone. My brother loves him. 
 I see no obstacle. Dearest Linda, teach me to be grateful, as 
 I ought." 
 
 And thus they sat, their arms around each other, their 
 hearts more and more closely drawn together, till the hour of 
 midnight sounded and warned them to retire. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE next morning no traces of the storm were seen, save the 
 rain-drops that glittered on the foliage, and here and there a light 
 branch lying on the ground, or a vine-wreath loosened from the 
 frame it entwined. Henry, to whom Robert the night before 
 had told his plighted faith to Julia, rejoiced at this consumma 
 tion of his cherished wishes. He had lately had some secret 
 misgivings. Now, he wondered he had even doubted Julia s 
 
180 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 power to win and wear a heart which he believed entirely 
 her own. 
 
 " Is this little flutterer at rest now ?" he asked, laying his 
 hand on her heart. " It has found a home has it not ?" 
 
 Even as lie spoke, "Julia felt a sharp pain, an indescribable 
 anguish there, followed by a deadly sickness, and she shrank 
 back with a low cry. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he cried, alarmed at her excessive 
 paleness. "Surely that gentle touch has not hurt you I" 
 
 " Oh no/ she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. " It 
 is over now. A transient spasm, that is all." 
 
 "But that is a great deal, Julia. If you are subject to 
 them, they must be attended to. I will send for a physician 
 at once. Such things must not be trifled with." 
 
 " I feel better now, dear Henry. I do not think a phy 
 sician would do me any good. I am sure I need no medicine. 
 My best physician is here." 
 
 The sudden glow on her cheek at the entrance of Robert 
 told what physician she meant. 
 
 " Julia is not well, Robert," said Henry ; " I insist upon 
 placing her in the doctor s hands." 
 
 "Not well !" repeated Robert, looking at her brilliant colour. 
 Julia smiled, and the smile deepened the illusion. 
 
 " If you had seen her a few moments ago," continued Henry, 
 "you would not have recognised her." 
 
 "You know I was always subject to fainting-fits, brother. 
 A physician could not change my constitution. But I am 
 getting strong and well now. See, is not this the glow of 
 health?" and, taking one of Henry s hands, she pressed it play 
 fully against the warm roses of her cheeks. 
 
 Robert could not associate the idea of sickness with her pre 
 sent bright and smiling aspect. She had never looked so well. 
 The love which she had so long hidden in her heart came up 
 from its innermost shrine, and sparkled with electric brightness 
 on her face. The soft cloud of languor that often rested upon 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 181 
 
 it was dispersed, and Robert wondered as he gazed at the ex 
 ceeding brilliancy of her beauty. It is not strange that he 
 thought Henry s fears were groundless, or that Henry, assured 
 by Julia s repeated assertion that she now felt perfectly well, 
 better than ever she had done in her life, should yield his judg 
 ment at last, and believe that he was foolishly apprehensive. 
 
 Once again in the course of the day, Julia felt the same in 
 describable anguish at her heart, followed by the same deadly 
 faintness, and a cold dew came out on her forehead. Was it 
 the dew of the night of death ? She was alone in her room. 
 Had Robert seen her at that moment, he would not have 
 breathed till he had summoned a physician, but the anguish 
 passed and the faintness passed ; and wiping off the chill drops 
 of perspiration, she seemed to emerge from darkness into 
 light. She rose and ministered to herself. Linda had pre 
 pared her a soothing mixture, which she kept in her own room, 
 and she immediately felt its renovating influence. She would 
 not speak of it, since it had vanished of itself. There was no 
 need of exciting unnecessary alarm. If she continued to have 
 such strange attacks, she would be willing to receive medical 
 counsel and aid, but not to-day. To-morrow it might not be 
 needed. 
 
 She was right. It was not needed on the morrow. 
 
 That evening they all gathered in one room, and every soul 
 seemed tuned in concert. There were no prima donnas pre 
 sent; but the three young females were gifted with sweet and 
 cultivated voices, and Robert and Henry both sang, if not 
 artistically, with great taste and feeling. Aristides was pas 
 sionately fond of music. He would sit, with his chin propped 
 upon his hand, his eyes half closed, his ear inclined to a gen 
 tle angle, apparently involved in a blissful revery 
 
 " Music, oh ! how faint, how weak, 
 Language fades before thy spell 
 
 as Mr. Longwood melodiously observes," cried Nora, keeping 
 time to Linda s charming notes. 
 
182 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " I only borrowed the words of the poet, oh, virgo hilaria !" 
 answered Aristides; "but they speak the language of my 
 soul 
 
 " The man who has no music in his soul, 
 Is fit for treason, stratagem, and spoils 
 
 as Shakspeare emphatically declares." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Longwood, I should not think a gentleman of 
 your exquisite originality would quote so hackneyed a phrase. 
 It would do for me, who have so slender a stock of ideas, as I 
 myself pertinently remark." 
 
 " Thou hast a pleasant wit, damsel, and I love the merry 
 glance of thine eye. But the words of Shakspeare can never 
 grow old by usage. They are the oracles of nature, and will 
 forever breathe its spirit. The same stars shine night after 
 night, and they still shine in everlasting youth. Like their 
 great Maker, they know neither variableness nor change. But 
 thou art young, and fond of novelty, 
 
 " ( Variam et mutabile semper 
 Faemina 
 
 as Virgil pointedly hath sung." 
 
 While Aristides and Nora thus cut each other with diamond 
 words, a trio was clustered near the piano, and Linda, who 
 had for the first time persuaded Julia to take the music-seat, 
 held up her hand, with a smile, imposing silence on one who 
 seldom owned its spell. Julia scarcely ever sang, except when 
 alone. An unconquerable diffidence sealed her lips, and pal 
 sied her fairy fingers. Now, when Robert asked to sing, she 
 obeyed, as if under the influence of an enchanter s wand, and 
 Henry marvelled from what secret fountain the rills of melody 
 came gushing forth. She chose her mother s favourite 
 
 " Hark ! he cometh, softly stealing." 
 
 Tt was a simple, pathetic air, and the touching words harmo 
 nized well with the soft and thrilling strains. Every note she 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 183 
 
 breathed her voice swelled clearer and sweeter; and when she 
 had lingered on the last till it died away almost imperceptibly 
 on the ear, the sound of a falling feather might almost have 
 been heard in the deep stillness of the room. 
 
 This sudden and unexpected gush of harmony seemed like 
 inspiration. 
 
 "Why, Julia! what has inspired you to-night? If it were 
 the last song you ever expected to sing, you could not have 
 thrown more soul and feeling into it," exclaimed Henry; "I 
 never heard you sing like that before." 
 
 " The last song, Henry I" repeated she, looking up with an 
 expression, which those around her never forgot; "the last! 
 that is such a sad word." 
 
 There were other songs and blither strains, but Julia sang 
 no more. At the close of the evening she was left alone with 
 Robert. It was only for a few moments, for he urged her to 
 retire, observing a languor in her eyes that indicated the need 
 of rest. As he accompanied her to the door, and bade her 
 good-night, she involuntarily paused, and her hand lingered in 
 the clasp of his. 
 
 " Shall I see you in the morning ?" she asked, looking wist 
 fully in his face. 
 
 " I trust so, dear Julia. We know not what a night may 
 bring forth; but, relying on God s love, we may hope the mor 
 row s sunbeams will unite us once more." 
 
 " But is not this all a dream ? and shall I not, on awaken 
 ing, find it so?" said she, still lingering. "Oh, Robert, 
 last night I felt as if immortality were begun on earth; 
 now, nothing seems so fleeting, so unreal as my own exist 
 ence. Do not smile at my weakness, but I fear to lose my 
 hold of your hand, lest you vanish, and I behold your face no 
 more." 
 
 "You feel the nervous depression always following too 
 great excitement," he answered; and, putting his arm round 
 her, he walked with her to the end of the passage which icu 
 
184 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 to her room. " Every thing will seem real to-morrow. The 
 shadows will all pass away, and the peace of Heaven dawn on 
 your soul." 
 
 He bent down, in the attitude of benediction, and kissed 
 her brow. 
 
 "Angels guard, and our heavenly Father bless you, Julia," 
 and gently drawing away his hand from her trembling clasp, 
 he turned and left her. His own room was on the opposite 
 side of the passage. As he entered it, he looked back, and 
 saw Julia standing on the threshold, as if arrested there by 
 magnetism. Her face was toward him, and the brilliant chan 
 delier that lighted the hall threw its dazzling rays in a diadem 
 round her head. She seemed enveloped in a glory, like a pic 
 tured saint; and when she disappeared from his gaze, Robert 
 felt as if a visionary, and not an earthly form had vanished. 
 
 " Oh, Julia," thought he, " I may not love thee with 
 earthly passion; but thou art worthy of a heavenly love. I 
 will bind thee to my heart, as a shield from temptation and 
 guilt, and thou shalt infuse thine own gentle warmth and 
 purity into its haunted cells. And if ever I cease to guard 
 thee faithfully, and cherish thee tenderly, pure and loving 
 spirit, may the doors of my Father s mansion be closed 
 against me." 
 
 Soon every sound was hushed, and darkness as well as 
 silence rested on the household. The night waned away, and 
 those who slept were unconscious that an unbidden guest had 
 entered, for his footsteps left no echo, so softly, so stealthily 
 he came, so quickly and silently he fulfilled his terrible 
 mission. 
 
 When Nora awoke, the morning beams glittered through 
 the curtains, which were left in their daily folds the evening 
 before. She released them from the gilded hand that re 
 strained the sweeping drapery, suffering it to fall to the floor 
 that Julia s slumbers might not be disturbed by the full glare 
 of light. Her face was turned toward the wall, so that Nora 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 185 
 
 did not see it; but she lay so still, so tranquil, that Nora imag 
 ined her sleep must be as sweet as it was deep. 
 
 "I will let her have her nap out," said she to herself, 
 " while I run about in the garden and whet the edge of appe 
 tite, as Aristides would sapiently say." 
 
 Nora was no loiterer at the toilet. She donned her gar 
 ments with the light fingers of a Cinderella, and her hair 
 always seemed to arrange itself, as the comb passed through 
 its waving length. As with her usual skipping step, she went 
 to the door and swung it hastily open, her eyes caught a 
 glimpse of Julia s face, and she stood a moment, as if trans 
 fixed, then uttered a shriek so wild and piercing, it rang 
 through the lofty hall, waking a thousand echoes. Robert, 
 who was just leaving his room, which, as we have said, was 
 on the opposite side of the passage, was the first to hear that 
 fearful cry, the first to follow the direction of the almost 
 palsied hand, that pointed to the bed. There lay Julia, as 
 coldly, " deadly pale," as the wintry snow of her native clime. 
 Her right hand was pressed upon her heart, where the death- 
 dart had quivered, but no distortion of pain marred the divine 
 repose of her features. One might have thought she slept, 
 so still, so serene she looked, so fair a rose-tint still lingered 
 on her softly parted lips; but there was something in the half- 
 closed motionless blue orbs, that showed that the fountain of 
 life was frozen forever. Robert stood gazing upon her a mo 
 ment, as immovable as herself; then kneeling down he laid 
 his hand on the chill, snowy brow, which had throbbed the 
 night before under his parting kiss, and bent over the icy lips 
 that never more would curl with the warm breath of life. 
 Yes! she was dead cold motionless; and Robert felt the 
 dullness of mortality creeping through every vein and artery, 
 felt the sublime mystery of death folding up his spirit and 
 shutting out every living sound. He heard no longer the 
 shrieks of Nora, he heard not the wails and sobs that now 
 went up in the chamber of death, he was scarcely conscious 
 
186 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 when Henry, rushing between him and the fair, frozen form, 
 clasped it in agony to his bosom, calling on God to save her, 
 in the wildness and impotence of grief. 
 
 " Oh ! Father of mercies," cried Robert, clasping his hands 
 and raising them to heaven, in a burst of irrepressible emo 
 tion, " blind and erring that I am ! I promised to guard and 
 cherish her on earth, that her days might be long upon the 
 land; but thou hast crowned her with everlasting love, even 
 with life for evermore." 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the consternation and dis 
 may following this startling event. Every means usually em 
 ployed to rekindle the apparently extinguished spark of life 
 was vainly used. The spirit had returned to the God who 
 gave it; and neither tears, nor prayers, nor human skill could 
 recall it to the lovely clay it had animated for the brief space 
 of seventeen years. 
 
 Oh, happy, happy Julia ! why should we mourn for thee ? 
 Better, far better, to pass away, as thou hast done, in thy un 
 spotted purity, thy guileless youth, in the springtime of thy 
 love, the dawning of thy hopes, than live to feel the blight 
 and the mildew, the cold winds, the beating rains of darker 
 years. Life glided from thee in a dream of bliss, which never 
 could be realized, for there is no paradise below even for love 
 like thine. We will not weep for thee, beloved of a heavenly 
 bridegroom, but for the parents and kindred who wait thy 
 return with the opening flowers of spring, and for the brother 
 who loved thee with such passing tenderness, and to whose 
 care thou wast committed as a precious, holy trust. 
 
 Who that looks upon thee now, arrayed in spotless white 
 as the bride of the grave, with orange blossoms and sweet 
 geranium leaves wreathed in thy golden hair and placed in 
 thy snowy hands, thine eyes now gently closed as if in quiet 
 sleep, and that divine smile on thy pure, placid lips, but 
 vould wish to gaze forever and think it sacrilege that dust 
 cover a form so surpassingly fair ? " But dust thou 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 1ST 
 
 art, and unto dust thou must return." Beauty cannot avert 
 the inexorable decree, nor love arrest the mournful progress of 
 decay. 
 
 The loud cry, the heart-rending sob, were no longer heard 
 in the presence of that beauteous sleeper. The silent tear, the 
 pallid cheek, and stilly step spoke a more subdued, affecting 
 sorrow. 
 
 Linda, who had learned the first sad lesson of life s brevity 
 by the dying-bed of Luta, repressed her own grief that she 
 might assuage the anguish of others. Henry shut himself in 
 his room, refusing to be comforted ; but Robert forced him to 
 unbar his door, and listen to the breathings of sympathy and 
 the consolations of religion. 
 
 Nora, on whom the shock fell like a thunderbolt, was at first 
 nearly deprived of reason. Death had entered her bed-room, 
 had lain down by her side, had breathed his chill breath upon 
 her, and yet she knew it not. And it was the first time she 
 had ever consciously been in its awful presence. It is no 
 wonder that her brain reeled with the suddenness of the terror, 
 that her gay, exuberant spirits turned frantically from the con 
 templation of a scene so wondrous sad. Linda exhausted her 
 self in unavailing efforts to soothe her wild excitement, when 
 Aristides, with sad and earnest tenderness, came to her relief. 
 There was an authority in his manner, to which Nora, physi 
 cally weakened by her stormy emotions, passively yielded, and 
 he led her in silence to the couch where Julia now reclined, 
 looking more like an angel of heaven than a child of clay. 
 
 " Weep no more, oh ! virgo infelix" exclaimed the tender 
 moralist, his own eyes streaming with tears ; " fear to disturb 
 the mystery of her repose. God has given his beloved sleep, 
 and beautiful is the hush of life on the face of the young 
 Why should those lament, oh ! puella lachrymosa, for one who 
 might well mourn for you, if tears ever fell in Paradise? 
 Look upon her in silence, and adore the sovereignty ot the 
 Most High. 
 
188 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " Et rose elle a vecu ce que vivent les roses, 
 L espace d un matin/ 
 
 A rose she has lived, as roses live, the space of a morn 
 ing," as the poet pathetically remarks. 
 
 Nora, who had not dared to look on the face of the dead 
 since the first fearful glance, shrinking with nameless terror 
 from the aspect of mortality, gazed and gazed, rooted to the 
 spot by a mighty spell, till the wild tossings of her spirit 
 settled down into a glassy calmness. She held her breath, lest 
 she should ruffle the stillness of those fair, lifeless looks. She 
 repressed her sobs, lest they should interrupt the heavenly 
 placidity of her repose. 
 
 " Oh, never again," murmured she, leaning with childlike 
 submissiveness on the arm of Aristides, " will I fear to look 
 on the face of death. Tis beautiful, tis divine ! But take 
 me away I cannot bear it any longer." 
 
 Nora laid the solemn lesson next her heart. She continued 
 to weep, but it was in silence ; and when her tears fell too 
 abundantly, Aristides would whisper in her ear some beautiful 
 aphorism and pathetic quotation, that sunk like balm into her 
 softened soul. 
 
 It is not necessary to enter minutely into the circumstances 
 that naturally grew out of this melancholy event. Few, in 
 deed, are so happy as not to be familiar with them all ; and 
 sad, too sad for description,, is the paraphernalia of the grave. 
 In this instance, more than the usual mournfulness involved 
 the funeral rites. Immediately after the customary consecra 
 tion of prayer, Henry was to commence his homeward journey, 
 und carry back to her native soil all that remained of the 
 ^oung, betrothed Julia. 
 
 " Would that I could go with you," said Robert, " and 
 assist you in performing your melancholy mission ! Had I 
 not pledged my word to Roland Lee to remain during his ab 
 sence, as the guardian of his family, nothing would keep me 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 189 
 
 from this sacred duty. But my spirit will follow you, dear 
 brother and friend, and hover round our Julia s precious 
 dust." 
 
 " If it were possible," answered Henry, who was now out 
 wardly calm, " I know it would be done. But what matters 
 it ? There is no remembrance in the grave, whither I bear 
 her. Even you, so dearly loved, must be forgotten there. 
 No, Robert ! remain to guard the living, while I go and bury 
 my dead." 
 
 " Henry !" said Robert, with unutterable solemnity, " you 
 are laying up in heaven costly gems. Is not your heart there 
 also ? If this should be our last meeting on earth, shall I not 
 embrace my brother in that blissful clime where the night of 
 death never falls, and where the gloom of parting never 
 comes ?" 
 
 "I trust so I trust so," exclaimed Henry, pressing Ro 
 bert s hand with a fervent grasp ; " friendship like ours is im 
 mortal, and must partake of the eternity of our existence. 
 Oh, my friend ! if in this life only we had hope, what 
 miserable beings would we be in an hour like this ! I thank 
 you, Robert, for the oil with which you have fed the dim lamp 
 of my faith. It was nearly quenched by the shades that so 
 suddenly darkened round me. Your prayers have sustained, 
 your example strengthened me. It is a great thing to have 
 a Christian friend ! to be united to a noble heart by the bonds 
 of Christian love !" 
 
 " Oh, poor and weak is any other tie," exclaimed Robert ; 
 {l weaker than the smoking flax or the breaking reed." 
 
 Little did Henry anticipate, in the wild, thoughtless days 
 of college-life, such an interview as this with the passionate, 
 the haughty, the unbelieving Robert Graham. 
 
 He was to commence his journey in the morning ; for not 
 
 till then could the triple coffin be obtained, necessary for the 
 
 unconscious traveller. At twilight he wandered in the garden, 
 
 where Julia so delighted to stray, to drink in for the last time 
 
 30 
 
190 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 the delicious freshness of an atmosphere for which he would 
 vainly sigh in his ccld Northern home. It seemed strange to 
 see every thing so gr>jen and blooming still, when she, so young 
 and fair, lay cold and blighted within. As he turned into one 
 of the shadiest paths lie met Nora, looking so pale and wan, 
 with such heavy eyes and springless steps, it was difficult to 
 identify her with the mirth-loving, care-defying being whom, 
 with all her faults, he had most sincerely loved. She had 
 come out into the open air; for, as the evening shades de 
 scended, the walls which enclosed the mystery of death op 
 pressed and chilled her. She wanted to remove herself as far 
 from them as possible. 
 
 As soon as she saw Henry, whose pale, sad countenance in 
 dicated a sorrow that passed show, she held out her hand, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 "Oh, Henry !" she cried, giving way to a passion of sorrow 
 and remorse for the levity and waywardness which had 
 alienated him from her, and which she had hitherto been too 
 proud to express. " In this moment of anguish and bereave 
 ment, pity and forgive me. For her sake, forgive me I will 
 not ask it for my own." 
 
 " More than forgiveness take my blessing, Nora, for every 
 tear you shed. I am not, then, utterly bereaved ;" and, draw 
 ing her hand through his arm, they walked through the long, 
 winding avenues, till the thick foliage became dewy and chill. 
 They did not talk of love and hope beneath the cypress- 
 boughs of sorrow ; but they felt, perhaps unconsciously, the 
 soothing influence of both. Henry, who had been struggling 
 against the fascination which Nora exercised over him, believ 
 ing her destitute of sensibility and womanliness, found a balm 
 in her proffered sympathy, a charm in her unaffected humility 
 and ingenuousness, the more deeply appreciated because so 
 unlocked for. 
 
 " What a sad, sad journey you have before you !" she said, 
 as they slowly approached the house, and their eyes simul- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 191 
 
 taneously rested on the open window, which admitted the 
 night-breeze to the faded flower it would never more revive. 
 "And what sad hearts you will leave behind ! I shrink from 
 the mournful future." 
 
 " It will not be always dark, Nora. I have known before 
 what sorrow is, and light has dawned on its shadows. The 
 clouds of the heart dissolve in tears ; and God places on the 
 mist the bow of promise, as a surety that the seedtime and 
 harvest of love and joy shall never utterly fail. I may not 
 see you alone again before my departure. Sweet, though sor 
 rowful, will be the memories of your Southern land. Whether 
 I -ever return to it again depends, Nora, on you alone. This 
 is no time to talk of love, but I have laid bare to you my 
 whole heart, in a happier hour. As it was then, so it is now, 
 only I have more need of the boon I asked, and feel that I 
 could prize it more. There is one less to love me now, Nora." 
 
 "If you ever do return, Henry," answered Nora, in the 
 heartfelt tones of genuine tenderness and sincerity, "you 
 shall find one heart to welcome and to love you ; corrected, I 
 trust, of its worst faults, and willing to surrender itself with 
 all a woman s gentleness to your guardian keeping." 
 
 They turned back, and walked again through the darkening 
 avenues, and their hearts were more united, more melted in 
 one, by the mutual sorrow and sympathy which had unveiled 
 them to each other, than they would have been in years of gay, 
 mirthful intercourse. 
 
 It was not without reason that the great master of human 
 wisdom said, " By the sadness of the countenance the heart is 
 made better." " It is better to go to the house of mourning 
 than the house of feasting." 
 
 Sorrow is a miner, it digs deep in the heart, and finds its 
 embedded gold. It is a diver, and brings up the ocean pearls 
 It is a high priest, and consecrates the sacrifice it imposes. 
 
192 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHAT strange contrasts human life presents ! 
 
 A little more than three years ago, the same room at Rosa- 
 villa, now prepared for the funeral rites, was occupied by a 
 brilliant bridal throng. The same youthful, pale, and dark- 
 haired minister who pronounced the marriage blessing on the 
 bridal pair, stood now at the head of the coffin, about to con 
 secrate, by the prayer of faith, the solemnities of death. Linda 
 remembered this coincidence well, and as she bowed her head 
 on her hands to hide her gushing tears, they fell for the living 
 Robert as fast as for the encoffined Julia. 
 
 " I have been marking out for him paths of earthly felicity," 
 thought she, " strewed with the blossoms of love ; but God is 
 preparing for him a more glorious destiny. His is to be the 
 palm of victory, the crown of glory awarded to those who, through 
 tribulations and struggles, enter into the kingdom of heaven. 
 I yield thee," continued her musing, weeping spirit, " beloved 
 brother of my soul, to the cause thou hast espoused, the Master 
 thou hast so nobly served. Go, if thou wilt, once more to pa 
 gan lands, and give to many a darkened soul the hopes that 
 now illumine ours ; these weak hands will no longer hold thee 
 back, for God claims thee, thou chastened by many trials." 
 
 The voice of Robert, in its peculiar under-tone of deep pa 
 thos, stole on her meditations like a strain of rich, solemn 
 music. He read one of those beautiful hymns appropriate to 
 the memory of the early departed, and the strains mingling 
 with the breath of the white roses and jessamines, funeral 
 blossoms that were scattered profusely on the coffin-lid, ascended 
 as incense to heaven. Brief as solemn was the consecrating 
 prayer, for the smoke of the steamer in which Henry was to 
 embark was already darkly curling up into the blue sky. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 193 
 
 "I am tlie resurrection and the life," he repeated, and his 
 roice, rising in sweetness and power, seemed to fill the room 
 with an atmosphere of religious grandeur; " he that believe th 
 in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever 
 liveth and believeth in me, shall never die. 
 
 " I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand 
 at the latter day upon the earth. And though after my skin 
 worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God : 
 whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and 
 not another." 
 
 It was while uttering these sublime words of inspiration she 
 whom he had thus consecrated as the bride of death, was car 
 ried out, through a line of sobbing negroes, whose demonstra 
 tions of grief had frequently interrupted the affecting and im 
 pressive rite. 
 
 The whole household followed to the river-side. Robert 
 walked in front with uncovered head. On one side of the 
 bier was seen the tall and stately form of the Christian Indian, 
 on the other, the slender and gray-clad figure of Aristides 
 Longwood. Henry, Linda, and Nora walked in the shadow 
 of the dark, sweeping pall, while in the rear came the tender 
 hearted slaves, headed by Aunt Judy, sorrowing that they 
 should never look again upon the sweet young face of the fair 
 Northern stranger. As the procession went winding down the 
 path that led to the river, now embosomed in the shade of tall, 
 branching trees, now emerging into sunshine, the negroes sang 
 a low, plaintive melody in some of their own peculiar words, 
 and it mingled solemnly with the murmurs of the great river 
 of the western world. 
 
 Henry could not speak when the moment of parting came. 
 He had not realized till that moment all that he had lost, and 
 all that he was leaving. The consciousness pressed upon him 
 with iron weight, and his manly fortitude was crushed by its 
 burden. He dashed from his eyes the blinding tears, but they 
 would gather, and his throat closed on the attempted adieu 
 
101 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 Strange ! dearly as he now loved Nora, and knowing that he 
 was beloved again, he felt less pain in parting with her than 
 Ptobert. He would return with the flowers of a Northern 
 spring to claim her as his own, but where would then be the 
 friend to whom he felt drawn by an attachment passing even 
 the love of woman ? 
 
 The hand of Robert was the last he grasped, with a long, 
 lingering pressure. 
 
 " May the God of the traveller watch over and bless you, 
 and guard the sacred ashes of my betrothed bride," said Robert, 
 his dark, melancholy eyes glistening with emotion, as they gave 
 the parting glance to his friend, then turned to the heavens, 
 glittering in morning glory above them. 
 
 Henry stood on deck, as long as he could catch a glimpse 
 of the figures lingering on the shore, as long as the white 
 turrets of Rosavilla were seen rising above the green shade- 
 trees into the blue of the sky. The waves of the majestic 
 Mississippi rolled beneath, sparkling with ten thousand dia 
 monds in the sun, the shores smiled in summer beauty, the 
 river breeze blew with pure and inspiring influence, every 
 thing was grand, and beautiful, and bright, yet those heaving 
 waters were drifting onward a weight of wo to the bosom of a 
 now happy home. And he, the sad survivor, the lonely 
 guardian of the dead, turned with sickening heart from all 
 this bloom, and brightness, and grandeur, to hide his sorrow 
 from the gaze of man. 
 
 Sad, as Nora had said, were the hearts he left behind. 
 There was not even a grave to weep over, that place imme- 
 morially set apart for the mourner s tears. Nora, who had a 
 cause of sorrow, as yet known only to herself, shut herself 
 in her chamber, to weep for the absent Henry, and sigh over 
 the opportunities she had wasted of proving to him her appre 
 ciation of his worth. 
 
 Linda wandered sadly through the apartment, hallowed by 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. , 195 
 
 the recent presence of death. The wilted blossoms, fallen 
 from the dark coffin-lid, lay scattered on the carpet, breath 
 ing a melancholy, dying perfume. The withering petals, and 
 sweet, faint odour, were emblematical of the early fate of her 
 whose relics they had embalmed, and Linda sighed as she 
 inhaled what seemed to her their deadly fragrance. Why 
 was Roland absent, on whose sympathizing bosom she could 
 weep away the oppression of her heart? When would he 
 return, to gladden with his looks of love her now saddened 
 home? 
 
 The door opened, and Robert entered, prompted by the 
 same feelings to seek the place, haunted by such mournful, 
 yet holy memories. She hurried forward to meet him, and, 
 subdued by the sadness and solemnity of the scene through 
 which they had just passed, leaned weeping on his shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, Robert," said she, " you are all that is left me. Ro 
 land is away Julia is gone, my sweet, adopted sister is taken 
 from me; what should I do, bereft of your sympathy and ten 
 derness? Yet it is I who should comfort you, for never again 
 will you find a heart that will love you so truly, so exclusively, 
 and so devotedly." 
 
 "I have done with earthly love," answered Robert, rais 
 ing his eyes from Linda s drooping form to heaven ; " its 
 last, pnle blossom dies on Julia s early grave. Heaven has 
 been kinder to her than you, dear sister. Poor indeed was 
 the return I could make for her pure and boundless love. 
 God knew it, and took her to himself, who is love immeasu 
 rable, unchangeable, and everlasting." 
 
 Linda listened with thrilling interest, as Robert continued 
 to lift her thoughts to high and holy themes. She gradually 
 separated the sweet image of Julia from the appalling accom 
 paniments of death, and placed it in that band of adoring 
 seraphs, whose robes have been washed white in the blood of 
 the Lamb. 
 
 It was long before Nora recovered from the awful shock she 
 
196 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 had received. She started, and turned pale at every sudden 
 sound and motion. She shrank, with a nervous shiver, from 
 the shadows of night, she, who never before knew what 
 nervous trepidation meant, and whose dauntless spirit scoffed 
 at the terrors of imagination, as well as actual dangers. Linda 
 insisted that she should share her own room, and sought, by 
 every gentle and persuasive means, to rouse her from the mor 
 bid state in which she was sinking. The little Walton uncon 
 sciously aided his lovely mother in her daily task. The mid 
 night visit of the dark king of the grave had left no cloud on 
 his infantine smile. It still beamed joyously, though other 
 brows were sad. He seemed an embodied promise, that if 
 youth, and beauty, and life had passed away, it was ever 
 springing up anew, in defiance of the conqueror s power. 
 Nora became passionately fond of the child, and her smiles 
 gradually returned in answer to the sweet smiles of innocence. 
 But tne gay laugh, that rang like a chime of silver bells 
 through all the house, no longer echoed in its walls. 
 
 About one week after the departure of Henry, it was per 
 haps an hour before the usual bed-time, when they were 
 quietly seated in the parlour, Linda and Nora engaged in 
 some feminine occupation, while Robert read aloud, and Aris- 
 tides listened, with his chin propped upon his right hand. 
 Aunt Judy came to the door, and beckoned her young mis 
 tress. She would not for the world interrupt " Massa Ro 
 bert s beautiful preaching," as she seemed to think all his 
 reading must be sermons. 
 
 " Miss Lindy," said Judy, smoothing down her apron, and 
 speaking in a low voice, as soon as she had closed the doors, 
 " there s an old woman down there by my cabin, that says she 
 must speak to the mistress, and nobody else wont do. I tells 
 her she d better give her business to me, so as not to pester 
 Miss Lindy, when she s setting up with company in the par 
 lour; but she wont hear to nothing of the kind. She sayt 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 197 
 
 she ll not entertain you more than a minnit; but she s got 
 news that you ll be glad to hear." 
 
 " Perhaps/ thought Linda, her cheeks flushing with ex 
 cited feelings, " perhaps she brings me tidings connected 
 with the robbery of my child. Perhaps it is the wife of a 
 eailor, who may have met the vessel in which Roland sailed, 
 and brings some message from him. Give me a shawl, Aunt 
 Judy," said she, aloud, " and I will follow you directly." 
 
 It was no uncommon occurrence for poor emigrants to come 
 up from the boats, when they were detained at the landing, 
 to claim the charities of the sweet mistress of Rosavilla, 
 whose name floated over the waves of the Mississippi, em 
 balmed with the blessings of the poor. There was nothing 
 peculiar in this circumstance but the especial intelligence to 
 be communicated to her, and, connecting this with the idea 
 of her secret enemy, she followed Judy, with her curiosity and 
 interest painfully excited. 
 
 As she came near Judy s cabin, which was quite aloof from 
 the others, having a larger garden and a wider space in front, 
 she saw the figure of a woman standing close to the fence, 
 under the branches of a cottonwood tree. As there was no 
 moon, there was a pine-torch blazing on a mud-capped tripod 
 not far from the cabin. By this light Linda perceived that 
 the woman looked bent and decrepid. She was wrapped in an 
 old, brown cloak, and a large, old-fashioned, straw bonnet tied 
 down under the chin, with a black silk handerchief pitched in 
 ludicrous manner over her face. 
 
 " Go into your cabin, Aunt Judy, while I speak to her," 
 said Linda, drawing still nearer the old women, "and see 
 what she wants. Poor old creature ! she must be tired stand 
 ing there so long. I will ask her to go in, and talk with 
 me, in your nice little bedroom." 
 
 " Don t let her keep you long," whispered Aunt Judy, as she 
 turned into her cabin. " I sorter suspicions her. Mebby she s 
 a rogue. The Lord have mercy if I pass a wrong judgment !" 
 
198 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 " IMy good woman," said Linda, with that graceful courtesy 
 which never forsook her, even when addressing the lowest and 
 poorest, " if you wish to speak with me, come into the cabin, 
 and sit down. You look too old and infirm to be standing 
 abroad." 
 
 " It is but a moment that I have to spare," answered the 
 woman, in a thick voice, somewhat difficult to understand; 
 "the boat will be off from shore directly, and I must not be 
 left behind." 
 
 "Then tell me quickly what you have to communicate," 
 said Linda, thinking the voice of the stranger indicated more 
 strength than her bending form. "What tidings do you 
 bring that I will rejoice to hear? Tell me quickly, and I will 
 reward you liberally." 
 
 " Your child was carried off a while ago, was it not ?" cried 
 the woman, coming a step or two nearer Linda, and inclining 
 her head toward her. " I am deaf in one ear, and you must 
 come close, for I dare not speak too loud." 
 
 " My child !" exclaimed Linda, pressing forward, forgetting 
 all personal repugnance, in the absorbing interest of the 
 subject, "yes. Do you know any thing of the ruffian? 
 Who is he ? Where is he ? Why does he wish to rob me of 
 my child ? Tell me what you know, and do not do not keep 
 me in suspense !" 
 
 " Can t she hear ?" cried the woman, pointing to the cabin. 
 " It is as much as my life is worth if she does." 
 
 " No, no ! but step farther off, if you fear." 
 
 " But aint there anybody skulking about the yard, or 
 behind the fences ?" 
 
 "No, no! again I say," cried Linda, impatiently; and 
 taking the old woman by the cloak, she pulled her farther 
 under the boughs of the cottonwood tree. At any other 
 moment, she would have shrunk from touching a figure so 
 repulsive, for there was something about it singularly dis 
 agreeable. She could not distinguish her features under her 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA 199 
 
 deep bonnet, shaded as it was by long, black, tangled locks, 
 hanging down each side of her face ; but every time she 
 spoke, the tones of her thick, husky voice made Linda recoil 
 with instinctive disgust. The thought, however, of being 
 able to discover her enemy, and securing her child against 
 future assaults, swallowed up every other consideration. 
 
 " My husband knows the man that stole your child. He s 
 a poor sailor, nothing but a cripple, that left the ship for the 
 steamboat, and has to scuffle hard to get along. He s just 
 round the corner of the fence waiting for me. He heard you 
 would give a reward to any one that would discover the 
 ruffian ; and he told me to come up with him, and get you out, 
 where he could tell you. He was afraid he might be taken 
 for the man himself, as he wears sailor s clothes." 
 
 All the time the old woman was talking, she had slowly 
 approached the corner of the fence, where, she said, her hus 
 band was waiting; and all the time Linda instinctively fol 
 lowed, forgetting herself in her child. 
 
 " Where is your husband ?" she asked, perceiving no man 
 near; and, for the first time, a vague suspicion that all was 
 not right entering her mind. The extreme caution of the old 
 woman, her drawing her away so far from the cabin, and 
 deferring her communication so long, all at once struck her as 
 mysterious. She felt sick from agitation, and looked back to 
 the blazing tripod, wondering that it appeared so distant. 
 
 " I will not go any farther !" she exclaimed, drawing back 
 step by step, afraid of manifesting her rising fears. If the 
 woman had any sinister design, she probably had some accom 
 plice ready to do her bidding. Besides, her husband might be 
 in the shadow of the fence, waiting to tell the secret, and 
 claim the reward. 
 
 " I can run swifter than this old woman," thought she, " if 
 she be an impostor; ana what harm can she be meditating 
 against me ?" 
 
 " He s tired of waiting, I see, and I must tell you myself/ 
 
200 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 cried the woman, coming up close to the retreating Linda, 
 untying, at the same time, the black silk handkerchief that 
 fastened her bonnet; " this chokes me; I can t talk." 
 
 Quick, as a flash of lightning, she darted behind Linda, 
 threw the handkerchief round her mouth, thickly folded as it 
 vas, so as to muffle her cries, and seizing her in a pair 
 of strong, masculine arms, started off in the direction of 
 the woods with a stride that bid age and decrepitude do- 
 fiance. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha !" chuckled the wretch. That sound 
 that well-remembered sound fell on Linda s fainting ear, 
 calling up the most horrible scene of her life. She tried to 
 tear off the muffling folds of the handkerchief, and send her 
 soul abroad in shrieks of agony, but her arms were pinioned 
 to her side by the straining arms of the ruffian. Panting, 
 suffocating, almost dying with terror, her head sunk back, and 
 her long, loosened hair swept against the rough bark of the 
 trees, as she was carried on with dizzying rapidity. She 
 struggled with the deadly faintness that wrapped her as in a 
 mist. Any thing but insensibility ! Welcome death, but not 
 insensibility ! But it came, happily for her; else her reason 
 might have fled, from the horror of her situation. 
 
 "She waxes heavy; her face is ccld," cried the pretended 
 woman, striding onward with demon speed ; " but I must not 
 stop I must not till I reach the old hut in the woods ! 
 no, no ! I will not be baffled a second time ! I will not ! 
 All I wanted of the child was to get the mother in my power; 
 and now I have got her without the child, which is a thousand 
 times better ! it is ! ha, ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 Thus exulting and chuckling, the villian hurried on, cutting 
 the woods by a path almost impervious, crossing marshes, 
 and breaking through tangled bushes, that rent the soft folds 
 of Linda s garments and left fragments behind, hanging from 
 the twigs. He had torn the bandage from her mouth, as soon 
 as he had discovered her insensibility, that the air might re* 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 201 
 
 vive her, for lie did not mean that death should cheat him of 
 his prey. 
 
 There was an old hut deep in the wood, remote from any 
 habitation, which was called the Haunted Hut, from the tradi 
 tion of a murder having been committed in it. The negroes 
 asserted that the headless trunk of a man was often seen near 
 midnight roaming the woods, in the direction of the old 
 haunted cabin. You could not tempt one of them, with all 
 the gold of California, to approach it alone after the twilight 
 hour. It was so old, so low, so sheltered by trees and over 
 grown with moss and creeping vines, that it was scarcely dis 
 tinguishable in the broad light of day from the forest growth 
 that surrounded it. This damp, dismal, almost inaccessable 
 place, had been discovered and prepared for the present occa 
 sion. There was a stream of turbid water to cross, bridged 
 by a narrow and slippery plank. The moment he reached 
 the opposite side of the plank, the disguised man turned and 
 dashed the plank into the water. When Linda opened her 
 eyes, recovering from her long and deadly swoon, she was 
 lying on a low bed, in a little dismal apartment, lighted by a 
 single glimmering lamp. At first, she could not distinguish 
 one object from another, neither could she recollect the horrible 
 circumstances which had brought her there. She put her 
 hands to her forehead and pushed back her dripping hair ; 
 she pressed them on her eyes, which seemed darkened with 
 mist. All at once, a blaze kindled on the hearth, or the place 
 where a hearth once was laid, and memory flushed up with a 
 simultaneous flame. She recollected every thing, even the 
 horrible ha ha ; and starting to her feet, and looking wildly 
 round her, her eyes were arrested by the dreaded form of her 
 enemy, now no longer disguised. There he stood, right before 
 her, in all the exultation of successful villany j the old, brown 
 cloak, the large straw-bonnet, the long, tangled black locks all 
 throvrn aside with the stooping back and decrepid appearance 
 of well-dissembled age. There were the stout, firm-set figure, 
 
202 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 the red, bristling hair, the small, gleaming black eye, the 
 white, uneven teeth, and remarkably-formed mouth of the 
 Scottish monster, McLeod. 
 
 " Ha, ha I" said he, chuckling and rubbing his hands 
 together, while his eyes glittered with ferocious joy. " I am 
 very glad to see you again I am. Hope I see you very well 
 I do. Wont you shake hands with an old friend? I m will 
 ing to forget and forgive. Never could bear malice against 
 any one I could nt, much less against you, pretty creature." 
 
 Linda gazed at him a moment with a steadfast gaze ; then 
 glanced at the shutters the wooden shutters all fastened 
 within with iron hooks; at the door, secured with a long 
 wooden bar, that slid into large iron rings; and she knew she 
 was in the power of an inexorable foe. How far she was 
 from home, she knew not ; where she was, she knew not. She 
 only knew that it was McLeod before her, who, she had heard 
 long ago, was returned to his native country, and whom sho 
 remembered only to forgive. 
 
 " Great God I" she exclaimed, sinking down again on the 
 side of the bed, for her limbs bent under her. " How long 
 have I been here ? and why am I brought ?" 
 
 " You ve been here but a few moments," answered McLeod, 
 still rubbing his exulting hands. " You must excuse me for 
 wetting your beautiful hair so, but I had to pour cold water 
 on you to bring you to I had. I did not mean to frighten 
 you so I did nt. I just brought you here for company, 
 my dear. I ve fitted up the place nicely, on purpose for you. 
 Don t you like it ?" 
 
 Had Linda perceived one outlet of escape, one ray of hope, 
 she would have been frantic till she had effected her release ; 
 but the utterness of her despair rendered her passive. She 
 sat with her white hands tightly clasped, her eyes fixed as if 
 converted into stone, her hair darkened by the water which 
 had drenched it, clinging in dishevelled masses to her neck and 
 shoulders, her shawl of fjarlet camel s huir ; torn by the 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 203 
 
 brambles, her whole appearance indicating the abandonment of 
 despair. 
 
 But while she sat thus, white, rigid, motionless as a statue, 
 her mind was at work with preternatural activity. All her past 
 eventful life rose up before her, the dangers she had incurred, 
 the perils she had escaped, the unexpected guardian that had 
 been raised up to defend her. If any human being had reason 
 to put their trust in God, it was she, for had he not in former 
 trials given his angels charge concerning her, and arrested the 
 billows that threatened to overwhelm her? She thought of 
 Roland on transatlantic shores, of Robert in Rosavilla s shades, 
 of Tuscarora sleeping, doubtless, on his bed of furs. Where 
 was the deliverer to arise from ? 
 
 " Oh, that thou wouldst rend the heavens and come down !" 
 was the prayer of her spirit, as she lifted upward her tearless 
 and agonized glance; "then the mountains of peril would flow 
 down at thy presence. Thine arm is not shortened, that it 
 cannot save. Thine ear is not heavy, that it cannot hear." 
 
 There was something so unearthly in her countenance, so 
 deadly in her aspect, that McLeod, hardened as he was, trem 
 bled as he gazed, fearing her soul might depart in the ecstasy 
 of her terror. 
 
 " You look pale," he cried, going to a table in a corner by 
 the chimney; and, taking up a black bottle, he poured out 
 some wine in a gourd, and brought it to her to drink. " This 
 will revive you, and keep you from taking cold. Taste; I 
 brought it for you I did." 
 
 Linda shook her head, with a repelling gesture. She would 
 have swallowed it, for she felt so faint, so cold, so gone; and it 
 might impart a transient warmth and life, but she feared it 
 might be adulterated with some Eastern drug. She had read 
 and heard of such things, and as nothing which she had ever 
 read or heard surpassed the horror of her present situation, 
 why should she think any deed too dark Tor the villain to 
 perpetrate ? 
 
204 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " Give me water," she cried faintly, " and leave me, if you 
 would not see me die." 
 
 As McLeod turned to dip the water from the bucket, which 
 stood on a shelf in an opposite corner of the room, his back 
 was toward her. She glanced wildly round to see if any wea 
 pon of defence was within her reach, when she saw something 
 gleam on the bed-cover, in the ruddy blaze of the chimney. 
 It reflected a cold, blue lustre, and she knew it was the flash 
 of steel. The knife must have fallen from the villain s lea 
 thern belt, while endeavouring to rouse her from her deadly 
 swoon. With the instinct of the hunted deer, that thinks 
 only of self-preservation when the track of blood is behind 
 it, she grasped the weapon in her left hand, and wrapped it 
 in the scarlet foldings of her shawl. It was instantaneously 
 done, done while McLeod was dipping the water from the 
 bucket; but FO fearful was she of detection, that when he ap 
 proached her, she fancied the serpent-gleam of his eye had a 
 more malicious twinkle, and her heart throbbed as though 
 every vein and artery were bursting. 
 
 " You look better now," cried he, for on one white cheek a 
 faint red was beginning to glow, relieving her death-like pal 
 lor ; " sit down in this chair, and make yourself at home. 
 There is no use in being frightened. You shall be treated like 
 a lady you shall. I hav nt got any negroes here to wait 
 upon you ; but I will wait upon you myself ha, ha !" 
 
 "Take me back to my home, then," she cried, sinking into 
 the chair which he brought to the fireside, still keeping her 
 shawl in gathered folds around her; " take me back, McLeod, 
 and I will not only forgive this outrage, but you shall receive 
 for my ransom uncounted gold." 
 
 " I ve been at too much trouble to give you up so readily," 
 said McLeod, seating himself near Aer, and running the fin 
 gers of his right hand through his fiery locks with ineffable 
 self-conceit. " You thought I was in Scotland all this time 
 did you? Well, I have been there. I thought you were 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 205 
 
 drowned, and I didn t feel very comfortable about it I didn t. 
 It seemed to me I should feel better farther off. By-and-by I 
 came back, and started for the Great West. I saw your beau 
 tiful mansion, looking down so grand on the river, and when 
 they told me whose it was, I fairly leaped for joy I did. I 
 did not like to think of you in the deep waters. I wanted to 
 see you again. I wanted to see if you were as pretty as ever 
 ha, ha! We strong-hearted men don t like to give up a plan; 
 so when I came back, I stopped and watched my opportunity. 
 No matter how I saw you and you looked ha, ha! a 
 thousand times prettier than you were before you did." 
 
 " Stop," cried Linda, burning indignation, consuming her 
 fears ; " I will not hear such odious language. Tell me what 
 you wanted of my child ? what benefit you expected to derive 
 from such a fiendish act ?" 
 
 "I thought I should get the mother in my power. I didn t 
 want the pretty brat I didn t. If your child were lost, would 
 not you follow some secret messenger who told you where 
 your darling was secreted ?" 
 
 " Thank heaven ! oh, thanks be to heaven," exclaimed 
 Linda, "that there at least you were frustrated! that Ro 
 land s child is spared, should he never again behold its un 
 happy mother !" 
 
 " Don t be so excited, my dear. There s no occasion in the 
 world for it, none in the world. Every thing has been done 
 in the quietest way possible. You never thought who the old 
 woman was did you ? I heard them talking on the boat, 
 how good you were to the poor emigrants, and so I turned into 
 one myself that s all. I carried you as carefully through tie 
 woods as if you were a little child, and I ll be as tender of yoa 
 all the days of my life, if you ll only trust me, and not look at 
 me as if I were such a hidous monster ha, ha !" 
 
 Linda imagined she really beheld a redeeming spark of ten 
 derness and feeling in the reddish-black eye burning so near 
 her, and she resolved to make one appeal to his better nature, 
 3] 
 
206 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 before she threw herself a helpless victim on the bosom of 
 Omnipotence. 
 
 " McLeod," said she, turning full upon his face her hea 
 venly and entreating eyes, "I trusted you once, when a per 
 secuted orphan, I committed myself to your guardian care. 
 You deceived me cruelly, wantonly deceived me. I had for 
 given you, almost forgotten your existence in the happiness 
 that has since been mine. You have a heart. You must 
 have one else why should you care when you thought me 
 plunged in the burying river ? Take me back to my home, 
 take me back to my child. By the mother that bore you, 
 restore me to my child. It shall learn to bless you with its 
 lisping tongue. I will bless you, Roland will bless you, in 
 stead of avenging his wrongs. Heaven will bless you, and till 
 with favours your relenting hand. I see you are touched. I 
 see you have a heart. Unbar those windows, open that prison- 
 door, and set me free." 
 
 She rose in the energy of speaking, and clasping her beauti 
 ful hands, the weapon she had so carefully guarded, and now 
 momentarily forgotten, dropped to the floor, and the fire-light 
 sparkled on the gleaming steel. 
 
 " What is that?" cried he, springing forward; then clap 
 ping his hand to his girdle, exclaimed, " ha, ha ! my knife. How 
 came you by it, you little blood-thirsty deceiver? I ve caught 
 you now I have." 
 
 Before he could seize the weapon, for he was stout and 
 clumsy in his motions, Linda had grasped it with her right 
 hand, and held it glittering above her head. 
 
 " Tis mine !" she cried, her eyes flashing with the electric 
 plendour of passion ; " tis mine ! Heaven threw it in my 
 way, and I will relinquish it only with life. Fear me for I 
 am armed. Fear me for you know not what insulted wo 
 manhood dares to do. I have pleaded to ears of stone to a 
 heart of iron. I will plead no longer I am strong I defy 
 your power." 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 207 
 
 As Linda thus stood with uplifted hand, grasping the glit 
 tering knife, her brow contracted by the intensity of her reso 
 lution, her eye dark with indignant fire, her hair wildly waving, 
 and her left hand gathering the crimson drapery over her bo 
 som, she might have been taken for a young, avenging Medea. 
 The Scotchman, with the cowardliness of guilt, quailed before 
 her, and dared not attempt to wrest the knife from her despe 
 rate grasp. He glanced at the door, as if he would like to 
 escape from the victim he had betrayed into his power, so 
 mean and dastardly is villany when it meets, face to face, a 
 pure, undaunted spirit. But even while he quailed, he more 
 intensely admired, and determined to guard her with double 
 vigilance. He had no desire that she should kill herself or 
 him, as in her present frantic state she might do, and there 
 fore thought it expedient to soothe and capitulate, satisfied 
 that he had her in his power, and that no one would dream of 
 searching for her in that haunted and accursed spot. 
 
 It may be thought strange that this man should thus, after 
 the lapse of years, renew a persecution so peculiar in its cha 
 racter, so dogged and persevering. But there are instances 
 where a whole life has been devoted to a scheme of passion or 
 vengeance, and even in death the smouldering fires would break 
 forth. The personal loathing and horror which Linda mani 
 fested when he first made his odious addresses, rankled in his 
 memory, and even when he believed her dead, driven to des 
 peration by his treachery, he remembered it with bitterness 
 and rancour. It was not because he had a heart capable of 
 remorse, that he had fled the country, but he feared the ven 
 geance of Robert and Roland, and he deemed " discretion the 
 better part of valour." The tale he had told Linda was true. 
 The sight of her magnificent residence excited his curiosity 
 Lurking in ambush in the deep shades that surrounded Rosa- 
 villa, he beheld her in the fair beauty of womanhood ; and the 
 love he had formerly cherished for he loved her as much as 
 such a selfish, sordid being can love awakened, mingled with 
 
208 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 the most vindictive and rancorous feelings. His capture of the 
 child was a sudden suggestion of Satan. There was nothing 
 premeditated in the act ; he was skulking to watch for a nobler 
 prey. But after being so unexpectedly foiled by the " tall 
 fiery boy/ as he still called Robert, he vowed he would move 
 heaven and earth in the accomplishment of his design. He 
 had laid his plans warily, resolving to keep Linda secreted in 
 the haunted hut, till, properly disguised, he could carry her 
 away in some obscure boat, to a wild spot in the boundless 
 West. 
 
 She was now in his power. The young girl who had scorned 
 and defied him on the bosom of the winding Alabama the 
 wedded wife enthroned in wealth and luxury on the shores of 
 the lordly Mississippi; in spite of the triple guardianship 
 which protected her in her husband s absence ; in spite of the 
 strong arms of Tuscarora stretched boastingly from his wig 
 wam cabin to the orange bowers of Rosavilla; in spite of 
 Aristides, that antiquated literary baby, enclosed within in 
 verted commas ; in spite of Robert, the lover-brother, the hypo 
 critical minister, the pretended missionary, the wolf in sheep s 
 clothing, " yes ! in spite of all these/ said the exulting vil 
 lain, "he had her in his power." 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 " I WONDER what detains Linda so long ?" said Nora, feeling 
 a little impatient for Robert to continue his reading. " I 
 would not like to be a housekeeper, to be called away so often 
 from the most interesting occupations." 
 
 Graceful and useful all she does, 
 Blessing and blest where er she goes, 
 Pure-bosomed as the watery glass, 
 And heaven reflected in her face/ 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 209 
 
 as Cowper charmingly delineates/ said Aristides. " Sucli is 
 our lovely hostess, c a perfect woman nobly planned/ as 
 Wordsworth comprehensively remarks." 
 
 " The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that 
 he shall have no need of spoil/ " as Solomon proverbially de 
 clares, said Nora, with one of her long-slumbering, magnetic 
 smiles. " What is that?" she cried, starting up and trembling, 
 for something heavy came rushing into the hall, uttering sounds 
 of lamentation and wo. 
 
 " Oh, Massa Robert, Massa Robert !" exclaimed Aunt Judy, 
 standing in the doorway and wringing her hands; "come 
 along, for the blessed Jesus sake, come along, and see what 
 a Lord a mercy be the matter. She s gone, sure as I be live to 
 tell it. Oh, lordy ! Poor old Judy ! Oh, mercy, what the 
 kingdom will become of us ?" 
 
 Robert dashed the book on the carpet, and sprang through 
 the door, heedless that he hurled poor Judy midway in the 
 
 " Where, tell me where ?" he cried, snatching Roland s rifle 
 from a rack formed of the branching antlers of the deer, and 
 rushing to the front of the verandah. "Come on/ he ex 
 claimed to the frightened, bewildered creature stumbling be 
 hind, almost paralyzed by terror. " Come on, and, in God Al 
 mighty s name, tell me what you mean !" 
 
 "Oh, Massa Robert !" 
 
 " Don t call me master," cried he, stamping his foot in the 
 frenzy of his excitement. " Where ? Which way ?" pointing 
 to the right and left. 
 
 " That way ; that way, massa. Only think ! an old woman !" 
 
 "A woman !" cried Robert. 
 
 "Yes, massa, nothing but an old woman." 
 
 Nora and Aristides, who had followed the lightning steps ot 
 Robert, now stood by him, with suspended breath and colour 
 less faces, listening to Aunt Judy s almost incoherent story. 
 She had " suspicioned," as she said, the old woman, and stolen 
 
210 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 out of her back door, and crept along inside of the fence, to 
 see if there was any gang in waiting. 
 
 " I seed the old woman, bent e enamost double as she was, 
 snatch her up like a born baby, and, lord a mercy, I seed a 
 cloven foot all afire, when he kick up and fly off, fly off, right 
 round that corner. 
 
 By this time the rifle of Aristides was in his hand, for he 
 was quite a Nimrod of the woods, and it was astonishing with 
 what a fleet step he followed Robert, who scarcely waited for 
 the explanation of Judy, mixed as it was with sobs and be 
 wailing ejaculations. 
 
 " Let some of the strongest black men come with lighted 
 torches," said Aristides, checking with considerate wisdom 
 the fiery impatience of Robert. " The woods are dark, and 
 we must not rush blindfold after the foe ; oh, puella infelix, 
 we will rescue thee, or die in the attempt; l furor arma minis- 
 trat, as Virgil" 
 
 " For the love of God, don t stop to quote Latin now," 
 interrupted Robert. " Here Scipio, Caesar, light your torches 
 at that blazing knot, and follow me follow to the rescue of 
 your mistress." 
 
 At that talismanic word for Linda was adored by her 
 slaves, and many of them, roused by Judy s outcry, were 
 gathered round the torches were lighted as by magic, and 
 waving above the sable brows of the bearers. 
 
 " Let me go," cried Nora, who was in the midst of the ex 
 cited group, her brain whirling, her heart palpitating with all 
 the wildness of terror; "I dare not stay I cannot be left 
 alone behind." 
 
 " Stay with Judy and guard the infant," exclaimed Robert; 
 and his voice was borne back to her by the night-breeze he 
 was breasting, with a rapidity which left Aristides and the 
 torch-bearers far behind. 
 
 " Guard him tenderly, virgo tenevunia," cried Aristides, 
 looking back compassionately on the damsel, while he panted 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 211 
 
 to keep up with Robert s fiery speed. " This haste is unpro 
 fitable, for we shall spend our strength for naught, Oh, juvenis 
 vehemens; thou art plunging on in darkness, leaving thy guide 
 behind thee." 
 
 Robert at length seemed to recover his senses, and, pausing 
 at the edge of the wood, wiped from his forehead the gather 
 ing moisture. 
 
 "We must separate," he cried, as soon as Aristides 
 had overtaken him, " and go in different directions. There 
 is a boat at the landing. Would they dare to carry her 
 there?" 
 
 "I think not," answered Aristides; "but I will go and 
 ascertain. The captain will assist in the search. And you 
 you must get Tuscarora to be your guide. He can find the 
 track quicker than the hunter s dog." 
 
 " But the delay I" exclaimed Robert. 
 
 " You will never find your way without him. I will haste 
 to the boat you to his cabin. Wait not. I will meet or fol 
 low you. Oh, nocte infelix. Deus noster refugiam." 
 
 11 Go; you are right," cried Robert; "he must be with us;" 
 and plunging in the wood, he cut a diagonal path to Tusca 
 rora s cabin. The quick and ever-watchful ear of the Indian 
 needed but one appeal, and that was a startling one. His tall 
 figure almost instantaneously appeared in the doorway. The 
 torch-light flashed upon him, gleaming upon the polished rifle- 
 barrel in his left hand and the glittering hatchet in his right. 
 " I am ready," he exclaimed. 
 
 In as few words as possible Robert told him Judy s story ; 
 while the negroes tossed away their half-burnt pine-knots, and 
 lighted new flambeaus, that made a glorious illumination. 
 Tuscarora s long strides soon brought him to a spot which 
 seemed familiar to him. He paused, and his keen, hawk-like 
 glance pierced the night shades beyond the torches blaze. 
 
 " This path hath been lately trodden," said he, turning at 
 once in a new direction : there was no path visible +o any eyes 
 
212 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 but his. "Ha! what is this?" pointing to some shreds of scar 
 let fringe, which hung from a bramble. 
 
 " Tis a fragment of her shawl/ cried Robert, shuddering at 
 the thought of the rude manner she must have been hurried 
 through that tangled path. " Thank God ! we are in the 
 ight track." 
 
 li Expectans expectavi" exclaimed a voice from behind, 
 and Aristides, who had been following the gleam of the flam 
 beaus, came panting and breathless in the rear; "I have 
 looked in vain for the missing lamb. In te dommi-speravi ; 
 1 In thee, Lord, do I hope. " 
 
 " Hush !" said Tuscarora, pointing to the scarlet shreds, 
 twined round the fingers of Robert. " Let the mouth bo 
 closed, and the eyes and ears open; the hand upon the rifle; 
 the heart upon the Great Spirit." 
 
 In silence they followed their commanding leader, who, 
 with the unwearied step and keen sagacity of his race, 
 threaded almost impervious labyrinths, as if a map were 
 before him guiding his course. Another fragment of scarlet 
 fringe and a shred of white lace were seen by the Indian s 
 ubiquitous glance, confirming them in the direction they had 
 taken. Tuscarora knew where the haunted hut was situated. 
 He had explored it in his forest rambles, for his lofty spirit 
 was above the influence of superstitious fear. He believed 
 the villain who sought concealment for crime, if he were awaro 
 of the existence of this spot, accursed by murder, would seek 
 it, secure from intrusion or detection. 
 
 They reached the bank of the dark, turbid, and now bridg- 
 less stream. Tuscarora paused, and, looking round, extended 
 his right hand, which still grasped the hatchet, to some old 
 planks that lay rotting on the bank; Aristides and Robert 
 instinctively took the torches from the negroes, while they 
 bridged the stream with the damp and slippery boards. As 
 soon as they had crossed 
 
 " Remain here," said Tuscarora, in a low voice to Robert; 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 213 
 
 " remain in perfect silence, while I go forward and explore. 
 Come when you liear me shout, but not before. The lion 
 hushes his roar, lest he be robbed of his prey." 
 
 It was difficult for Robert to restrain the burning impa 
 tience which urged him. to rush forward to the rescue. Now, 
 they had reached the place which seemed the goal to which 
 Tuscarora was bound, his hopes died, and cold, shivering 
 dread seized him. The scarlet fibres, twisted round his fin 
 gers, looked like streaks of blood, and seemed significant of 
 her fate. What monster, clad in woman s garb, had forced 
 her with such unheard-of audacity from the sanctities of home, 
 and for what fell, demoniac purpose? He thought not of 
 McLeod. He had forgotten him. The last time he had 
 heard of him was in the heath-clad hills of his native country. 
 
 " I will follow you/ said he to the commanding Indian, 
 " but I will be silent, and wait your signal." 
 
 "It is good," muttered Tuscarora, yielding to the dark 
 determination of Robert s resolute eye; "but learn the un- 
 echoing step of the red men." 
 
 Aristides, completely overcome by fatigue, sunk upon the 
 ground, breathing prayers half in Latin, and half in Eng 
 lish for the safety of Linda. The negroes, obeying the 
 lordly Indian, crouched behind a fallen tree, extinguishing at 
 his command their blazing flambeaus; while Tuscarora and 
 Robert went silently on to the haunted hut. One single 
 glcarn of light came struggling through a crack in one of the 
 wooden shutters a gleam of inhabitancy and hope. Tusca 
 rora, who was in advance, was the first to bend his piercing 
 eye to this slender thread of light; but slender as it was, it 
 gave a glimpse of the interior, which decided him at once 
 what course to pursue. Two or three rapid strides brought 
 him to the door, when, swinging his hatchet high in the air, 
 he brought it down with tremendous force against the old, 
 time-eaten boards. Another and another blow: he rained 
 them down till the iron rings gave way, the wooden bars 
 
214 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 loosened, and the door fell in ; with a crashing, thundering 
 sound, at McLeod s feet. 
 
 The very moment of the attack was that when Linda 
 clenched with desperate hand the recovered blade, while 
 McLeod cowered before the flashing lightning of her eye. 
 
 At the first stroke of the hatchet, the coward wretch sprang 
 forward, for the door was behind him, and uttered a yell of 
 horror. So sudden, so unexpected was the blow, it seemed as 
 if the fiends of hell were let loose to dog his steps. Mortal 
 man could not have tracked him at that midnight hour. He 
 had taken the pistols from his belt after barring the door, 
 believing all was safe, and they were now on a shelf near the 
 entrance. Snatching the knife from the now nerveless hand 
 of Linda, who stood immovable as a statue, even when the 
 door fell crashing near her feet, he prepared to defend himself 
 from the entering foe. 
 
 " Dog wolf ruffian !" exclaimed Tuscarora, dashing down 
 the rifle, which he saw would be useless in the strife before 
 him. "Dog wolf!" repeated he, rushing toward McLeod, 
 his dark face glowing like molten copper. 
 
 McLeod, in the desperation of his fear, writhed his way 
 toward the opening; but Tuscarora seized him by the arm 
 which grasped the knife, with a gripe which might have been 
 felt through sinews of steel. Even if he could have escaped 
 the strong, forest-born antagonist before him, Aristides, armed 
 with his rifle, flanked on both sides by the stout negro guide, 
 was ready to arrest his flight. Finding himself thus fearfully 
 beset, he fought with the wild fury of animal instinct. He 
 leaped up on the neck of Tuscarora like a huge mastiff, trying 
 to overthrow him. He might as well attempt to overthrow 
 the mountain cliff". Baffled in his purpose, he gnashed his 
 teeth, and planted them, sharp as a wolfs, in the left shoulder 
 of his adversary. 
 
 "Bloodhound!" exclaimed the Indian, writhing a moment 
 under the fangs of the villain; then, sweeping his body down- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 215 
 
 ward, he tore his quivering flesh from the monster s grasp, 
 and elevated his hatchet over his head. " Crocodile of the 
 Mississippi, beware ! You have whetted your teeth on the 
 lion s bones." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha !" shouted McLeod, " ha, ha, ha !" While 
 Tuscarora was releasing himself from the teeth of the 
 bloodhound, he had unconsciously relaxed his grasp of his 
 right arm ; and McLeod, stretching the liberated sinews, burst 
 into a shout of fiendish laughter, and plunged the knife into 
 the brave Indian s side. The resistance of the deer-skin robe 
 alone prevented it from reaching his heart. Scarcely had the 
 knife pierced the magnanimous Tuscarora, who had sought to 
 disarm the wretch, rather than to kill him, than, with one 
 stroke of his hatchet, he cleaved his skull, and laid him 
 mangled and lifeless at his feet. 
 
 " Spare me, great God ! spare me this I" gasped Linda, 
 hiding her ashy face in the bosom, of Robert. He had fol 
 lowed the entering steps of Tuscarora, and supported her in 
 his arms during this terrible scene. He would have carried 
 her out at once, but the grappling figures were in the doorway, 
 making their egress impossible. Now, making a stepping- 
 stone of the prostrate and bleeding body of McLeod, he leaped 
 over the threshold, nor stopped till he had reached the foot of 
 a blasted tree at some distance from the cabin. The naked 
 branches, twisted and scathed, bent in the direction of the 
 hut, and seemed to beckon him onward. 
 
 " Father of mercies ! I thank thee I bless thee !" he ex 
 claimed, sinking on one knee, still sustaining his almost life 
 less burden. " Terrible are thy judgments, but just and true 
 are all thy ways, thou King of saints !" 
 
 Linda, whose senses had not forsaken her, bent her knees at 
 his side, clasping her trembling hands, and lifting her eyes, 
 streaming with tears of gratitude, to heaven. She would have 
 welcomed death as a deliverer; then what must have been the 
 revulsion of her feelings, when she found herself rescued by 
 
216 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 him whom, next to Roland, she loved and honoured ! She 
 forgot, for the moment, that it was the valiant arm of Tusca- 
 rora which had opened the door of release which had laid the 
 oppressor low. She remembered only that Robert was near 
 her, guarding and sustaining her, restoring her again to her 
 husband and her child. 
 
 " Blessings blessings !" was all she could utter, as if she 
 were drawing them down from the starry skies, to rest upon 
 his head. 
 
 "Benedictus Dominus !" cried a well-known voice. " Bless 
 the Lord Lauda, ammo, mea. Praise the Lord, my 
 soul !" and Aristides knelt on the other side of the rescued 
 Linda, and, taking her hand in both his own, tears gushed 
 from his eyes. He had shown wonderful self-possession 
 throughout the hours of the night; but now, overcome by 
 gratitude and sensibility, he wept like a child. 
 
 " You, too, dear and faithful friend, you came to my relief," 
 said she, deeply touched by his emotion. " Heaven forever 
 bless you ! But where is the gallant Tuscarora ? Is he dead?" 
 she cried, starting up with sudden alarm. "And has he died 
 for me ? I remember it now the flashing knife the mur 
 derous blow. Oh, tell me not that he has fallen in the 
 bloody strife !" 
 
 Shuddering with horror, she turned toward the hut, when, 
 advancing close to the spot, she beheld Tuscarora himself; 
 and she could see, by the light glimmering from the cabin, 
 that his wampum belt was widened, and passed in double folds 
 over his heart. She could see, too, where the blood had 
 treamed over his deer-skin robe. 
 
 " Welcome, brave Tuscarora!" she said, a glow of gratitude 
 warming her chilled heart. " Thanks be to God, that your 
 life is spared ! I feared it was sacrificed for me." 
 
 " Had the sacrifice been needed, it should not have been 
 withheld," answered the Indian, leaning on his rifle, which he 
 now grasped in his left hand. "The God of Christians has 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 217 
 
 watched over us both, my sister. For a few moments the 
 heart of the strong was weak from the flowing blood, but my 
 learned brother/ looking at Aristides, " stanched it with the 
 hand of skill, and the wound bleeds no more." 
 
 " I fear you suffer still," said Linda. " It is not the first 
 time that noble hand has been dyed in blood for me. Oh !" 
 she added, in a tone of bitter anguish, " I seem born to give 
 sorrow and trouble to all who love me, to drag them to the 
 threshold of death." 
 
 (( Say not so, dear Linda," said Robert, on whose arm she 
 leaned, scarcely able to sustain her exhausted frame ; " we are 
 all willing to die in your defence, but it is your enemy who is 
 fallen your friends are spared." 
 
 "I am grateful," she answered, faintly; "but it is dreadful 
 to be the cause of bloodshed, strife, and death." 
 
 "I did not wish to slay," cried the Indian, solemnly; "the 
 Mighty Spirit, who sees my heart, knows it is innocent of the 
 blood of the white man. But it is time that we leave this 
 accursed spot. The damps of midnight will injure your 
 sister s health. We must prepare a way for her return." 
 
 "I will carry her," cried Robert : "as I alone am able, the 
 office devolves on me." 
 
 " My young brother forgets the wound from which he has 
 so lately suffered," said Tuscarora, leaning more heavily on his 
 rifle. " It is a weary path through the woods." 
 
 "I can walk," said Linda. "I am strong; and when 
 weary, I can sit down and rest." 
 
 But even as she spoke, her limbs bent under her, and she 
 would have fallen, had it not been for the supporting arm of 
 Robert. 
 
 " Let my learned brother go to the cabin, and bring thence 
 a chair, and a deer-skin, which lies upon the bed," said Tus 
 carora ; " we will make a carriage which Lapio and Caesar can 
 carry, while we walk before and bear the torches. It is good." 
 
 " Oh, yes !" cried Linda ; inexpressibly relieved ; for every 
 
218 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 moment added to her conviction that she had not strength *> 
 walk, and she could not think of suffering Hubert to carry her 
 such a weary distance. The strong arm of Tuscarora was 
 weak, or he would never thus have bowed his upright form, 
 and Aristides was already overcome with fatigue. 
 
 While Aristides went for the chair, and the negroes, embold 
 ened by his presence, rekindled the torches at the haunted 
 hearth, Robert insisted on conveying her in safety over the 
 stream. 
 
 " If Roland were here, I should not be such a burden to 
 others/ said Linda, dejectedly, as they crossed the dark ravine, 
 while the gurgling waters seemed to murmur, t( murder mur 
 der," in her excited ear; "but in his absence, to whom should 
 I turn but to thee, Robert, my brother and my friend ?" 
 
 " To whom, indeed, Linda !" repeated he, involuntarily 
 drawing her closer to him. " Repine not, that I am permitted 
 to act as his representative, since in so doing I am but re 
 deeming a pledge given to him before his departure. In joy 
 and safety you need me not, Linda. Refuse not, then, in the 
 hour of darkness and danger, my guardian arm, my protecting 
 care." 
 
 " Refuse, Robert ! do I not cling to you as my safeguard 
 and my strength ? But say not that it is only in danger s 
 hour I turn to you. There is no joy your friendship cannot 
 heighten, as there is no sorrow your sympathy could not 
 relieve." 
 
 Robert sighed. 
 
 " You are weary even now," she said, anxiously, " but in a 
 few steps you will touch the opposite bank. How the plank 
 trembles beneath us !" 
 
 She gave one backward glance to the haunted hut, and 
 Robert felt the vibration of terror that shook her frame. 
 
 " He will never harm thee more, Linda." 
 
 " I thought not of myself. But will he be left unburied 
 there?" 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 219 
 
 " Think not of him. Leave every thing connected with 
 this dark transaction to Tuscarora and myself. Nothing shall 
 be neglected which Christian duty requires." 
 
 " But will not he, the generous Tuscarora, suffer ? Will he 
 not be arraigned as a murderer, just and righteous as was the 
 deed ?" 
 
 " Fear not, Linda. With far less provocation, he would be 
 acquitted of the shadow of blame. No, believe me, the noble 
 Indian cannot, will not, suffer for an act justified by the laws 
 of self-preservation, as well as justice." 
 
 Comforted by this earnest assurance, Linda yielded herself 
 gratefully to her novel conveyance, the fur-covered chair; and 
 so gently and carefully was she carried along, that her weary 
 eyes closed in a light slumber before she arrived at the gates 
 of Kosavilla. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say that Robert s declaration was 
 verified with regard to the safety of Tuscarora ; but Linda 
 never knew how much he suffered from his wounded side ; or 
 how, when he reached his cabin, he fell prostrate across the 
 threshold from pain and exhaustion. The morning found 
 him up and girded for the events of the day ; " The son of 
 the wilderness scorns to complain." 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 "AND must you leave us so soon, my brother?" 
 Weeks had passed since the terrible scenes recorded in the 
 last chapter, when Linda uttered these words, rather as a 
 melancholy assertion, than as a question requiring an affirma 
 tion. "Must you indeed leave us? Ah, how closely joy 
 and sorrow are allied ! Yesterday, the tidings of Roland s 
 safe arrival, his triumphant success, and the prospect of his 
 
220 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 speedy return, filled me with unutterable joy. To-day, you 
 receive summons to depart. Roland will come back, and you 
 will not be here, that he may thank and bless you for being 
 our guardian and our protector. I knew that you could not 
 remain; that sacred duties must call you from us; but are we 
 ever prepared to give up the society of the friend we love ? 
 Oh, never !" 
 
 " I have been expecting the summons/ answered Robert, 
 "and I ought to rejoice: for the bread of heaven must be 
 earned, not alone by the toiling limb and the delving hand, 
 but in the heat and burden of the day of religious labour. I 
 have been idle too long. The sinews of my spirit are relaxed. 
 Better, far better, Linda, the girdle of sackcloth than the 
 folding of down for the pilgrim of life." 
 
 " You have not been idle, Robert. You have been diffusing 
 blessings on all. You have been indispensable to our happi 
 ness, our security, and our peace. I know I ought not to 
 repine; but I cannot be reconciled to your departure. My 
 hold on earthly treasures seems less and less secure. We 
 have had such a thrilling lesson of the uncertainty of life ! 
 It seems as if every golden link of love hangs loosely in the 
 chain, that once appeared of iron strength. A little while ago, 
 I thought death only could rob me of my boy; yet who could 
 thiuk of death, that looked on his bright and rosy infancy ? 
 And yet I tremble, even now. One moment he was sporting 
 in the sunbeams the next in a ruffian s hands ! And I, how 
 securely I sat, in this very room, in the bosom of home, little 
 dreaming that a demon was waiting at my own door to plunge 
 me into unimaginable horrors. That dreadful night ! the 
 lonely hut ! the exulting villain ! the cleaving weapon ! 
 the bleeding body ! God ! I never, never shall forget them !" 
 
 Pale and shuddering, she covered her face with her hands, 
 to shut out the horrible images that night after night haunted 
 her pillow, and whose daily recollection unsheathed her 
 nerves, and made them thrill with agony. 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 221 
 
 " You promised to forget all these, Linda/ said Robert, in 
 soothing accents, "or to remember the past only as an altar 
 of gratitude and praise. The more awful the danger, the 
 more sublime the deliverance." 
 
 " I know it, Robert; and, next to God, I owe my deliver 
 ance to you." 
 
 " Not to me. You forget the brave Indian who so nobly 
 avenged you. His unerring instinct guided us in the path to 
 your rescue. His arm of strength burst open your prison- 
 doors, and laid the villain low." 
 
 "I feel all that I owe him, Robert; but I saw no one but 
 you rushing to save me in my soul s extremity. It was you 
 who carried me from the scene of blood and strife. It was 
 you whose prayers were the wings of my fainting spirit, and 
 who stood to me in the place of the absent Roland. What I 
 owe to him the brave, the noble, the gallant Tuscarora I 
 never can repay. What I owe to you, Robert 7 
 
 " Speak not of gratitude to me, beloved sister ! it wounds 
 it oppresses me. You owe me nothing altogether nothing ! 
 Exalt not my services to your husband, I pray you. Let 
 them be forgotten in Tuscarora s superior claims; in Aristides 
 Longwood s equal, if not greater, exertions. If you knew, 
 Linda, how your gratitude humbled me !" 
 
 " Then I will hide it in my heart. But I owe you one 
 debt, which I must acknowledge. You have brought me 
 nearer the kingdom of heaven by your precepts and example. 
 Your holy conversation has fallen like the dew of Hermon on 
 every Christian grace, and revived their languishing bloom. 
 They had been melting in the unclouded sunshine of my 
 happy home. But your influence, our Julia s translation to 
 heaven for it did not seem like death, the awful perils 
 which I have escaped, have made me feel, as I have never 
 done before, my dependence on my Saviour and my God 
 Think of me when you are gone, Robert. Remember me in 
 every prayer you wing on high. The eastern gales will come, 
 32 
 
222 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 I know, fraught with the incense of devotion offered up for 
 me and mine. As for me, but you do not need niy weak and 
 trembling prayers, angel-strengthened as you are, clad in the 
 armour of the gospel, and armed with the sword of the Spirit 
 of God, what can I do or ask for you ?" 
 
 "Am I a hypocrite?" exclaimed Robert, with sudden vehe 
 mence, rising and walking to the window, while a dark cloud 
 swept over his countenance. " Have I ever lifted myself above 
 human frailties and passions, that you thus set me apart from 
 sympathy and prayer ? Have I enthroned myself on a mount 
 of holiness, high above the storms and temptations of the val 
 ley of life ? Where are the strengthening angels that surround 
 me ? Where is the flaming sword of the Spirit ? The armour 
 of the gospel of peace 1" 
 
 Linda gazed at llobert in distress and alarm. There was 
 something so strange, so unaccountable in the vehemence, the 
 wildncss of his manner, she feared his reason was forsaking 
 him. What could she have said to cause such violent, such 
 mysterious agitation ? He who was usually so gentle and self- 
 possessed, now seemed transformed to the impassioned, impetu 
 ous Robert of other days. 
 
 " Have I made you angry, dear brother ?" she asked, in a 
 tone of such deep distress, it brought him immediately to her 
 side. His face was very pale, but it was calm, unruffled as a 
 tablet of marble. 
 
 "No, Linda; forgive me, forgive my unpardonable vehe 
 mence. If you knew the horror I feel at the thought of hy 
 pocrisy ! Knowing so fully, deploring so deeply my own weak 
 ness, your too exalted praises fall like burning coals on my 
 naked soul. It writhes in agony of humiliation." 
 
 The language of llobert may seem exaggerated to some, it 
 certainly did to Linda, though she did not doubt its sincerity; 
 but she knew not the inner warfare that was wasting his heart s 
 blood on its secret battle-ground. 
 
 Destiny seemed to have placed him in a position requiring 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 223 
 
 the strength of an archangel, and he was but mortal. He had 
 thought himself strong after the night when, like Jacob, he 
 wrestled and prevailed, when he had resolved to sacrifice his 
 freedom as a safeguard from temptation s power. But the 
 thrilling circumstance in which they had been recently placed, 
 and which had brought them in more intimate communion; the 
 danger which she had incurred, and which had thrown her on 
 his immediate guardianship; her ardent gratitude and confiding 
 affection, her unlimited trust in his excellence and piety, her 
 guileless and endearing manners, her unsuspicious reliance on 
 his brotherly attachment were all as so many waves pressing 
 with resistless and accumulating force against the wall, the im 
 passable wall that separated him from her. He could feel it 
 vibrating, shaking, as he leaned against it for support, and 
 there were moments when, like Samson, his spirit was tempted 
 to bow itself blindingly, despairingly, bringing down the 
 mighty pillars of Christian faith, and crushing itself in the 
 ruins it made. 
 
 Yes ! He rejoiced that oceans would roll and mountains 
 rise between them ; rejoiced to think he was required to make 
 an immediate departure. He was summoned to attend the 
 general conference; then business demanded his presence at 
 Pine Grove, preparatory to his departure for India. He was 
 to resume his missionary labours, to which he was resolved to 
 devote his future life. For a little while he had contemplated 
 a different sphere of duty, but God had not willed it should 
 be so. The path was now as plain before him as the track of 
 the sun in the burning circle of the zodiac. 
 
 " You will take me back to my father s," said Nora, whose 
 softened heart yearned for her early home. 
 
 "And leave me desolate," said Linda, reproachfully. " Wait, 
 at least, till Roland comes. He will provide a way for your 
 return. Or wait a little longer, you know I have promised to 
 visit you in the spring." 
 
 "I cannot remain till then/ answered Nora ; bhishing; "but 
 
224 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 I will not leave you till Captain Lee arrives, since you think I 
 keep you from desolation. I should like to meet his sunny 
 smile once more. Do you know, Linda," with a flash of her 
 wonted levity, " I have some hopes of being his second wife !" 
 
 Linda smiled, but even Nora s kindling vivacity could not 
 remove the cloud of sadness caused by Robert s approaching 
 departure. She expressed her sorrow openly. He repressed 
 his, and she thought him almost cold. He was to go by morn 
 ing light, and when they parted at night, she said, attempting 
 to smile, " You shall not cheat me, as Roland did. I shall rise 
 before to-morrow s sun, to bid you farewell." 
 
 "Why should we wish to say so sad a word, Linda?" 
 
 " Though sad in the utterance, it is precious in remem 
 brance." 
 
 " Is it even so ? Then let it be to-night. I shall not wait 
 for the dawning. Farewell, Linda; dear, beloved sister, fare 
 well ! Believe the blessings I would, but cannot utter." 
 
 He clasped her one moment in a hurried embrace, and turned 
 hastily to the door. 
 
 "Oh, Robert!" cried the weeping Linda; "is this indeed a 
 last farewell? Shall we not meet again, my brother? Even 
 in this world, shall we not meet again ?" 
 
 "Yes, we shall meet again, Linda," said he, drawing his 
 hand from hers, and raising it to heaven. " Let me go, my 
 Bister ; tis but a little while." 
 
 He left her ; he closed the door that he might shut out the 
 sobs of her unrepressed sorrow. He hurried through the hall 
 with a quick, agitated tread, fearful lest she might call him 
 back, and upbraid him for the brevity and coldness of his last 
 farewell. Just as he was entering his chamber, he glanced 
 toward the door in which he had for the last time beheld the 
 living Julia, looking back upon him, as it were, from the thres 
 hold of the tomb, with a diadem of light encircling her, em 
 blematical of the crown of glory now doubtless enwreathing 
 ner brows. She seemed to stand there still, smiling with im- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 225 
 
 mortal love, for all the rays of the silver lamp-light gathered 
 in a focus round the image pictured there. 
 
 "Oh, my God, I thank thee!" he exclaimed, sinking on his 
 knees, in the solitude of his chamber: " thine is the victory, 
 and thine be the glory. It is over the conflict, the agony 
 and thou hast not forsaken me. Henceforth I consecrate my 
 self anew, body and soul, to thy service. The smoke of the 
 sacrifice is passing away, and the flame rises pure and bright 
 toward heaven. " 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 WE now return to Roland Lee, who, having rescued, by the 
 most persevering efforts, his benefactor from bankruptcy and 
 ruin, has embarked in the noble ship Eagle, one of the most 
 magnificent vessels that ever crossed the Atlantic. 
 
 Roland s heart glowed with the consciousness of successful 
 exertion. He was repaid for the sacrifice he had made, in 
 a measure, to cancel a debt of gratitude, and now, as he tra 
 versed the deck, knowing that every wave over which he 
 floated was bearing him homeward, and lessening the distance 
 that separated him from his wife and child, he felt as a true 
 son of ocean feels when given up to its boundlessness and 
 grandeur. 
 
 Never did a vessel leave port under more auspicious omens. 
 Propitious winds swelled the sails, and the resplendent sun 
 shine seemed reflected from billows of glass. When Roland 
 left New Orleans, he had chosen a ship in preference to a 
 steamer, that he might know something of a sailor s life. 
 When he was a boy, he had imagined that if he served a good 
 apprenticeship on boats, he would rise step by step, till he be 
 came master of a man-of-war thinking a ship was only a 
 larger, mightier boat ; built for the ocean s breadth and depth 
 
226 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 "Give me again the bird of the sun!" he cried, when pre 
 paring for his homeward voyage. " I love to see it spreading 
 its white wings on the dark green waters. I love to hear the 
 winds rushing among the shrouds, better than the howling 
 pipe or the plunging engine. The Belle-Creole glides over the 
 river with the grace of a goddess. The Eagle sweeps over the 
 deep with the grandeur of a god." 
 
 It might be supposed that Roland would have chosen the 
 speediest manner of crossing the ocean, in his impatience to 
 be reunited to Linda. But every one knows the strong influ 
 ence of early passions. His first passion was to go out into 
 the "sea in a great ship." Filial affection had bound him to 
 the home of a widowed mother, and a love still more powerful 
 added to this, restrained his youthful desire. There was some 
 thing in the mere aspect of a ship that inspired him, that sent 
 the blood tingling through his veins: the lofty masts, the 
 spreading sails, the myriad ropes ladders for the gallant 
 spirit had a fascination for his eye ; and the very thought of 
 throwing himself on the wings of the wind, over the unfathom 
 able deep, was sublime and glorious. Roland was born for a 
 sailor, and though circumstances had prevented him from wed 
 ding the ocean, he felt, when placed as he now was, far out 
 of sight of land committed to the power of two mighty ele 
 ments, that the sea was "his home, the bark was his bride." 
 It was not that he loved Linda less oh, no ! The love of the 
 sailor is the most chivalrous, exalted passion in the world. 
 Woman is the polar star, shining on the deep of his soul, 
 to which he turns with unwavering devotion. She is the 
 load-stone attracting the steel of his spirit to the sanctities of 
 home. 
 
 Among the passengers there was a young German woman, 
 who frequently came on deck with a child in her arms, about 
 the age of the little Walton. She seemed alone, without pro 
 tection or friend no companion but this little child. She 
 would sit for hours gazing on the waters, her face turned to 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 227 
 
 the West, with a wistful, yearning expression, that awakened 
 the sympathy of Roland. Her appearance was humble, but 
 an air of modesty and refinement gave grace to her homely 
 apparel. Though the child bore no personal resemblance to 
 Walton, it was about the same age ; it was fair and innocent, 
 and unprotected save by a mother s love; and Roland never 
 passed it without a yearning of the heart, and a tender remem 
 brance of his own beautiful boy. He pitied the lonely young 
 mother, and frequently relieved her of her maternal care, by 
 taking the infant in his arms, and making it his companion as 
 he walked, the deck, and he held him up to catch the shrouds 
 with his eager, dimpled hands. The child, whose name was 
 Willie, grew so fond of him, that it would spring at the sound 
 of his voice, and smile at the glance of his eye j and the hum 
 ble, grateful mother felt in her loneliness that she had a pro 
 tector near. She told him her history in a few words. Her 
 husband left her about a year before, to seek his fortune in 
 America. He was to send or return for her, as soon as he 
 provided a means for their support. In the mean time her 
 mother died, and she was left alone. With just money enough 
 to pay her passage, she had started to join her husband in the 
 New World, without knowing any thing of his locality not 
 knowing even if he lived. She asked Roland with great sim 
 plicity if he knew a German of the name of Stillings, in New 
 York. 
 
 Though Roland knew nothing of her husband, he comforted 
 her with the hope of finding him, and resolved to befriend her 
 and her infant favourite, should they be left to desolation and 
 want. 
 
 Every day, as it brought him nearer and nearer his native 
 shores, increased his impatience to see his wife and child. Oh ! 
 that he had indeed the wings of an eagle, that he could rise 
 on untiring pinions, and overcome with one broad sweep the 
 apparently boundless waves ! The winds were fair, but the 
 gales were too slow for his restless wishes. Gladly now would 
 
228 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 he have exchanged the wings of the wind for the burning 
 breath of steam. 
 
 How near did home seem when the American shores heaved 
 in sight ! With what thrilling emotions he caught the first 
 glimpse of the Canadian coast ! During the day a light wind 
 had been floating, which changed near sunset to a strong south 
 erly gale. Dark, steel-coloured clouds scudded on the verge 
 of the western horizon, but the sun shone out at its setting 
 with a burst of splendour, that changed every leaden cloud into 
 a mountain of burning gold. The sea was one bed of foam, 
 whose white, feathery surface grew ruddy in the sunset blaze ; 
 and the mist rising from the foam of the waves looked like golden 
 gauze hanging over the bosom of the deep. Sunbeams sparkling 
 on this dust of the ocean, converted it into the most magnifi 
 cent drapery imagination can conceive. The ship seemed 
 drifting on through an atmosphere of glory, with a speed that 
 equalled lloland s ardent wishes. Exalted by the wondrous 
 splendour and grandeur of the scene, he stood upon deck, 
 baring his forehead to the mighty ocean gale. All that he 
 had ever conceived of the sublimity of the sea was now real 
 ized. But it was only a flash of glory that vanished with the 
 setting sun. The golden mountains were again transformed 
 to a dark undulation of clouds, and the sparkling gossamer to 
 a dull, grayish mist. The gale grew stronger and stronger, 
 fewelling at length into such stormy gusts, that the sailors were 
 ordered to reef the sails, and the sound of the silver pipe, call 
 ing the hands together, was heard more than once. 
 
 They were not far from the southern coast of Newfound 
 land, and the wind, which had suddenly changed to an east 
 erly blast, came roaring behind them with tremendous force. 
 If, a few hours before, Holand had realized all he had ever 
 conceived of the magnificence of ocean, he now experienced 
 its terror and its might. 
 
 He did not apprehend any danger, for it was something of 
 which he never thought of; but he knew the captain was pre- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 229 
 
 paring for a stormy night, for his trumpet voice was heard 
 high above the roaring waves, in tones of unusual authority 
 and decision. He knew that near the point they were ap 
 proaching many a noble vessel had been wrecked, and that it 
 was a fearful thing when man had to battle with the elements 
 ,vrath. 
 
 " This is rough business, Joe," he heard one sailor call out 
 to another, on the hatchway. "What do you think of it?" 
 
 " Just what might be expected. We started on a Friday. 
 Bad luck to the ship that does it !" 
 
 Roland could not forbear smiling at the superstition ex 
 pressed in these words, though the wild rocking of the ship, 
 the howling of the wind through the shrouds, and the scowl 
 ing aspect of the heavens convinced him that it was not a 
 time for careless insecurity. He folded his arms involunta 
 rily over his breast, as if to shield the beauteous image en 
 shrined there from the fury of the coming tempest. Lifting 
 to heaven his darkened eyes, he breathed a silent prayer to 
 the God of the mariner to gather the winds in the hollow of 
 his hand, and spare the home-bound bark. Steadying him 
 self against the mainmast, he watched the travail of the deep, 
 that seethed and boiled like a mighty cauldron, while the 
 vessel strained its giant sides, and tossed upon the billows in 
 throes that threatened to rend every cord and rope asunder. 
 
 The moon, now verging toward the full, suddenly burst 
 forth above the black cloud-rocks, making them appear of 
 tenfold blackness, and revealing in all their horrors the yawn 
 ing abyss of the ocean. All at once the vessel, that went 
 plunging from billow to billow, like a frantic war-steed amid 
 the war and strife of battle, was thrown with a tremendous 
 concussion into the trough of the sea, making a terrific rift, 
 starting the sternpost, and tearing away the rudder. 
 
 From this moment indescribable confusion and horror 
 reigned. The cry " a rift, a rift ! a leak, a leak I" was an 
 swered by the hurrying and rushing of feet, the working of 
 
230 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 the pumps, the firing of the minute-gun, the hoarse oaths of 
 the men, and the shrieks of women and children, crowding 
 the hatchway and clinging to the spars. But all these fright 
 ful and discordant sounds were almost drowned in the mul 
 titudinous voice of the angry breakers, dashing against the 
 groaning vessel, and throwing over it a cloud of drenching, 
 blinding spray. Faster than the pumps laboured, poured into 
 the leak the rushing sea. The gallant vessel must sink, and 
 they who would not go down with her must seek safety in the 
 lowering boats. 
 
 The poor German woman, clasping her child franticly to 
 her bosom, threw herself wildly at Roland s feet, praying him, 
 for God s sake, to save them. Even in that moment of agony, 
 when every mountain wave that dashed against them threat 
 ened to overwhelm and destroy, when Roland beheld a watery 
 grave before him, instead of the home of love and joy to 
 which his longing spirit turned, he was not insensible to the 
 claims of compassion. He raised the weeping mother, and 
 taking little Willie from her trembling arms, promised to pro 
 tect them while life lasted. 
 
 " Save yourself" cried the captain, to Roland : " the long 
 boat is gone. The yawl is lowering. Save yourself, for, by 
 the eternal God ! I believe this is your last chance." 
 
 "And you, sir," said Roland, struck with the stern, re 
 solved, and heroic expression of his countenance, and invo 
 luntarily grasping his hand with a pressure of steel. 
 
 " I stay by my ship to the last I" he exclaimed ; " but save 
 yourself. The next breaker will sweep over the deck, as sure 
 as eternity is ready to engulf you." 
 
 Roland was about to say " I will not leave you I will 
 share your fate, whatever it be;" but the thought of Linda, of 
 his child, stifled the declaration. He seemed to see her on the 
 thundering breakers, stretching out her imploring arms, and 
 entreating him to save himself, for the love of God and her. 
 
 k< Linda, Linda/ he exclaimed; as if answering her wild, 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 231 
 
 heart-rending appeal, "wait one moment, oh, my beloved, 
 next to these, these helpless ones, I come." 
 
 Seizing the rope, which the captain had thrown him, he 
 wound it round the waist of the almost fainting woman, and 
 let her down into the boat just as it had heaved up on a giant 
 billow, then tossing the child into the arms of a sailor, he was 
 about to leap from the deck ; but seeing the boat was already 
 full, incapable of containing another, without endangering 
 those who had crowded into it for safety, he stopped, and the 
 rocking ship sent him reeling against the mast. 
 
 " Down with the pinnace/ 7 shouted the captain, in a voice 
 of thunder: "one more chance of salvation. Great God ! tis 
 too late. No. Quick ! in with you before those craven 
 wretches. Back," he cried, waving his hand commandingly 
 to the sailors, who were rushing over each other to reach the 
 boat, " back, till lie is safe, or I ll scatter your brains to the 
 four winds of heaven." 
 
 Roland laid his hand on his, with a restraining gesture. 
 
 " Let them go, their lives are as dear to them as mine to 
 me. Almighty Father ! they have gone down." 
 
 As he spoke, the pinnace was sucked in by a roaring vor 
 tex, and the bubbling cries of the drowning mingled with the 
 horrid din of the breakers, and the wailings and shrieks of the 
 tempestuous gust. Roland was a noble swimmer, and he 
 would have plunged into the ocean at once; but man could no 
 more have breasted those mountain waves than have called 
 them into existence. Wrathful whirlpools were boiling and 
 foaming as if subterranean fire were bursting beneath. 
 
 The black-rifted clouds which had a few moments before 
 opened, that the moon might look down in pity on the awful 
 scene, now suddenly closed; but its silver rays, ere they were 
 curtained by darkness, played on Roland s pale, uplifted brow. 
 They seemed to linger momentarily round that gallant form, 
 as if loath to yield it to the whelming billows. 
 
 " Here, here," cried the captain, suddenly emerging from 
 
232 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 the hatchway, where he had disappeared a moment before and 
 his voice sounded hoarse and strange in the roaring tempest ; 
 " take this rope, and lash yourself to that broken spar. Here 
 is another for me. Dead, if not alive, we ll be drifted ashore. 
 God help you ! There, make it fast." 
 
 r. At the time he was speaking, he was lashing himself to a 
 roken spar, and Roland instantaneously followed his example. 
 It was the last, the only chance of safety. He thanked the 
 brave captain, and committed himself to Him who maketh the 
 waves his chariot, and rideth on the wings of the wind. 
 
 " Oh, Linda," he cried, from the innermost depths of his 
 soul, stretching out his arms as if to clasp her in a last em 
 brace; " oh, my beloved, thou comest between me and my 
 God. My thoughts should only be of heaven my hopes 
 clinging to a Saviour s cross; but thou thou, too dearly 
 loved" 
 
 A crash, loud and terrific, as if the heavens were rent asun 
 der, a shock like the earthquake s throes ! The noble ship 
 is dashed against a rock, and the sea rolling in thundering 
 billows over its mangled corse. Nothing is heard but the 
 howling of the tempest the roaring of the breakers the 
 thunders of the surge; nothing seen but a blackened sky, a 
 dark, wild, terrific waste of waters, and a dim glimpse of the 
 wrecked and shattered Eagle. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "WE will not attempt to describe the unutterable grief, the 
 agony of Linda, when the papers brought the tidings which 
 made her heart a grave her home a wilderness. Yet she 
 clung wildly to the hope of Roland s escape. Though his 
 name was on the list of the lost, she would not, could not be- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 233 
 
 lieve that he had perished. He lived, he still lived for her. 
 He had been drifted to some unknown coast some ocean 
 isle. Heaven would restore him to her arms the husband 
 of her youth, the father of her child the young, the noble, 
 the gallant Roland. 
 
 Her mind, jarred by the suddenness of the shock, conceived 
 he wildest designs. She would go herself to the terrible 
 catastrophe, and search among the wave-washed ruins for the 
 body of her husband. Never, never would she be convinced 
 of the mournful fact till she had seen on his manly brow the 
 signet seal of death. 
 
 " I will go, Oh, uxor infelicissima; Oh, most unhappy wife," 
 said the grieved and sympathizing Aristides. "The Lord, 
 who turned the waters of the Red Sea into walls of glass, so 
 that the children of Israel could walk over on dry land, has 
 still command over the angry billows; he will have compas 
 sion on thee, filia dolorosa Oh, daughter most mournful ; 
 1 for like as a father pitieth his children, even so the Lord 
 pitieth those who fear him/ as the Psalmist piously ex 
 claims." 
 
 " Yes ! our learned brother shall go, while I stay to guard 
 the dove, whose plumage is shattered by the storm," said 
 Tuscarora, pierced to the soul by the sight of her inconsolable 
 anguish. 
 
 "And I will stay to weep with her, for I know not how to 
 comfort," cried Nora, encircling with her arms the weeping 
 Linda, and pressing her pallid cheek with the tenderest, gen 
 tlest sympathy. Nora was a comforter. The treasures of her 
 heart were unlocked by sorrow and love, and it was astonish 
 ing what riches were discovered there. The enchanted 
 cavern of the genii scarcely contained more inexhaustible 
 gems. 
 
 The following letter from Robert to Linda, written some 
 time after, gives all the particulars he had himself gathered of 
 the fate of Roland. It will be seen that he had anticipated 
 
234 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 the mission of Aristides, and that Linda was spared hereafter 
 the agony of suspense : 
 
 MY BELOVED SISTER: 
 
 " If you were not a Christian, I should not dare to address 
 you at a moment like this. Earth has no consolation for a 
 sorrow like yours. Heaven alone can comfort, God alone 
 sustain. I have just returned from the saddest pilgrimage 
 man ever accomplished. Oh, Linda, you have not, you can 
 not have cherished hope; yet it was that which led me to the 
 place where God manifested himself in such majesty and power. 
 Better is the certainty of evil than the tortures of suspense. We 
 dare not wrestle with the angel of Providence. I see you 
 kneeling in agony, but submission, yielding your bleeding 
 heart to the smiting hand. I see you drowned in tears; but 
 your eyes are lifted to heaven. It is the Lord, let him do 
 what secmeth good in his sight/ comes struggling up from 
 the depth of your stricken spirit. ( He hath given he hath 
 taken/ and he will again restore. 
 
 "But cold sounds even the language of inspiration, when it 
 falls from human lips. Could I see you but I could not 
 look upon your grief. I had not dared, Linda, to have 
 intruded on the sacredness of your sorrow, even with one 
 word of sympathy, knowing it must be unavailing; but I 
 told you I had been on a mournful pilgrimage. You are 
 prepared for the result, a confirmation of your unutterable 
 loss. But there is comfort even in our darkest woes. The 
 relenting billows gave back the noble form, wrapped for a 
 while in their cold embrace. It was cast upon the rocky and 
 barren coast, and the rugged fishermen wept when they beheld 
 so fair a ruin. They made a grave for the stranger on the 
 wave-washed shore; but he sleeps not there, beloved sister. 
 I brought with me the sacred relics, and have committed them 
 to the care of tne faithful Aristides, whom I met on my 
 return. Perhaps they have already arrived, and are embalmed 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 235 
 
 even now by the holy tears and sighs of wedded sorrow. Oh, 
 who would not be willing to die to be thus lamented, thus con 
 secrated by memory, thus immortalized by love ! 
 
 " Could the life of him you loved been redeemed by mine, 
 how gladly would I have sacrificed it, to save you the anguish 
 you now endure. I, the lonely and unconnected who would 
 mourn for me ? No severed affections would bleed over my 
 ashes. No blossoms of love be blasted by my doom. Would 
 to God, Linda, I had died for Roland! Would to God I had 
 died for thee ! 
 
 " There is one circumstance I must relate, for it belongs to 
 the memory of Roland, and consecrates it with the honours of 
 a martyr s doom. 
 
 " There is a poor German woman whom I took under my pro 
 tection, who, with her infant, a child of twelve months, was 
 saved from the wreck by him a few moments before the de 
 struction of the vessel. He might have saved himself; the 
 captain was urging him with generous zeal to leap into the 
 boat, the only boat which reached the shore, but he refused till 
 they, that poor woman and helpless babe, were rescued. He 
 let her down with his own hands herself and her child. His 
 last act was one of self-sacrificing, heroic benevolence. In imi 
 tation of his divine Master, he died that others might live. 
 Oh, my sister, is it not glorious thus to die ? 
 
 "The woman and child, who have become precious by the 
 costly price paid for their preservation, are now in New York, 
 where she has gone in search of her husband. I gave her 
 your direction, that if in want or sorrow, she might apply to 
 you. I also enclosed hers to you, unknown to herself. Have 
 I not anticipated your heart s wishes ? One thing more, Linda, 
 and I have done. I approach the subject with a trembling 
 hand; a miniature of yourself was found on the lifeless bosom, 
 devoted in life, faithful in death to you. The fisherman who 
 found it gave it to my keeping, and I thus identified the 
 body of my friend. I have dared to keep it as a memento of 
 
236 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 both. If you demand it, as something too hallowed, by the 
 awful circumstances in which it was discovered, to belong to 
 any but yourself, it shall be immediately restored, as it is now 
 religiously guarded. But if you are silent, I will carry it 
 with me to my missionary home, as a memorial of your friend 
 ship and sisterly love. Pure as the incense of my morning 
 and evening sacrifice shall be the memories clustering round 
 this precious image. No thought which angels might not 
 sanction shall agitate the heart that now throbs beneath it. It 
 shall be a talisman from temptation, a pledge, that though 
 dedicated to heaven, there is one link, pure and holy, that still 
 binds me to earth. 
 
 "And now, Linda, beloved sister of my heart, farewell! 
 Forgive the tear that blots that sad, sad word. When time 
 shall have softened the bitterness of your grief, and you can 
 spare one thought from the grave of Roland, remember him 
 whose prayers will daily rise to God for you, beyond the Indian 
 seas. I will write again, if my solitary life is prolonged. But 
 if this is the last token you ever receive from your brother and 
 your friend, if I am doomed to sleep in the unfathomable caves 
 of ocean, or to make my last bed in the tropic groves of Hin- 
 dostan, mourn me not, for sweet will be the rest found beneath 
 the winding waters or the burying sod. To time, the great 
 consoler religion, the Divine comforter to a guardian God, a 
 pitying Saviour, a holy, healing Spirit, I commit thee, in the 
 heavenly hope of a blessed reunion. ROBERT." 
 
 "We will now draw a veil over the shades of Rosavilla, leav 
 ing its mourning mistress to "Time, the great consoler/ to 
 " Religion, the divine comforter." Emily Carlton hastened to 
 her friend as soon as she heard the sad history of Roland s 
 death; and Nora, who had been a ministering spirit in Linda s 
 darkened home, returned to her father s house. Not very long 
 was she permitted to remain there, for Henry, true to his 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 237 
 
 plighted vows, came back, in the springtime of the North, to 
 claim his blooming Southern bride. 
 
 If Henry had been captivated by Nora, in all her wild levity 
 and unchastened spirits, how much more charming did he find 
 her now, since the discipline of life had subdued the exuberance 
 of animal gayety, and love had not only softened, but exalted 
 her character ? He feared at first she had lost a little too 
 much of her original sparkling brightness ; but when he saw 
 her, the cynosure of his Northern home, in the midst of new 
 and exciting scenes, glowing with happiness herself, and diffus 
 ing it around her her spirits never effervescing too boister 
 ously, or sinking too despondingly, occasionally flashing with 
 the brilliancy of mirth, and always shining with the serene 
 lustre of cheerfulness, he felt that she retained all the warmth 
 and vitality and individuality he had so much admired, with 
 the added graces of gentleness, sweetness, and womanly de 
 pendence. As she told Henry, the downy wings of Julia s 
 heavenly spirit had first winnowed hers, and the golden grain 
 began to gleam from the chaff that had enveloped it. 
 
 When Henry told his parents and sister that he should give 
 them a daughter and sister in the stead of the departed Julia, 
 they turned coldly from the communication, feeling as if it 
 were sacrilege for the wild Southern girl to think of filling the 
 place of the angel they had lost ; but she found herself at home 
 in their hearts before she knew she was there, and cherished 
 with parental tenderness and love. 
 
 Henry had promised that her second winter should be passed 
 at the South, but she was so enchanted with her first wintry 
 season at the North, it seemed doubtful if she would remin 
 him of his pledge. 
 
 li Beautiful," she would say, "is my own summer home, 
 and beautiful beyond description are the evergreen bowers of 
 Rosavilla; but give me the exhilarating climate, the drifting 
 snows and glittering ice of the North. I feel surrounded by 
 elements that I love, for, strange as it may seem, the colder 
 33 
 
238 ROBERT GRAHAM I 
 
 the atmosphere the warmer my heart, and the lighter my 
 
 spirits. 
 
 " winter ! ruler of th inverted year, 
 I crown thee king of intimate delights, 
 Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
 
 as Cowper pertinently observes. Oh, matchless Aristides ! 
 when shall I listen to thy like again ? Magnificent Tuscarora ! 
 lovely, incomparable Linda !" 
 
 "And noble, glorious Robert ! would to heaven he would re 
 turn," exclaimed Henry, "and induce her to exchange the 
 weeds of widowhood for the bridal robes !" 
 
 " Oh, Henry, she never will forget Roland never love an 
 other. Men may love twice," she said, with a glowing check, 
 remembering she was the object of a second love, "but woman 
 never." 
 
 " Robert loved Linda before her marriage," answered Henry, 
 smiling at her emphatic never, " and she must have mourned 
 over his early disappointment. Had Roland lived, she would 
 have been true to her early love; but were Robert now with her, 
 and did his youthful passion revive for her, she could not be 
 insensible to his surpassing excellence. Strong as was her at 
 tachment to the young and gallant Roland, she may not yet 
 know the depths of her unsounded heart. Robert is a man 
 formed to inspire the most unbounded, most exalted love, and 
 once loved, he must be loved forever." 
 
 " I do not think he has ever ceased to love Linda," said 
 Nora, thoughtfully. "He might worship Julia as an angel; 
 but his heart never swerved from its first allegiance. I saw bis 
 smuggles, but Linda never imagined them. She looked upon 
 him as a saint, superior to human weakness and temptation." 
 
 " I believe you are right, Nora. Julia was sealed from her 
 birth as the bride of heaven not intended for the ties of 
 earth. Even my brotherly affection partook of worship. 
 Had I been a Catholic, I should have adored her as an inter 
 ceding divinity. But Linda, believe me, Nora ; were Robert 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 239 
 
 wafted back from India s distant clime, Linda would love 
 again. I wish I dared to write, and tell him so." 
 
 "No, Henry; Robert would shrink from the prophecy, as 
 desecrating the sacredness of Roland s memory. "Whatever 
 he might feel himself, he could not bear to hear it from the 
 lips of another. Besides, if he think it his duty to remain 
 in India, even Linda could not draw him back to his native 
 land. You speak of what you would do, if you were a 
 Catholic. Had he been one, good heavens ! what a devotee 
 he would have made ! The girdle of thorns, the bed of iron > 
 would have been playthings to his self-scourging spirit !" 
 
 " Thank God/ exclaimed Henry, " he is a Christian, 
 whatever be his creed !" 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ANOTHER letter from Robert to Linda, written two years 
 after the date of the one transcribed in the last chapter, may 
 be more interesting to the reader than its contents related in 
 the third person. During all this time he had continued his 
 correspondence with Linda, but these two are the only ones 
 we have the privilege of giving to the world : 
 
 " LINDA: 
 
 "I believed, when I bade you adieu, that our next 
 meeting would be in that world where no curtain hides the 
 mystery of the heart ! no seal closes the revealing lips ! I 
 believed that my feet would never more press my native 
 soil ! my cheek never more be fanned by the breeze of the 
 "Western World ! But God, the omnipotent disposer of the 
 destinies of man, has opened a way for my return, as unex 
 pected as it is mournful. Rayner ; my spiritual father, my 
 
240 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 Christian brother, my beloved friend, the faithful and devoted 
 missionary, is smitten by a wasting disease; and the physicians 
 say his only hope of restoration is in inhaling the purer air 
 of his native clime. While he had strength to labour, he 
 resisted this advice, which, too late, I fear, he is willing to 
 follow. First, his failing linibs refused to bear him to the 
 temple of worship; then his eloquent lips began to falter, 
 his heavenly eye waxed dim. But there is more eloquence 
 now in his languishing countenance than in all the classics 
 of Greece and Rome : for the glory of God shines forth from 
 his faded features, and the Holy Spirit breathes from his weak 
 and pallid lips. By his own request, I come the companion 
 of his voyage, that I may minister to him as son, brother, 
 friend. I return to my country I return to you ! The 
 mighty hand of God draws us together once more, when I 
 thought we were forever sundered. My heart swells with 
 feelings too powerful for expression. All the thoughts born 
 in years of exile, all that you have suffered, all that I have 
 felt, are concentrated in this single moment ! Oh, Linda, let 
 us not meet in darkness and despair ! Time has faded the 
 cypress wreath. Hope renews the springtime of the heart. 
 
 " EGBERT." 
 
 A short time after this letter reached its destination, the 
 missionary ship arrived, and Robert pressed once more his 
 native soil. His first care was to attend the invalid, Rayner, 
 to the friends who were anxiously waiting his coming, and 
 whose joyous welcome seemed to infuse new vitality in his 
 languid veins; his next, to visit Pine Grove, and see if all 
 was well there, under the vigilant eye of the faithful and 
 intelligent superintendent; and then and not till then 
 he turned his face to Rosavilla, the home of Linda of Linda, 
 no longer the wife of another ! no longer guarded by the 
 flaming sword > from whose burning edge his heart had so often 
 recoiled ! 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 241 
 
 Yet he trembled more at the thought of approaching her in 
 the sad twilight of her widowhood, than in the glowing sun 
 shine of her wedded happiness. If he found her heart indeed 
 buried in the grave of Roland, incapable of resurrection, 
 her life consecrated to his memory, no cloistered nun should 
 henceforth be more sacred from the vows of earthly love. 
 He hardly knew how much he hoped, or how greatly he 
 feared. He was resolved she should know him as he was, 
 since honour no longer imposed disguise; and then, if she so 
 willed it, he would exile himself forever from her presence. 
 
 How his heart throbbed when he saw the white walls of 
 Rosavilla gleaming through the luxuriant foliage of early 
 summer ! when he saw the polished leaves of the tall mag 
 nolias glittering in the silver moonlight, and inhaled the odour 
 of their magnificent blossoms ! It was night when he arrived 
 two years and a half ago; it was night now. He was glad, 
 for his feelings wanted a mantle of shadows to veil their 
 tumult. He shrunk from the moonlight, as if it could fathom 
 the mystery of his emotions. 
 
 As he ascended the path which wound from the river to 
 the mansion-house, he caught a glimpse of a tall, white pillar, 
 rising in the midst of a green enclosure, separated from the 
 garden, and surrounded by a hedge of jessamines and roses. 
 The air was embalmed by their fragrance, damp as it was 
 with the dew of night. 
 
 Robert paused, and leaning against an iron railing that 
 encircled the hedge, he gazed on the obelisk, reflecting so 
 dazzlingly the white lustre of the night. It recalled to his 
 mind his return to his own home from his first exile; his visit 
 to his mother s tomb; and all that had occurred since that 
 remembered hour. He thought of Julia, whom, he then first 
 beheld in her fair, ethereal loveliness, now sleeping beneath a 
 cold, white monument far away, but on which the same moon- 
 beams were shining. 
 
 " Oh, Death ! Death!" he murmured, lifting his hatreve- 
 
242 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 rently from his brow, as he stood before this memorial of its 
 awful power, "in thy cold and sublime presence the eager 
 ness of hope subsides, the throbs of passion are stilled. Brave 
 and noble Roland ! thou didst fall in the dew of youth the 
 brightness of thy manhood. Thou art worthy of every tear 
 that embalms thy memory. I will not rob thee of one precious 
 tribute. My hands shall assist in twining the garlands that 
 adorn your tomb." 
 
 With slow steps he turned again into the path, looking back 
 on the marble which had so tranquilized the tumult of his 
 bosom. A beautiful figure of Hope leaning on an anchor, sur 
 mounted a lofty pedestal, on whose sides were represented, in 
 bas-relief, different views of the ocean. The one which Robert 
 could now see was descriptive of his fate. The dashing billows, 
 the sinking vessel, the fatal rocks, were all visible. On a 
 pillar, rising behind the statue, the massy coils of a cable rope 
 were defined, and so exquisite was the carving, the marble 
 seemed to feel the strain of the twisting cordage. 
 
 This silent monitor had breathed a religious calm into Ro 
 bert s soul. He threaded the winding avenues of the garden, 
 ascended the flight of steps that led to the verandah, and saw 
 the lamps shining through the clustering vines, now half con 
 cealing the windows with their summer bloom. They were 
 all open, to admit the evening breeze, and Robert, pushing 
 aside the green drapery and transparent lace, paused one mo 
 ment ere he entered, for a sudden dimness came over his 
 Bight, and the roaring of many waters seemed thundering in 
 his ears. 
 
 Linda sat, not as she did when he first returned from India, 
 half enclosed in her husband s arms, with the soft glow of love 
 on her cheek, and its enchanting smile curling the roses of her 
 lips. She sat alone by the table, on which books and work 
 were scattered, but her hands were folded, and her eyes cast 
 down in deep, musing thought. A black dress of transparent 
 tissue, corresponding to the warmth of the season, formed 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 243 
 
 such a contrast to the pearly fairness of her complexion, she 
 looked scarcely less white than the marble on which he had 
 just been gazing. Not the faintest tint of colour glowed on 
 her cheek, and the shade of the long lashes that rested upon 
 it was pensive as the drooping of the willow s weeping boughs. 
 
 Robert had pictured her to himself clad in the weeds of 
 widowhood, shrouded in the twilight of memory, but not as he 
 now beheld her. There was something in her look and atti 
 tude that seemed to say, " There is no second spring-time to 
 the heart." 
 
 Not with another secret glance would he intrude on her 
 pensive revery ; he would not even enter unannounced, as he 
 had done before. He stepped to the door and rang the bell, 
 that she might be prepared for his approach, such a sacred- 
 ness now invested her. He hardly expected to see that frozen 
 form move at his entrance, but the moment he crossed the 
 threshold, the moment she heard the sound of his voice, she 
 started from her seat, as if touched with an electric wire. 
 
 " Robert ! Robert !" she exclaimed, springing to his arms 
 with a cry that seemed to breath out her soul; "I am not then 
 left all alone." 
 
 Gushing tears impeded her utterance, nor did she weep 
 alone. Robert, as he clasped her in silence to his bosom, in 
 an agony of love and sympathy, wept over Aer, and over the 
 grave of his own hopes. They died at the first glance of her 
 pale cheek and mourning robes, and he execrated himself for 
 having nourished them. 
 
 " I came to comfort thee, my beloved Linda," said he, at 
 length triumphing over his own agitation; and leading her to 
 a seat he sat down by her, and tried to soothe her with all 
 the tenderness of a brother. Gradually her tears ceased to 
 flow; she looked in his face, and even smiled a sad smile, 
 but there was so much welcome in it ! His coming was like 
 the coming of an angel to her, after the night of her sorrow 
 and the gloom of their separation. She had wept for the ab- 
 
244 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 sent Robert, as well as the departed Roland, and now, at the 
 moment of greeting, the wound which time had been slowly 
 healing opened to bleed anew. 
 
 "Are you indeed alone?" asked he. "Have you no female 
 friend who cheers your solitude ?" 
 
 "I have friends," she answered; "but none who could take 
 your place, as brother, comforter, as the friend of my soul. 
 Nora, now happy in her Northern home, clung to me with a 
 sister s devotion. Emily remained with me long. Mrs. 
 Revere, too, has been with me, lavishing on me more than ma 
 ternal kindness, and through all, the German woman, whose 
 direction you gave me, has been a companion and a friend. 
 She, with her little Willie, have long been inmates of my 
 household. No, dear Robert," she added, regarding him with 
 a look of earnest gratitude and feeling, " I am not alone ; but 
 now you have come, it seems, in comparison, that I have been 
 ell solitary before. And my boy my darling, my beautiful, 
 my good little Walton he is spared to me. Come with me 
 and look at him. See, how lovely he is in sleep !" 
 
 Lifting a gauzy curtain, that floated in the doorway between 
 the two apartments, she led the way to the couch of the sleep 
 ing Walton, and holding the lamp above him, displayed his 
 cherub face to Robert s bending glance. 
 
 " How much he is like Roland !" she said, pressing her 
 quivering lips to the child s snowy forehead; "he has the 
 same noble brow the same beautiful smile. Do you not 
 think so, Robert ?" 
 
 " I do see a resemblance," he answered, laying his hand 
 gently on its silken curls, "and I trust its father s manly 
 virtues may live again in him." 
 
 He was glad that Linda talked of Roland. The unspoken 
 name has the strongest spell, and the unuttered sorrow dries 
 up the heart. 
 
 Thus Robert found himself domesticated once more under 
 the same roof with Linda; and as day after day passed by, the 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 245 
 
 hopes which he had thought annihilated asserted their vitality 
 by a reviving glow. He could not help noticing, with inex 
 pressible joy, her growing dependence on him for cheerfulness, 
 if not happiness. Every morning, when she greeted him, it 
 seemed that the soft shadow of her pensive countenance dimi 
 nished ; he even thought a faint blush sometimes dawned at his 
 approach. They were thrown constantly together by the cir 
 cumstances in which they were placed. Aristides was now a 
 fixture in the household, and invested with the supervision of 
 every thing requiring a master s eye. His fidelity and shrewd 
 ness were equalled only by his simplicity and learning. At 
 this season he was much abroad on the plantation, and at 
 night he usually pored over the classics of Greece and Rome. 
 
 Mrs. Stillings, the widowed German woman to whom Linda 
 had given a life-long home, devoted herself with assiduity to 
 household cares, while her little boy played among the flowers 
 with the young Walton. So Linda walked with Robert in 
 the orange bowers and rosy avenues, sat with him in the 
 shaded verandah, or listened by the silver lamp-light, while 
 he read the strains of genius and piety in a voice of thrilling 
 music. Light had dawned on the night-shades of sorrow; 
 and again and again she said 
 
 " Oh ! how lonely should I be without thee, my brother I 
 what should I do deprived of the blessing of thy presence ?" 
 
 And Robert dared not dispel this sweet confidence in his 
 brotherly love, lest he should be left in utter darkness of heart, 
 hopeless and alone. 
 
 At length he received a letter from Rayner, reminding him 
 of his duties as a Christian missionary, mourning over his 
 own waning health, which forbade the prospect of returning 
 to the field of his labours, and committing to Robert the 
 charge of the souls over which they had watched together, 
 and for whom he, Rayner, had drained the oil of life s wast 
 ing lamp. 
 
 When Robert read this letter, he was sitting with Linda in 
 
246 ROBERT GRAHAM : 
 
 the parlour, as lie was wont to do in the evening hour. She 
 watched his countenance as he perused it, and her own turned 
 of a paler hue, as she marked the agitation of his. 
 
 "What is it, Robert?" she asked, with indefinite appre 
 hension, laying her hand on his arm as she spoke. 
 
 " Come with me into the verandah, and I will tell you," 
 said he ; and rising and taking her hand, he led her under the 
 sweeping vines, out into the glorious moonlight, that made 
 fairy checker-work on the white wall and ingrained flooring. 
 It was not the same moon which had illumined his coming. A 
 month had passed since then. They walked the whole length 
 of the verandah without speaking, when, stopping by one of 
 the pillars, all dripping with rose-wreaths, he exclaimed 
 
 " I know not what is come over me. I cannot speak, 
 though existence, or all that it involves, hangs trembling on 
 this moment. I am called away, Linda; but before I go " 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Robert, you are not going to leave me. Not 
 going to leave me so soon," she cried ; and covering her face 
 with her handkerchief, she leaned against the pillar, while the 
 rose-wreaths drooped over her brow. 
 
 " Linda," said he, and his voice faltered from intense emo 
 tion, " the time is come when I must speak or die. I rend 
 asunder the chain which has so long bound my struggling 
 heart, and gathering up the fragments, cast them trembling at 
 your feet. Look upon me, Linda, not as a brother, not as a 
 friend merely, but the lover of your youth as one whose con 
 stant and unconquerable love has never known a shadow of a 
 change. Impute it to me as a crime, if you will, that I could 
 not quench the flame which I smothered in my bosom that I 
 could not forget you when I gave you to another. If it be a 
 crime and that I have deemed it one, let burning tears and 
 rending sighs and midnight vigils testify it is one I can no 
 longer conceal. Honour no longer imposes silence, and friend 
 ship will forgive, if love refuses to sanction." 
 
 \s he thus went on in a strain of impassioned eloquence, 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 217 
 
 as a stream which, having broken through a rocky barrier, 
 sweeps resistlessly along, Linda threw both arms round the 
 pillar against which she was leaning, and dropped her face, 
 so that not a moonbeam glanced upon its snow. Her arms 
 trembled, her bosom headed, but she did not speak; she could 
 not have spoken had death been the penalty of her silence. 
 
 " Let me go on," continued Robert, " till I have laid bare 
 my whole soul, and then, if you will, I am forever silent. You 
 remember how you pleaded another s cause, how you urged 
 me to offer another my heart throbbing with undying love for 
 you. I yielded to your prayers, but I never deceived her, 
 never told Julia that I loved her. I asked her to place her 
 spotless bosom before my erring heart, as a shield from temp 
 tation, and she consented ; but God forbade the sacrifice, that 
 he might glorify himself in my weakness. Say not that I was 
 wrong to seek your presence, under the plea of brotherly 
 affection. I thought I had conquered myself, I felt strong in 
 the panoply of religion strong and triumphant after years 
 devoted to the service of my Saviour and my God. I resolved 
 to fly, but I was urged to remain as your protector, as the 
 guardian of your child. Could I refuse the sacred trust ? I 
 never betrayed it, Linda; you know I have" been faithful, but 
 God only knows through what bitter conflicts. 
 
 Again he paused, and Linda s trembling arms wrapped them 
 selves closer round the supporting pillar. The vines still 
 drooped over her face. He came nearer to her, and drew one 
 of the white, unresisting hands from the pillar it twined. She 
 did not attempt to withdraw it, and he felt it throbbing with 
 ten thousand pulses. 
 
 " Oh, beloved Linda/ said he, pressing that throbbing hand 
 on his heart, whose beatings were audible in the moonlight 
 stillness, "close not your heart to a love so constant and so true. 
 I ask not for the passionate emotions of life s young dream ; I 
 ask you not to forget him whose memory should be immortal ; 
 but oh, Linda, think how young we both are yet what long 
 
248 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 years of happiness may be ours, if we now take each other by 
 the hand, with chastened hopes and heavenward faces, as fellow 
 pilgrims to an immortal goal. Turn, beloved of my soul, from 
 that cold pillar to this warm, sustaining heart, or, if such be 
 my doom, banish me at once to my lonely destiny/ 
 
 At these words, Linda raised her head, and the moonlight 
 fell full upon her face. It was of unearthly paleness, and her 
 eyes looked like stars, in the tremulous depths of ocean. 
 
 " Oh, Robert !" she said, withdrawing her arms from the 
 supporting pillar and turning toward him, " I did not dream 
 of this this all-enduring, matchless love. It overpowers, it 
 drowns me. I cannot think, I cannot speak; I can only feel. 
 Oh, if blighted as I am, so little worthy of such boundless de 
 votion, you can prize so poor a gift, take me, Robert, I am 
 yours." 
 
 Before the last faltering word had left her lips, she was 
 clasped in the arms, trembling on the heart of Robert. Closer 
 and closer still he clasped her, as if he feared some invisible 
 power would snatch her from his embrace. His lips, incapable 
 of utterance, pressed on hers the glowing kiss of betrothed 
 love. It was the first time he had ever dared to yield himself 
 to the rushing tide of his impassioned emotions, the first 
 time that joy, pure, ecstatic joy, blended with the love so long 
 interwoven with sorrow and remorse. The revulsion of his 
 feelings was too powerful. He felt faint, dizzy, bewildered ; 
 something as the blind man feels, when the glory of sunshine 
 first dawns on the long night of darkness. 
 
 It was not till seated by her, on one of the bamboo couches 
 which formed a part of the verandah, how long afterward he 
 knew not, that he realized the wondrous change those little 
 words, "I am yours," had wrought in his destiny. Then a 
 flood Q C gratitude to God, for having opened a vista through 
 which years of happiness seemed rolling on in golden billows 
 toward heaven, came sweeping over his soul. It prostrated 
 him on his knees, and he could not help pouring out his joy- 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 249 
 
 burdened spirit into the bosom of his heavenly Father. And 
 Linda knelt at his side, and these two betrothed beings, be 
 trothed under circumstances of such peculiar solemnity, felt 
 their souls mingling together in the incense of adoration and 
 prayer. 
 
 "Ah ! there is no end to the battle of life," said Kobert, 
 when, after returning to the house, he read aloud to Linda the 
 letter of Rayner. "How can I ever think of asking you to 
 sacrifice your country, home, and friends for me ? How can I 
 ever think of your being exposed to the influence of that sultry 
 clime, which has wilted so many fragile blossoms of life ?" 
 
 " What sacrifice shall I make if I go with you ?" said Linda, 
 her cheek glowing with the awakening enthusiasm of her feel 
 ings. " You, who will henceforth be to me, instead of country, 
 home and all ? No x t here could I ever ratify the promise I 
 have so lately breathed, here, where every thing belongs to 
 the past, and is associated with remembrances which might 
 forever haunt me. Not here, Robert/ 7 she added, while the 
 glow faded from her cheek, " could I bid the myrtle garland 
 bloom again for me. I thought my heart was buried in yonder 
 marble tomb. I dreamed not of hope, involved in the shadows 
 of memory but you came and awakened me from the torpor and 
 gloom of dullness the sleep resembling death. Your love, so 
 sublime in its constancy, so glorious in its sacrifices, has a new 
 creating power. A new heart seems throbbing in my bosom ; 
 new hopes are springing from the dust, and this new-born heart 
 pants to share your higher, nobler destiny; pants to devote 
 itself to the holy purposes to which you have dedicated your 
 self. I have seen and felt the vanity of earthly things. Oh, 
 not for this life only, Robert, would I accept your noble heart. 
 We are plighted for heaven, we will be wedded for eternity." 
 
 Linda, having made her unalterable decision to become the 
 wife of a missionary, believing it the fulfilment of her peculiar 
 destiny, seemed, as she had said, a new-created being. There 
 was something in the strength, the grandeur of such love as 
 
250 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 Robert s, that awoke congenial elements in lier own character. 
 A short time before, there seemed a mournful sweetness in 
 dedicating her youth, her life, to the memory of the dead; now 
 she was sustained by a more exalted purpose, that of devoting 
 herself to the happiness of the living. 
 
 She wrote to Emily and to Mrs. Revere, whose friendship 
 and sympathy had sustained and consoled her in her saddest, 
 darkest hours. She wrote to Mr. Hunly, whose affection for 
 Roland had endeared him greatly to her own heart. The splen 
 did monument erected to his memory in Rosavilla s bowers was 
 a memorial of his gratitude and sorrow. Nor did she forget 
 Nora, who was now inexpressibly dear to her, and who deserved 
 this proof of her confidence and love. To all these friends 
 she told the history of her betrothal, and of the solemn pledge 
 she had given to leave her native land for the missionary s 
 distant home. She thanked them, with overflowing heart, for 
 all their past kindness and sympathy, and entreated them to 
 follow her with their prayers to India s sultry land. 
 
 "While thus tenderly remembering her absent friends, sho 
 was not unmindful of those gathered round her. The grief of 
 the household, when told of her intended departure, almost 
 overpowered her. It was as intense as that which followed 
 the enunciation of Roland s death. The affectionate negroes, 
 to whom she had been the kindest and most indulgent mistress, 
 were inconsolable at first, and nothing comforted them but the 
 assurance that she would return, if God spared her life, to see 
 them all once more. Aunt Judy, though she had an insur 
 mountable dread of crossing the ocean, declared it her fixed 
 determination to accompany her young mistress and the 
 " blessed baby," as she still called the little Walton. 
 
 " Bless a Lord for his goodness," cried the faithful African; 
 <l I wouldn t part with my young mistress if I knew d I d be 
 swallowed, like Jonas, in the mouth of a whale. I nursed 
 her a baby in these arms. She went her own precious little 
 born self* when she couldn t see her hand afore her ; and the 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 251 
 
 wild beasts was a prowling in the woods, [Judy always would 
 exaggerate the story of Linda s early heroism,] to get em to 
 buy poor Judy, and save her from the old speculator. Oh, 
 she s ben a heavenly young mistress, and I ll follow her to 
 the eend of the universal world ! Little did I think, when I 
 fuss saw Masser Robert, I ever should look on him as the 
 angel of a Lord he am now; that I should cry for joy cause 
 Miss Lindy gonter marry him, tho he take her off nobody 
 know how far. Won t she be a heap better off married to 
 such a beautiful, lovingsome saint as he is, than crying out 
 her eyes over a monument that don t know nothing bout it, 
 bless a Lord ?" 
 
 "We might pursue Judy s soliloquy to an interminable 
 length, for she thought of nothing else, talked of nothiog 
 else the livelong day. But there were others as deeply 
 affected, and who would gladly have followed her likewise to 
 the farthest regions of the globe. 
 
 The tender heart of Aristides was rent with anguish at the 
 thought of parting with his beloved pupil, his adored bene 
 factress, his constant friend; but he dared not murmur at 
 what he firmly believed her God-directed destiny. To him 
 she committed the guardianship of her temporal concerns, 
 over which Mr. Hunly offered, moreover, to watch with 
 fatherly interest. The grateful Mrs. Stillings was installed as 
 housekeeper, in place of Aunt Judy, who had abdicated the 
 throne she had herself assumed, to follow the fortunes of her 
 mistress. The labours of the slave were now all labours of 
 love, for, since her marriage, Linda had imposed no duties on 
 her faithful old servant. 
 
 One sacred office she intrusted to Aristides, when no one 
 was near to hear the parting injunction. She led him to the 
 marble monument, whose white pillar, rising pure and lofty 
 mid the gathering shades of twilight, was indeed emblematical 
 of the memory of him whose spotless virtues triumphed over 
 the shadows of time. 
 
252 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 " To you, friend of my childhood," said she, " I leave the 
 care of this holy shrine. Think not, because I go to minister 
 to another altar, that I shall lose remembrance of this. 
 Should I cease to cherish the memory of one so noble and so 
 dear, I were unworthy of the love to which I have pledged my 
 future life. Nourish every flower I have planted. Let every 
 leaf be kept green; and brush away, with gentle hand, the 
 dust that may gather here. My spirit, Aristides! will 
 often hover round thee, while fulfilling this holy duty." 
 
 Sweet, oh filia amata! shall be the remembrance of this 
 hallowed trust," answered Aristides, wiping away the starting 
 tears. " The morning sunbeams and evening dews shall not 
 more faithfully fulfil their mission here than I, mourner for 
 the living as well as the dead. I will bring hither the flowers 
 of spring and the roses of summer. Heaven will bend in pen 
 sive guardianship over the consecrated spot : 
 
 " And angels, with their silver wings, o ershade 
 
 The ground, now sacred by his relics made, 
 as Pope pathetically remarks. But for me, oh puella 
 
 carissima !" 
 
 He turned away, unable to master his emotion at the 
 thought of his coming desolation. 
 
 Tears stole down the dusky checks of Tuscarora a rare 
 tribute to Linda s wondrous power of inspiring intense regard. 
 
 "Poor are words to express the gratitude of the heart, 
 noble Tuscarora !" said Linda, when she spoke to him of their 
 approaching separation. I owe you debts which never can 
 be cancelled, but in every prayer wafted to heaven, beyond 
 the Atlantic waves, my grateful soul shall draw down blessings 
 on your head." 
 
 Tuscarora attempted to reply, then suddenly raised his hand 
 to his brow, and left the room. He wandered for hours in 
 the woods before he ventured to return to his cabin, for tears 
 leave the stain of disgrace on the dark skin of the red man. 
 Naimuna might weep, for she was a woman; Aristides might 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 253 
 
 weep, for ho had the heart of a child; but the son of the 
 forest must not weep, for he is the " stoic of the woods the 
 man without a tear !" 
 
 Passing over a chasm, which the imagination of the reader 
 can supply, we turn to the scene when the young missionary ; 
 no longer alone, again departed from the Atlantic shores. 
 
 It was a bright and glorious morning, when a missionary 
 ship was seen with spreading sails in the noble harbour of 
 New York. A countless throng darkened the wharves, to 
 look upon the departure of those whose vocation always 
 invests them with peculiar interest. But a wondrous attraction 
 now drew the eyes of the gazing multitude to the deck of the 
 vessel, where two beings stood hand in hand, a young and 
 bridal pair, ready to offer youth, beauty, wealth, and distinc 
 tion on the altar of a crucified Redeemer. 
 
 And standing on their left, enhancing the interest of the 
 scene, appeared a faithful daughter of Africa, holding in her 
 arms a lovely boy of about three years of age fair and inno 
 cent voyager to an unknown and far-off clime. 
 
 Yes; Linda stood on the deck of the vessel, the wedded 
 wife of Robert Graham ! The sable weeds of widowhood 
 were exchanged for a robe of plain and spotless white. No 
 ornament glittered on her person, not even a bridal flower 
 bloomed in the deep golden brown of her simply-parted locks. 
 A holy lustre shone in her moistened eyes as she turned them, 
 perhaps for the last time, on her native shores. And many 
 an eye in that dense crowd wept as it rested on that young 
 and beautiful pair, whose faces seemed, in the pure morning 
 light, like the faces of angels. 
 
 There were some familiar forms, on which the missionaries 
 looked down with yearning hearts, in this solemn, parting mo 
 ment. Henry and Nora had come to the city to bid them 
 farewell, and they were now mingled with the strangers wl o 
 were gathered near the departing vessel. Nora wept unre 
 strainedly, and Henry, as he gazed on the princely lineaments 
 34 
 
254 ROBERT GRAHAM: 
 
 of his early friend, which so soon would vanish from his sight, 
 felt in his inmost soul the power of that religion which could 
 lift such a being above all earthly ambition, to be a candidate 
 for immortal honours. Linda too the young, the rich, the 
 beautiful and beloved Linda. What a glorious offering to hei 
 Saviour s cause ! Adoring angels might kneel to receive it, 
 and bear it to the skies. She alone was worthy of Robert. 
 Robert alone was worthy of her. They were both worthy of 
 the crown of glory laid up for those who forsake all to follow 
 the Redeemer s footsteps. 
 
 A band of Christians was gathered in the centre of the 
 crowd to hallow, with the voice of praise and prayer, the part 
 ing hour. The aged minister, who was invested with the 
 office of consecration, knelt down under the canopy of heaven, 
 and with uncovered head, invoked the blessing of God on their 
 mission. He commended them to Him whose breath stilled 
 the dark-rolling waves of Galilee, and rebuked the stormy 
 winds ; who tempers the burning sun of India, and infuses a 
 healing influence through its fair, but deadly clime. 
 
 Tears gushed from the eyes of the aged servant of God. 
 There was a sublimity in the sacrifice before him, that, while 
 it exalted his spirit, it melted his heart. He had consecrated 
 many a pair for such holy labours, but never one like this 
 kneeling before him. Tears gushed from beneath his silver 
 eyelids. He could not go on, but bowing his head, remained 
 in silent prayer. 
 
 The effect was indescribable. That kneeling throng, the 
 venerable minister, on whose white, bending locks the sun 
 gleamed as on wintry snow, and the two central figures, 
 kneeling on deck, presented a scene of solemn beauty and re 
 ligious grandeur. 
 
 And when they all rose once more, and the Christian band 
 commenced the glorious missionary hymn, whose strains will 
 roll down the tide of time as long as one shadow of pagan 
 darkness lingers, the swelling sails spread themselves like 
 
A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 255 
 
 wings to the breeze, and the ship "slowly, majestically began to 
 glide along the waters. 
 
 Sweet and grand were the strains that were wafted after the 
 departing vessel. 
 
 " From Greenland s icy mountains, 
 
 From India s coral strand, 
 Where Afric s sunny fountains 
 
 Roll down their golden sand, 
 From many an ancient river, 
 
 From many a palmy plain, 
 They call us to deliver 
 
 The land from error s chain." 
 
 The voice of Robert was heard in unison with those, who, 
 lingering on shore, sang, as if by inspiration, the magnificent 
 lines ; but Linda s lips were mute. At this moment she was 
 thinking of all she was leaving behind. Her spirit was hover 
 ing over the marble monument in Rosavilla s deserted shades. 
 She looked down on the sea-green waves, and remembered 
 whose winding-sheet they had been. The voices of the multi 
 tude sounded like the echoes of a far-off land; the waters 
 seemed dashing round a lone and barren isle. 
 
 She looked up to the heavens bending over them the 
 gorgeous pavilion of God s love, and her spirit rose from the 
 shadows of the past, and went out into the illimitable future. 
 There was her home, high up in those boundless heavens, and 
 every grave of earthly hope was but a stepping-stone to her 
 Father s mansion. 
 
 The echoes of the hymn died away, the ship cut the waves 
 with a rapid wing, the shore receded from her view. She 
 turned and looked up into the dark, glorious eyes now watch 
 ing every shadow that flitted over her face, and the present, 
 glowing with life, love, and joy, came rushing back to her 
 heart. 
 
 " Oh, Robert!" said she, leaning on his now wedded bosom, 
 while his arms encircled her in a guardian fold ; " henceforth 
 I am all your own. As the great sea surrounds us ; separating 
 
256 ROBERT GRAHAM. 
 
 us from yonder shore, so your love encircles me, and my soul 
 is borne up on its waves, as the bark upon the swelling billows." 
 
 " And as the heavens rest with crowning glory on the 
 ocean," answered Robert, looking up into the resplendent 
 dome arching overhead, " so God s love encompasses and glo 
 rifies ours. My bride, my wife, my own beloved Linda, 
 great and immeasurable as is my love, it is but an emanation 
 of the divine passion which filled a Saviour s bosom for us. 
 As I now live in thee, and thou in me, so we both live in 
 Him, and He dwelleth with us forever." 
 
 Onward the vessel swept onward and onward till those 
 who watched its receding motions could no longer discern the 
 dark outlines of Robert s lofty form, or the softer lineaments 
 of his beauteous bride. Fainter and fainter they gleamed 
 through the mist of distance, till nothing but a dim speck ap 
 peared between the azure heavens and the dark blue sea. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in 
 one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
 Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in 
 one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE DESERTED WIFE. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Com - 
 plete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one 
 volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE INITIALS. A LOVE STORY OF MODERN LIFE. By a daugh- 
 ter of the celebrated Lord Erskine, formerly Lord High Chancellor of 
 England. It will be read for generations to come, and rank by the side 
 of Sir Walter Scott s celebrated novels. Two volumes, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 The whole of the above are also published in a very fine style, bound 
 In full Crimson, gilt edges, gilt sides, full gilt backs, etc., and make very 
 ele^ nt and beautiful presentation books. Price Two Dollars a copy. 
 (2) 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 3 
 CHARLES DICKENS WORKS. 
 
 The best and most popular in the world. Ten different editions. No 
 
 Library can be complete without a Sett of these Works, 
 
 Keprinted from the Author s last Editions, 
 
 " PETERSON S" is the only complete and uniform edition of Charles 
 Dickens works published in America; they are reprinted from the original 
 London editions, and are now the only edition published in this country. 
 No library, eitber public or private, can be complete without having in it 
 a complete sett of the works of this, the greatest of all living authors. 
 Every family should possess a sett of one of the editions. The cheap 
 edition is Complete in Twelve Volumes, paper cover; either or all of which 
 can be had separately. Price Fifty cents each. The following are their 
 names. 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD, DICKENS NEW STORIES. Con- 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, taining The Seven Poor Travellers. 
 
 PICKWICK PAPERS, Nine New Stories by the Christinas 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON, Fire. Hard Times. Lizzie Leigh. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, The Miner s Daughters, etc. 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE, CHRISTMAS STORIES. Contain- 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, ing A Christmas Carol. The 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ," Chimes. Cricket on the Hearth. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST Battle of Life. Haunted Man, and 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE, Pictures from Italy. 
 
 A complete sett of the above edition, twelve volumes in all, will be &snt 
 to any one to any place, free of postage, for Five Dollars. 
 
 COMPLETE LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
 In FIVE large octavo volumes, with a Portrait, on Steel, of Charles 
 Dickens, containing over Four Thousand very large pages, handsomely 
 printed, and bound in various styles. 
 Volume 1 contains Pickwick Papers and Curiosity Shop. 
 
 " 2 do. Oliver Twist, Sketches by Boz," and Barnaby Ru<3ge. 
 
 " 3 do. Nicholas Nickleby and Martin Chuzzlewit. 
 
 " 4 do. David Copperfield, Dombey and Son, Christmas Stories, 
 and Pictures from Italy. 
 
 " 5 do. Bleak House, and Dickens New Stories. Containing 
 The Seven Poor Travellers. Nine New Stories 
 by the Christmas Fire. Hard Times. Lizzie 
 Leigh. The Miner s Daughters, and Fortune 
 Wildred, etc. 
 
 Price of a complete sett. Bound in Black cloth, full gilt back, $7 50 
 
 " " " " scarlet cloth, extra, 8 50 
 
 " " " library sheep, 9 00 
 
 " " " " half turkey morocco, 11 00 
 
 " " " half calf, antique, 15 00 
 Illustrated Edition is described on next page. 
 
4 T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF DICKENS WORKS. 
 
 This edition is printed on very thick and fine white paper, and is pro 
 fusely illustrated, with all the original illustrations by Cruikshank, Alfred 
 Crowquill, Phiz, etc., from the original London edition, on copper, steel, 
 and wood. Each volume contains a novel complete, and may be had in 
 complete setts, beautifully bound in cloth, for Eighteen Dollars for the 
 ett in twelve volumes, or any volume will be sold separately, as follows: 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE, Price, $1 50 
 PICKWICK PAPERS, 1 50 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 1 50 
 OLIVER TWIST, 1 50 
 
 SKETCHES BY "BOZ," 1 50 
 BARNABY RUDGE, 1 50 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, $1 50 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 1 50 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD. 1 50 
 DOMBEY AND SON, 1 50 
 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES, 1 50 
 DICKENS NEW STORIES, 1 50 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in black cloth, gilt back, $18,00 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Hlustrated Edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in full law library sheep, $24,00 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in half turkey Morocco, $27,00 
 
 Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve 
 
 vols., in half calf, antique, $36,00 
 
 All subsequent works by Charles Dickens will be issued in uniform style with 
 all the previous ten different editions. 
 
 CAPTAIN MARRYATT S WORKS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Price of all except the four last 
 is 25 cents each. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each 
 forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself. 
 
 PETER SIMPLE. NAVAL OFFICER. 
 
 JACOB FAITHFUL. PIRATE AND THREE CUTTERS. 
 
 THE PHANTOM SHIP. SNARLEYYOW ; or, the Dog-Ficod. 
 
 MIDSHIPMAN EASY. PERCIVAL KEENE. Price 50 cts. 
 
 KING S OWN. POOR JACK. Price 50 cents. 
 
 NEWTON FORSTER. SEA KING. 200 pages. Price 50 
 
 JAPHET IN SEARCH OP cents. 
 
 A FATHER. VALERIE. His last Novel. Price 
 
 PACHA OF MANY TALES. 50 cents. 
 
 ELLEN PICKERING S NOVELS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They are 
 printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, 
 complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover. 
 
 THE ORPHAN NIECE. THE HEIRESS. 
 
 KATE WALSINGHAM. PRINCE AND PEDLER. 
 
 THE POOR COUSIN. MERCHANT S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ELLEN WAREHAM. THE FRIGHT. 
 
 THE QUIET HUSBAND. NAN DARRELL. 
 
 WHO SHALL BE HEIR THE SQUIRE. 
 
 THE SECRET FOE. THE EXPECTANT. 
 
 AGNES SKRLE. THE GRUMBLER. 50 cts. 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 5 
 MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ S WORKS. 
 
 COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; OR, THE JOYS AND SORROWS 
 OF AMERICAN LIFE. With a Portrait of the Author. Complete 
 in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one 
 volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE PLANTER S NORTHERN BRIDE. With illustrations. Com- 
 plete in two large volumes, paper cover, 600 pages, price One Dollar, 
 or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 IXDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. Com 
 plete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one 
 volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 ROBERT GRAHAM. The Sequel to, and continuation of Linda. Be. 
 ing the last book but one that Mrs. Hentz wrote prior to her death. 
 Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or 
 bound in one volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 RENA j OR, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. Complete in two 
 volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 MARCUS WARLAND; OR, THE LONG MOSS SPRING. A Tale of 
 
 the South. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, 
 or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE ; and other Stories. Complete in two vol 
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 gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 EOLINE j OR, MAGNOLIA VALE. Complete in two volumes, paper 
 cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25. 
 
 THE BANISHED SON; and other Stories. Complete in two volumes, 
 paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25. 
 
 HELEN AND ARTHUR. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price 
 One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25. 
 
 The whole of the above are also published in a very fine style, bound 
 in the very best and most elegant and substantial manner, in full Crimson, 
 with beautifully gilt edges, full gilt sides, gilt backs, etc., etc., making 
 them the best and most acceptable books for presentation at the price, 
 published in the country. Price of either one in this style, Two Dollars. 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR S WORKS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They are 
 
 the most moral, popular and entertaining in the world. There are no 
 
 etter books to place in the hands of the young. All will profit by them. 
 
 YEAR AFTER MARRIAGE. TRIAL AND TRIUMPH. 
 
 THE DIVORCED WIFE. THE ORPHAN CHILDREN. 
 
 THE BANKER S WIFE. THE DEBTOR S DAUGHTER. 
 
 PRIDE AND PRUDENCE. INSUBORDINATION. 
 
 CECILIA HOWARD. LUCY SANDFORD. 
 
 MARY MORETON. AGNES, or the Possessed. 
 
 LOVE IN A COTTAGE. THE TWO BRIDES. 
 
 LOVE IN HIGH LIFE. THE IRON RULE. 
 
 THE TWO MERCHANTS. THE OLD ASTROLOGER 
 
 LADY AT HOME. THE SEAMSTRESS. 
 
6 T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 CHARLES LEVER S NOVELS. 
 
 CHARLES O MALLEY, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever. Com 
 plete in one large octavo volume of 324 pages. Price Fifty cents ; or 
 an edition on finer paper,*bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One 
 Dollar. 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE. A tale of the time of the Union. By 
 Charles Lever. Complete in one fine octavo volume. Price Fifty 
 cents ; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. 
 Price One Dollar. 
 
 JACK HINTON, the Guarcbman. By Charles Lever. Complete in one 
 large octavo volume of 400 pages. Price Fifty cents; or an edition 
 on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 TOM BURKE OF OURS. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large 
 octavo volume of 300 pages. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on 
 finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 ARTHUR O LEARY. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo 
 volume. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in 
 cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 KATE O DONOGIIUE. A Tale of Ireland. By Charles Lever. Com- 
 plete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents ; j- an edition 
 on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 HORACE TEMPLETON. By Charles Lever. This is Lever s New 
 Book. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents ; 01 
 an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 HARRY LORREQUER. By Charles Lever, author of the above seven 
 works. Complete in one octavo volume of 402 pages. Price Fifty 
 cents ; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price 
 One Dollar. 
 
 VALENTINE VOX. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF VALENTINE 
 VOX, the Ventriloquist. By Henry Cockton. One of the most 
 humorous books ever published. Price Fifty cents ; or an edition ">n 
 finer paper, bound in cloth. Price One Dollar. 
 
 PERCY EFFINGHAM. By Henry Cockton, author of " Valentine Vox, 
 the Ventriloquist." One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND A YEAR. By Samuel C. Warren. With Portraits! 
 of Snap, Quirk, Gammon, and Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq. Two large 
 octavo vols., of 547 pages. Price One Dollar; or an edition on finer 
 paper, bound in cloth, $1,50. 
 
 CHARLES J. PETERSON S WORKS. 
 
 KATE AYLESFORD. A story of the Refugees. One of the most popu 
 lar books ever printed. Comp etc in two large volumes, paper cover. 
 Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, gilt. Price $1 25. 
 
 CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR. A Naval Story of the War of 1812. 
 First and Second Series. Being the complete work, unabridged. By 
 Charles J. Peterson. 228 octavo pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 GRACE DUDLEY; OR, ARNOLD AT SARATOGA. By Charles J. 
 Peterson. Illustrated. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE VALLEY FARM; OR, the AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN OR- 
 PHAN. A companion to Jane Eyre. Price 25 cents. 
 
T. E. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 7 
 EUGENE SUE S NOVELS. 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS; AND GEROLSTEIN,- the Sequel to it. 
 By Eugene Sue, author of the "Wandering Jew," and the greatest 
 work ever written. With illustrations. Complete in two large volumes, 
 octavo. Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE ILLUSTRATED WANDERING JEW. By Eugene Sue. With 
 87 large illustrations. Two large octavo volumes. Price One Dollar. 
 
 HE FEMALE BLUEBEARD; or, the Woman with many Husbands 
 By Eugene Sue. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. A Story of the Heart. By Eugene Sue. Price Twenty- 
 five cents. 
 
 WOMAN S LOVE. A Novel. By Eugene Sue. Illustrated. Price 
 Twenty-five cents. 
 
 MAN-OF-WAR S-MAN. A Tale of the Sea. By Eugene Sue. Price 
 Twenty-five cents. 
 
 EAOUL DE SURVILLE; or, the Times of Napoleon Bonaparte in 1810. 
 Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 SIR E. L. BULWER S NOVELS. 
 
 FALKLAND. A Novel. By Sir E. L. Bulwer, author of " The Roue/ 
 
 " Oxonians," etc. One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. . 
 
 THE ROUE; OR THE HAZARDS OF WOMEN. Price 25 cents. 
 THE OXONIANS. A Sequel to the Roue. Price 25 cents. 
 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. By Bulwer. Price 12 cents. 
 
 MRS. GREY S NOVELS. 
 
 Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They are 
 printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, 
 complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover. 
 
 DUKE AND THE COUSIN. THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 
 
 GIPSY S DAUGHTER. THE OLD DOWER HOUS& 
 
 BELLE OF THE FAMILY. HYACINTHS. 
 
 SYBIL LENNARD. ALICE SEYMOUR. 
 
 THE LITTLE WIFE. HARRY MONK. 
 
 MANOEUVRING MOTHER. MARY SEAHAM. 250 pages. 
 LENA CAMERON ; or, the Four Price 50 cents. 
 
 Sisters. PASSION AND PRINCIPLE 
 HE BARONET S DAUGHTERS. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 GEORGE W. M. REYNOLD S WORKS. 
 
 THE NECROMANCER. A Romance of the times of Henry the Eighth. 
 By G. W. M. Reynolds. One large volume. Price 75 cents. 
 
 THE PARRICIDE; OR, THE YOUTH S CAREER IN CRIME. *5y 
 G. W. M. Reynolds. Full of beautiful illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 
 LIFE IN PARIS: OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALFRED DE ROSAN^ 
 IN THE METROPOLIS OF FRANCE. By G. W. M. Reynold* 
 Full of Engravings. Price 50 cents. 
 
8 T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 AINSWORTH S WORKS. 
 
 JACK SHEPPARD. PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 JACK SHEPPARD, the most noted burglar, robber, and jail breaker, 
 that ever lived. Embellished with Thirty-nine, full page, spirited 
 Illustrations, designed and engraved in the finest style of art, by 
 George Cruikshank, Esq., of London. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED TOWER OF LONDON. With 100 splendid engravings. 
 Ibis is beyond all doubt one of the most interesting works ever 
 published in the known world, and can be read and re-read with 
 pleasure and satisfaction by everybody. We advise all persons to 
 get it and read it. Two volumes, octavo. Price One Dollar. 
 
 PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF GUY FAWKES, Tho 
 Chief of the Gunpowder Treason. The Bloody Tower, etc. Illustrated 
 By William Harrison Ainsworth. 200 pages. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE STAR CHAMBER. An Historical Romance. By W. Harrison 
 Ainsworth. With 17 large full page illustrations. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE PICTORIAL OLD ST. PAUL S. By William Harrison Ainsworth. 
 Full of Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES 9F THE COURT OF QUEEN ANNE. By William 
 Harrison Ainsworth. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF THE STUARTS. By Ainsworth. 
 Being one of the most interesting Historical Romances ever written. 
 One largo volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 DICK TURPIN. ILLUSTRATED LIFE OF DICK TURPIN, the 
 Highwayman, Burglar, Murderer, etc. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 HENRY THOMAS. LIFE OF HARRY THOMAS, the Western Burglar 
 and Murderer. Full of Engravings. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 DESPERADOES. ILLUSTRATED LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 THE DESPERADOES OF THE NEW WORLD. Full of engravings. 
 Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 NIXON DE L ENCLOS. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NINON 
 DE L ENCLOS, with her Letters on Love, Courtship and Marriage. 
 Illustrated. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE PICTORIAL NEWGATE CALENDAR; or the Chronicles of Crime. 
 Beautifully illustrated with Fifteen Engravings. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF DAVY CROCKETT. 
 
 Written by himself. Beautifully illustrated. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ARTHUR SPRING, the murderer of 
 Mrs. Ellen Lynch and Mrs. Honora Shaw, with a complete history of 
 his life and misdeeds, from the time of his birth until he was hung. 
 Illustrated with portraits. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 JACK ADAMS. PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JACK 
 ADAMS; the celebrated Sailor and Mutineer. By Captain Cbamier, 
 author of " The Spitfire." Full of illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 GRACE O M^LLEY. PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 GRACE O MALLEY. By William H. Maxwell, author of "Wild 
 Sports in the West." Price Fifty cents. 
 
 E PIRATE S SON. A Sea Novel of great interest. Full of beautiful 
 illustrations. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OP PUBLICATIONS. 9 
 ALEXANDUE DUMAS WOUKS. 
 
 THE IRON MASK, OR THE FEATS AND ADVENTURES OF 
 RAOULE DE BRAGELONNE. Being the conclusion of "The 
 Three Guardsmen," " Twenty Years After," and " Bragelonne." By 
 Alexandre Dumas. Complete in two large volumes, of 420 octavo 
 pages, with beautifully Illustrated Covers, Portraits, and Engravings. 
 Price One Dollar. 
 
 OUISE LA VALLIERE; OR THE SECOND SERIES AND FINALi 
 END OF THE IRON MASK. By Alexandre Dumas. This work 
 is the final end of "The Three Guardsmen," "Twenty Years After," 
 "Bragelonne," and "The Iron Mask," and is of far more interesting 
 and absorbing interest, tha any of its predecessors. Complete in 
 two large octavo volumes of over 400 pages, printed on the best of 
 paper, beautifully illustrated. It also contains correct Portraits of 
 " Louise La Valliere," and " The Hero of the Iron Mask." Price One 
 Dollar. 
 
 THE MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN; OR THE SECRET HISTORY OF 
 LOUIS THE FIFTEENTH. By Alexandre Dumas. It is beautifully 
 embellished with thirty engravings, which illustrate the principal 
 scenes and characters of the different heroines throughout the work. 
 Complete in two large octavo volumes. Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE QUEEN S NECKLACE : OR THE SECRET HISTORY OF THE 
 COURT OF LOUIS THE SIXTEENTH. A Sequel to the Memoirs 
 of a Physician. By Alexandre Dumas. It is beautifully illustrated 
 with portraits of the heroines of the work. Complete in two largo 
 octavo volumes of over 400 pages. Price One Dollar. 
 
 SIX YEARS LATER; OR THE TAKING OF THE BASTILE. By 
 
 Alexandre Dumas. Being the continuation of " The Queen s Neck 
 lace; or the Secret History of the Court of Louis the Sixteenth," and 
 "Memoirs of a Physician." Complete in one large octavo volume. 
 Price Seventy-five cents. 
 
 COUNTESS DE CHARNY; OR THE FALL OF THE FRENCH 
 MONARCHY. By Alexandre Dumas. This work is the final con 
 clusion of the "Memoirs of a Physician," "The Queen s Necklace," 
 and " Six Years Later, or Taking of the Bastile." All persons who 
 have not read Dumas in this, his greatest and most instructive pro 
 duction, should begin at once, and no pleasure will be found so 
 agreeable, and nothing in novel form so useful and absorbing. Com 
 plete in two volumes, beautifully illustrated. Price One Dollar. 
 
 DIANA OF MERIDOR; THE LADY OF MONSOREAU; or France in 
 the Sixteenth Century. By Alexandre Dumas. An Historical Ro 
 mance. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 538 pages, wit 
 nvnerous illustrative engravings. Price One Dollar. 
 
 ISABEL OF BAVARIA; or the Chronicles of France for the reign of 
 Charles the Sixth. Complete in one fine octavo volume of 211 pages, 
 printed on the finest white paper. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 EDMOND DANTES. Being the sequel to Dumas celebrated novel of 
 the Count of Monte Cristo. With elegant illustrations. Complete in 
 one large octavo volume of over 200 pages. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE CORSICAN BROTHERS. This work has already been dramatized , 
 and is now played in all the theatres of Europe and in this country, 
 and it is exciting an extraordinary interest. Price Twenty -five cents. 
 
10 T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS WORKS. 
 
 SKETCHES IN FRANCE. By Alexandra Dumas. It is as good a 
 book as Thackeray s Sketches in Ireland. Dumas never wrote a 
 better book. It is the most delightful book of the season. Price 
 
 Fifty -cents. 
 
 GENEVIEVE, OR THE CHEVALIER OF THE MAISON ROUGE. 
 By Alexanclre Dumas. An Historical Romance of the French Revo 
 lution. Complete in one large octavo volume of over 200 pages, 
 with numerous illustrative engravings. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 GEORGE LIPPARD S WORKS. 
 
 WASHINGTON AND HIS GENERALS; or, Legends of the American 
 Revolution. Complete in two large octa-vo volumes of 538 pages, 
 printed on the finest white paper. Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE QUAKER CITY; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. A Romance of 
 Philadelphia Life, Mystery and Crime. Illustrated with numerous 
 Engravings. Complete in two large octavo volumes of 500 pages. 
 Price One Dollar. 
 
 THE LADYE OF ALBARONE; or, the Poison Goblet. A Romance of 
 the Dark Ages. Lippai-d s Last Work, and never before published. 
 Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Seventy-five cents. 
 
 PAUL ARDENHEIM ; the Monk of Wissahickon. A Romance of the 
 Revolution. Illustrated with numerous engravings. Complete in 
 two large octavo volumes, of nearly 600 pages. Price One Dollar. 
 
 BLANCHE OF BRANDYWINE ; or, September the Eleventh, 1777". A 
 Romance of the Poetry, Legends, and History of the Battle of Brandy- 
 wine. It makes a large octavo volume of 350 pages, printed on the 
 finest white paper. Price Seventy-five cents. 
 
 LEGENDS OF MEXICO; or, Battles of General Zachary Taylor, late 
 President of the United States. Complete in one octavo volume of 
 128 pages. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE NAZARENE; or, the Last of the Washingtons. A Revelation of 
 Philadelphia, New York, and Washington, in the year 1844. Com 
 plete in one volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 B. DISRAELI S NOVELS. 
 
 VIVIAN GREY. By B. D Israeli, M. P. Complete in one large octavo 
 volume of 225 pages. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 HE YOUNG DUKE ; or the younger days of George the Fourth. By 
 B. D Israeli, M. P. One octavo volume. Price Thirty-eigM cents, 
 
 VENETIA ; or, Lord Byron and his Daughter. By B. D Israeli, M. P. 
 Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 HENRIETTA TEMPLE. A Love Story. By B. D Israeli, M. P. Com 
 plete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 CONTARINA FLEMING. An Autobiography. By B. D Israeli, M. P. 
 
 One volume, octavo. Price Thirty-eight cents. 
 
 MIRIAM ALROY. A Romance of the Twelfth Century. By B. D Israeli, 
 M. P. One volume octavo. Price Thirty-eight cents. 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 11 
 EMERSON BENNETT S WORKS. 
 
 CLARA MORELAND. This is a powerfully written romance. Thf 
 characters are boldly drawn, the plot striking, the incidents repleta 
 with thrilling interest, and the language and descriptions natural an<? 
 graphic, as are all of Mr. Bennett s Works. 336 pages. Price 50 
 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in cloth, gilt. 
 
 VIOLA; OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR SOUTH-WEST. Com- 
 plete in one large volume. Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cent* 
 in cloth, gilt. 
 
 THE FORGED WILL. Complete in one large volume, of over 300 
 pages, paper cover, price 50 cents; or bound in cloth, gilt, price $1 Oo. 
 
 KATE CLARENDON; OR, NECROMANCY IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cents in cloth, gilt. 
 
 BRIDE OF THE WILDERNESS. Complete in one large volume. 
 Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cents in cloth, gilt. 
 
 THE PIONEER S DAUGHTER; and THE UNKNOWN COUNTESS. 
 By Emerson Bennett. Price 50 cents. 
 
 HEIRESS OF BELLEFONTE ; aiid WALDE-WARREN. A Tale of 
 Circumstantial Evidence. By Emerson Bennett. Price 50 cents. 
 
 ELLEN NORBURY; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF AN ORPHAN. 
 Complete in one large volume, price 50 cents in paper cover, or in 
 tfoth gilt, $1 00. 
 
 MISS LESLIE S NEW COOK BOOK. 
 
 MISS LESLIE S NE*W RECEIPTS FOR COOKING. Comprising new 
 and approved methods of preparing all kinds of soups, fish, oysters, 
 terrapins, turtle, vegetables, meats, poultry, game, sauces, pickles, 
 sweet meats, cakes, pies, puddings, confectionery, rice, Indian meal 
 preparations of all kinds, domestic liquors, perfumery, remedies, 
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 list of articles suited to go together for breakfasts, dinners, and sup 
 pers, and much useful information and many miscellaneous subjects 
 connected with general house-wifery. It is an elegantly printed duo 
 decimo volume of 520 pages ; and in it there will be found One Thou 
 sand and Eleven new Receipts all useful some ornamental and all 
 invaluable to every lady, miss, or family in the world. This work haa 
 had a very extensive sale, and many thousand copies have been sold, 
 and the demand is increasing yearly, being the most complete work 
 of the kind published in the world, and also the latest and best, as, 
 in addition to Cookery, its receipts for making cakes and confec 
 tionery are unequalled by any other work extant. New edition, en - 
 larged and improved, and handsomely bound. Price One Tallar a 
 copy only. This is the only new Cook Book by Miss Leslie. 
 
 GEORGE SANDS WORKS, 
 
 FIRST AND TRUE LOVE. A True Love Story. By George Sand, 
 author of " Consuelo," " Indiana," etc. It is one of the most charm 
 ing and interesting works ever published. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 INDIANA. By George Sand, author of "First and True Love." etc. 
 A very bewitching and interesting work. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE CORSAIR. A Venetian Tale. Price 25 tents. 
 
12 T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 
 
 WITH ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS BY DARLEY AND OTHERS, 
 
 AND BEAUTIFULLY ILLUMINATED COVERS. 
 
 We have just published new and beautiful editions of the following 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. They are published in the best 
 possible style, full of original Illustrations, by DarJ*y, descriptive of all the 
 best scenes in each work, with Illuminated Covers, with new and beautiful 
 designs on each, and are printed on the finest and best of white paper. 
 There are no works to compare with them in point of wit and humor, in 
 the whole world. The price of each work is Fifty cents only. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING ARE THE NAMES OF THE WORKS. 
 
 MAJOR JONES COURTSHIP : detailed, with other Scenes, Incidents, 
 and Adventures, in a Series of Letters, by himself. With Thirteen 
 Illustrations from designs by Barley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 DRAMA IN POKERVILLE: the Bench and Bar of Jurytown, and 
 other Stories. By "Everpoint," (J. M. Field, of the St. Louis 
 Reveille.) With Illustrations from designs by Darley. Fifty cents. 
 
 CHARCOAL SKETCHES ; or, Scenes in the Metropolis. By Joseph C. 
 Neal, author of "Peter Ploddy," "Misfortunes of Peter Faber," etc. 
 With Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 YANKEE AMONGST THE MERMAIDS, and other Waggeries and 
 Vagaries. By W. E. Burton, Comedian. With Illustrations by 
 Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MISFORTUNES OF PETER FABER, and other Sket-hes. By the 
 author of "Charcoal Sketches." With Illustrations Oy Darley and 
 others. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MAJOR JONES SKETCHES OF TRAVEL, comprising the Scenes, 
 Incidents, and Adventures in his Tour from Georgia to Canada. 
 With Eight Illustrations from Designs by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 STREAKS OF SQUATTER LIFE, and Far West Scenes. A Series of 
 humorous Sketches, descriptive of Incidents and Character in the 
 Wild West. By the author of "Major Jones Courtship," " Swallow 
 ing Oysters Alive," etc. With Illustrations from designs by Darley. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 QUARTER RACE IN KENTUCKY, AND OTHER STORIES. By 
 W. T. Porter, Esq., of the New York Spirit of the Times. With 
 Eight Illustrations and designs by Darley. Complete in one volume. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 SIMON SUGGS. ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN SIMON SUGGS, late 
 of the Tallapoosa Volunteers, together with "Taking the Census," 
 and other Alabama Sketches. By a Country Editor. With a Portrait 
 Irorn Life, and Nine other Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 fllVAL BELLES. By J. B. Jones, author of "Wild Western Scenes," 
 etc. This is a very humorous and entertaining work, and one t \t 
 will be recorninonded by all after reading it. Price Fifty cents. 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 13 
 
 Jr . . .......... . . ...... -..,-. MI ^ 
 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 
 
 TANITEE YARNS AND YANKEE LETTERS. By Sam Slick, alias 
 Judge Haliburton. Full of the drollest humor that has ever emanated 
 from the pen of any author. Every page will set you in a roar. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF COL. VANDERBOMB, AND THE 
 EXPLOITS OF HIS PRIVATE SECRETARY. By J. B. Jones, 
 author of " The Rival Belles," " Wild Western Scenes," etc. Price 
 Fifty cents. 
 
 BIG BEAR OF ARKANSAS, and other Sketches, illustrative of Charac 
 ters and Incidents in the South and South-West. Edited by Win. T. 
 Porter. With Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 MAJOR JONES CHRONICLES OF PINEVILLE; embracing Sketches 
 of Georgia Scenes, Incidents, and Characters. By the author of 
 "Major Jones Courtship," etc. With Illustrations by Darley. Price 
 Fifty cents. 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF PERCIVAL MABERRY. By J. H. 
 
 Ingraham. It will interest and please everybody. All who enjoy a 
 good laugh should get it at once. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER S QUORNDON HOUNDS; or, A Virginian at 
 Melton Mowbray. By H. W. Herbert, Esq. With Illustrations. 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 PICKINGS FROM THE PORTFOLIO OF THE REPORTER OF THE 
 "NEW ORLEANS PICAYUNE." Comprising Sketches of the 
 Eastern Yankee, the Western Hoosier, and such others as make up 
 society in the great Metropolis of the South. With Illustrations by 
 Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER S SHOOTING BOX. By the author of "The 
 Quorndon Hounds," " The Deer Stalkers," etc. With Illustrations by 
 Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 STRAY SUBJECTS ARRESTED AND BOUND OVER; being the 
 Fugitive Offspring of the " Old Un" and the "Young Un," that have 
 been " Laying Around Loose," and are now " tied up" for fast keep 
 ing. With Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER S DEER STALKERS ; a Tale of Circumstantial 
 evidence. By the author of " My Shooting Box," "The Quorndon 
 Hounds," etc. With Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN FARRAGO. By Hon. II. H. Bracken. 
 
 ridge. For Sixteen years one of the Judges of the Supreme Court of 
 the State of Pennsylvania. With Illustrations from designs by Darley 
 Price Fifty cents. 
 
 THE CHARMS OF PARIS; or, Sketches of Travel and Adventures by 
 Night and Day, of a Gentleman of Fortune and Leisure. From his 
 private journal. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 PETER PLODDY, and other oddities. By the author of "Charcoal 
 Sketches," "Peter Faber," Ac. With Illustrations from original 
 designs, by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 "FIDOW RUGBY S HUSBAND, a Night at the Ugly Man s, and other 
 Tales of Alabama. By author of " Simon Suggs." With original 
 Illustrations. Price Fifty cents. 
 
14 T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 
 
 MAJOR O REGAN S ADVENTURES. By Hon. H. H. Brackenridge. 
 With Illustrations by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 SOL. SMITH ; THEATRICAL APPRENTICESHIP AND ANECDOTAL 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF SOL. SMITH, Esq., Comedian. Lawyer, 
 etc. Illustrated by Darley. Containing Early Scenes, Wanderings 
 in the West, Cincinnati in Early Life, etc. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 60L. SMITH S NEW BOOK; THE THEATRICAL JOURNEY-WORK 
 AND ANECDOTAL RECOLLECTIONS OF SOL. SMITH, Esq., 
 with a portrait of Sol. Smith. It comprises a Sketch of the second 
 Seven years of his professional life, together with some Sketches of 
 Adventure in after years. Price Fifty cents.. 
 
 POLLY PEABLOSSOM S WEDDING, and other Tales. By the author 
 of "Major Jones Courtship," " Streaks of Squatter Life," etc. Price 
 Fifty cents. 
 
 FRANK FORESTER S WARWICK WOODLANDS; or, Things as 
 they were Twenty Years Ago. By the author of " The Quorndon 
 Hounds," "My Shooting Box," "The Deer Stalkers," etc. With 
 Illustrations, illuminated. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 LOUISIANA SWAMP DOCTOR. By Madison Tensas, M. D., Ex. V. P. 
 
 M. S. U. Ky. Author of " Cupping on the Sternum." With Illustra 
 tions by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 NEW ORLEANS SKETCH BOOK, by "Stahl," author of the "Port 
 folio of a Southern Medical Student." With Illustrations from 
 designs by Darley. Price Fifty cents. 
 
 FRENCH, GERMAN, SPANISH, LATIN, AND 
 ITALIAN LANGUAGES. 
 
 Any person unacquainted with either of the above languages, can, with 
 the aid of these works, be enabled to read, write and speak the language of 
 either, without the aid of a teacher or any oral instruction whatever, pro 
 vided they pay strict attention to the instructions laid down in each book, 
 and that nothing shall be passed over, without a thorough investigation 
 of the subject it involves : by doing which they will be able to speak, read 
 or write either language, at their will and pleasure. Either of these works 
 is invaluable to any persons wishing to learn these languages, and are 
 worth to any one One Hundred times their cost. These works have 
 already run through several large editions in this country, for no person 
 ever buys one without recommending it to his friends. 
 
 FRENCH WITHOUT A MASTER. In Six Easy Lessons. 
 GERMAN WITHOUT A MASTER. In Six Easy Lessons. 
 SPANISH WITHOUT A MASTER. In Four Easy Lessons. 
 ITALIAN WITHOUT A MASTER. In Five Easy Lessons. 
 LATIN WITHOUT A MASTER. In Six Easy Lessons. 
 
 Price of either of the above Works, separate, 25 cents each or the 
 whole five may be had for One Dollar, and will be sent free of postage to 
 any one on their remitting that amount to the publisher, in a letter. 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 15 
 WORKS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 FLIRTATIONS IN AMERICA; OR HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK. A 
 
 capital book. 285 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 DON QUIXOTTE. ILLUSTRATED LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 DON QUIXOTTE DE LA MANCHA, and his Squire Sancho Panza, 
 with all the original notes. 300 pages. Price 75 cents. 
 
 WILD SPORTS IN THE WEST. By W. H. Maxwell, author of Pic- 
 torial Life and Adventures of Grace O Malley." Price 50 cents. 
 
 IHE ROMISH CONFESSIONAL; or, the Auricular Confession and Spi 
 ritual direction of the Romish Church. Its History, Consequences, 
 and policy of the Jesuits. By M. Michelet. Price 50 cents. 
 
 GENEVRA ; or, the History of a Portrait. By Miss Fail-field, one of the 
 best writers in America. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 WILD OATS SOWN ABROAD ; OR, ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS. It 
 is the Private Journal of a Gentleman of Leisure and Education, and 
 of a highly cultivated mind, in making the tour of Europe. It shows 
 up all the High and Low Life to be found in all the fashionable re 
 sorts in Paris. Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cents in cloth, gilt. 
 
 SALATHIEL; OR, THE WANDERING JEW. By Rev. George Croly. 
 One of the best and most world-wide celebrated books that has ever 
 been printed. Price 50 cents. 
 
 LLORENTE S HISTORY OF THE INQUISITION IN SPAIN. Only 
 edition published in this country. Price 50 cents ; or handsomely 
 bound in muslin, gilt, price 75 cents. 
 
 DR. HOLLICK S NEW BOOK. ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY, 
 
 with a large dissected plate of the Human Figure, colored to Life. 
 By the celebrated Dr. Hollick, author of " The Family Physician," 
 " Origin of Life," etc. Price One Dollar. 
 
 DR. HOLLICK S FAMILY PHYSICIAN; OR, THE TRUE ART OF 
 HEALING THE SICK. A book that should be in the house of 
 every family. It is a perfect treasure. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THREE CITIES. Boston, New York, and Philadel 
 phia. Revealing the secrets of society in these various cities. All 
 should read it. By A. J. II. Duganne. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 RED INDIANS OF NEWFOUNDLAND. A beautifully illustrated In 
 dian Story, by the author of the " Prairie Bird." Price 50 cents. 
 
 HARRIS S ADVENTURES IN AFRICA. This book is a rich treat. 
 Two volumes. Price One Dollar, or handsomely bound, $1 50. 
 
 THE PETREL; OR, LOVE ON THE OCEAN. A sea novel equal to th 
 best. By Admiral Fisher. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 ARISTOCRACY, OR LIFE AMONG THE "UPPER TEN." A true 
 novel of fashionable life. By J. A. Nunes, Esq. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE CABIN AND PARLOR. By J. Thornton Randolph. It is 
 beautifully illustrated. Price 5U cents in paper cover ; or a finer edi 
 tion, printed on thicker and better paper, and handsomely bound in 
 muslin, gilt, is published for One Dollar. 
 
 LIFE IN THE SOUTH. A companion to " Uncle Tom s Cabin." By 
 C. H. Wiley. Beautifully illustrated from original designs by Dar- 
 ley. Pricq 50 cents. 
 
16 T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 WORKS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 SKETCHES IN IRELAND. By William M. Thackeray, author of 
 "Vanity Fair," "History of Pendennis," etc. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE ROMAN TRAITOR; OR, THE DAYS OF CATALINE AND 
 CICERO. By Henry William Herbert. This is one of the most 
 powerful Roman stories in the English language, and is of itself suffi 
 cient to stamp the writer as a powerful man. Complete in two large 
 volumes, of over 250 pages each, paper cover, price One Dollar, or 
 bound in one volume, cloth, for $1 25. 
 
 THE LADY S WORK-TABLE BOOK. Full of plates, designs, diagrams, 
 and illustrations to learn all kinds of needlework. A work every 
 Lady should possess. Price 50 cents in paper cover; or bound in 
 crimson cloth, gilt, for 75 cents. 
 
 THE COQUETTE. One of the best books ever written. One volume, oc 
 tavo, over 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 WHITEFRIARS; OR, THE DAYS OF CHARLES THE SECOND. An 
 Historical Romance. Splendidly illustrated with original designs, by 
 Chapin. It is the best historical romance published for years. Price 
 50 cents. 
 
 WHITEHALL ; OR, THE TIMES OF OLIVER CROMWELL. By the 
 author of "Whitefriars." It is a work which, for just popularity and 
 intensity of interest, has not been equalled since the publication of 
 " Waverly." Beautifully illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE SPITFIRE. A Nautical Romance. By Captain Chamier, author 
 of " Life and Adventures of Jack Adams." Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 UNCLE TOM S CABIN AS IT IS. One large volume, illustrated, 
 bound in cloth. Price $1 25. 
 
 FATHER CLEMENT. By Grace Kennady, author of "Dunallen," 
 " Abbey of Innismoyle," etc. A beautiful book. Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE ABBEY OF INNISMOYLE. By Grace Kennady, author of " Fa 
 ther Clement." Eaual to any of her former works. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE FORTUNE HUNTER; a novel of New York society, Upper and 
 Lower Tendom. By Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt. Price 38 cents. 
 
 POCKET LIBRARY OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE. New and enlarged 
 edition, with numerous engravings. Twenty thousand copies sold. 
 We have never seen a volume embracing any thing like the same 
 quantity of useful matter. The work is really a treasure. It should 
 speedily find its way into every family. It also contains a large and 
 entirely new Map of the United States, with full page portraits of 
 the Presidents of the United States, from Washington until the pre 
 sent time, executed in the finest style of the art. Price 50 cents a 
 copy only. 
 
 HENRY CLAY S PORTRAIT. Nagle s correct, full length Mezzotinto 
 Portrait, and only true likeness ever published of the distinguished 
 Statesman. Engraved by Sartain. Size, 22 by 30 inches. Price 
 $1 00 a copy only. Originally sold at $5 00 a copy. 
 
 THE MISER S HEIR; OR, THE YOUNG MILLIONAIRE. A story 
 of a Guardian and his Ward. A prize novel. By P. H. Myers, author 
 of the " Emigrant Squire." Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cent* 
 iu cloth, gilt. 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 17 
 WORKS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 THE TWO LOVERS. A Domestic Story. It is a highly interesting and 
 companionable book, conspicuous for its purity of sentiment its 
 graphic and vigorous style its truthful delineations of character 
 and deep and powerful interest of its plot. Price 38 cents. 
 
 ARRAH NEIL. A novel by G. P. R. James. Price 50 cents. 
 IEGE OF LONDONDERRY. A History of the Siege of Londonderry, 
 and Defence of Enniskillen, in 1688 and 1689, by the Rev. John 
 Graham. Price 37 cents. 
 
 TICTIMS OF AMUSEMENTS. By Martha Clark, and dedicated by the 
 author to the Sabbath Schools of the land. One vol., cloth, 38 cents. 
 
 FREAKS OF FORTUNE; or, The Life and Adventures of Ned Lorn. 
 By the author of " Wild Western Scenes." One volume, cloth. Price 
 One Dollar. 
 
 WORKS AT TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. 
 
 GENTLEMAN S SCIENCE OF ETIQUETTE, AND GUIDE TO SO 
 CIETY. By Count Alfred D Orsay With a portrait of Count D Or- 
 say. Price 25 cents. 
 
 LADIES SCIENCE OF ETIQUETTE. By Countess de Calabrella, with 
 her full-length portrait. Price 25 cents. 
 
 ELLA STRATFORD ; OR, THE ORPHAN CHILD. By the Countess 
 of Blessington. A charming and entertaining work. Price 25 cents. 
 
 GHOST STORIES. Full of illustrations. Being a Wonderful Book. 
 Price 25 cents. 
 
 ADMIRAL S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Marsh, author of "Ravens- 
 cliffe." One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE MONK. A Romance. By Matthew G. Lewis, Esq., M. P. All 
 should read it. Price 25 cents. 
 
 DIARY OF A PHYSICIAN. Second Series. By S. C. Warren, author 
 of " Ten Thousand a Year." Illustrated. Price 25 cents. 
 
 ABEDNEGO, THE MONEY LENDER. By Mrs. Gore. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MADISON S EXPOSITION OF THE AWFUL CEREMONIES OF 
 ODD FELLOWSHIP, with 20 plates. Price 25 cents. 
 
 GLIDDON S ANCIENT EGYPT, HER MONUMENTS, HIEROGLY 
 PHICS, HISTORY, ETC. Full of plates. Price 25 cents. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL FRENCH GIRL; or the Daughter of Monsieur Fon. 
 tanbleu. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF BEDLAM; OR, ANNALS OF THE LONDON MAD. 
 HOUSE. Price 25 cents. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. A Story of the Heart. By Grace Aguilar, author of 
 " Home Influence," " Mother s Recompense," etc. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 EVA ST. CLAIR; AND OTHER TALES. By G. P. R. James, Esq., 
 author of " Richelieu." Price 25 cents. 
 
 AGNES GREY; AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. By the author of "Jane 
 Eyre," " Shirley," etc. Price 25 cents. 
 
 BELL BRANDON, AND THE WITHERED FIG TREE. By P. Hamil 
 ton Myers. A Three Hundred Dollar prize novel. Price 25 centju 
 
18 T. B. PETEESOFS LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 
 WORKS AT TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. 
 
 KNOAVLSON S COMPLETE CATTLE, OR COW DOCTOR. Whoever 
 owns a cow should have this book. Price 25 cents. 
 
 KNOWLSON S COMPLETE FARRIER, OR HORSE DOCTOR, All 
 that own a horse should possess this work. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE COMPLETE KITCHEN AND FRUIT GARDENER, FOR POPU 
 LAR AND GENERAL USE. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE COMPLETE FLORIST j OR FLOWER GARDENER. The best 
 in the world. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE EMIGRANT SQUIRE. By author of "Bell Brandon." 25 cents. 
 
 PHILIP IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. By the author of "Kate in Search 
 of a Husband." Price 25 cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF A CONVENT. By a noted Methodist Preacher. Price 
 25 cents. 
 
 THE ORPHAN SISTERS. It is a tale such as Miss Austen might have 
 been proud of, and Goldsmith would not have disowned. It is well 
 told, and excites a strong interest. Price 25 cents. 
 
 THE DEFORMED. One of the best novels ever written, and THE 
 
 CHARITY SISTER. By Hon. Mrs. Norton. Price 25 cents. 
 LIFE IN NEW YORK. IN DOORS AND OUT OF DOORS. By the 
 
 late William Burns. Illustrated by Forty Engravings. Price 25 cents. 
 
 JENNY AMBROSE ; OR, LIFE IN THE EASTERN STATES. An ex 
 cellent book. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MORETON HALL; OR, THE SPIRITS OF THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 A Tale founded on Facts. Price 25 cents. 
 
 BODY THE ROVER; OR THE RIBBON MAN. An Irish Tale. By 
 William Carleton. One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents. 
 
 AMERICA S MISSION. By Rev. Charles Wadsworth. Price 25 cents. 
 POLITICS IN RELIGION. By Rev. Charles Wadsworth. Price 12 J cts. 
 
 Professor LIEBIG S Works on Chemistry. 
 
 AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY. Chemistry in its application to Agri 
 culture and Physiology. Price Twenty -five cents. 
 
 ANIMAL CHEMISTRY. Chemistry in its application to Physiology and 
 Pathology. Price Twenty-five cents. 
 
 FAMILIAR LETTERS ON CHEMISTRY, and its relations to Commerce, 
 Physiology and Agriculture. 
 
 THE POTATO DISEASE. Researches into the motion of the Juices in 
 
 the animal body. 
 CHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS IN RELATION TO PHYSIOLOGY 
 
 AND PATHOLOGY. 
 
 T. "B. PETERSON also publishes a complete edition of Professor 
 Liebig s works on Chemistry, comprising the whole of the above. They 
 are bound in one large royal octavo volume, in Muslin gilt. Price for the 
 complete works bound in one volume, One Dollar and Fifty cents. The 
 three last are not published separately from the bound volume. 
 
T. B. PETERSON S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 19 
 EXCELLENT SHILLING BOOKS. 
 
 THE SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS. By Charles Dickens. Price 12* cts. 
 THE SCHOOLBOY, AND OTHER STORIES. By Dickens. 124 cents. 
 SISTER ROSE. By Charles Dickens. Price 124 cents. 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. By Charles Dickens. Price 124 cents. 
 
 LIZZIE LEIGH, AND THE MINER S DAUGHTERS. By Charles 
 Dickens. Price 124 cents. 
 
 THE CHIMES. By Charles Dickens. Price 124 cents. 
 
 THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. By Charles Dickens. Price 124 cts. 
 
 BATTLE OF LIFE. By Charles Dickens. Price 124 cents. 
 
 HAUNTED MAN; AND THE GHOST S BARGAIN. By Charles 
 Dickens. Price 124 cents. 
 
 THE YELLOW MASK. From Dickens Household Words. Price 124 cts. 
 A WIFE S STORY. From Dickens Household Words. Price 124 cts. 
 MOTHER AND STEPMOTHER. By Dickens. Price 124 cents. 
 
 ODD FELLOWSHIP EXPOSED. With all the Signs, Grips, Pass-words, 
 etc. Illustrated. Price 124 cents. 
 
 MORMONISM EXPOSED. Full of Engravings, and Portraits of the 
 Twelve Apostles. Price 124 cents. 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE REV. JOHN N. MAFFIT; with his 
 Portrait. Price 124 cents. 
 
 REV. ALBERT BARNES ON THE MAINE LIQUOR LAW. THE 
 THRONE OF INIQUITY; or, sustaining Evil by Law. A discourse 
 in behalf of a law prohibiting the traffic in intoxicating drinks 
 Price 124 cents. 
 
 WOMAN. DISCOURSE ON WOMAN. HER SPHERE, DUTIES, 
 ETC. By Lucretia Mott. Price 124 cents. 
 
 EUCHRE. THE GAME OF EUCHRE, AND ITS LAWS. By a mem- 
 
 ber of the Euchre Club of Philadelphia of Thirty Years standing. 
 Price 124 cents. 
 
 DR. BERG S ANSWER TO ARCHBISHOP HUGHES. Price 124 cents. 
 DR. BERG S LECTURE ON THE JESUITS. Price 124 cents. 
 
 FRESH FRUITS AND VEGETABLES all the Year round, at Summer 
 prices, and how to obtain and have them, with full directions. 1 24 cents. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON S Wholesale & Retail Cheap Book, Maga 
 zine, Newspaper, Publishing and Bookselling Establish 
 ment, is at Xo. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia: 
 
 From -which place he will supply all orders for any books at all, no matter by whom 
 published, in advance of all others, and at publishers lowest cash prices. He re 
 spectfully inrites Country Merchants, Booksellers, Pedlars, Canvassers, Agents, the 
 Trade, Strangers in the City, and the public generally, to call an<I examine his ex 
 tensive collection of all kinds of publications, where they will bf sure to find all tho 
 vest, latest, and clieapest worn-s published in this country or elsewhere, for sale very low. 
 
THE DESERTED WIFE, 
 
 BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 
 
 A.TJTHOR OF "THE LOST HEIRESS," "THE MISSING BRIDE," "WIFE S VICTORY/ 
 "CURSE OF CLIFTON," "DISCARDED DAUGHTER," ETC., ETC. 
 
 Complete in one vol., bound in cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty- 
 five Cents; or in two vols., paper cover, for One Dollar. 
 
 The announcement of a new book by Mrs. Southworth, the author of "The Lost Heir- 
 883," is a matter of great interest to all that love to read and admire pure and chaste 
 American works. It is a new work of unusual power and thrilling interest. The scene 
 is laid in one of the southern States, and the story gives a picture of the manners and 
 customs of the planting gentry, in an age not far removed backward from the present. 
 The characters are drawn with a strong hand, and the book abounds with scenes of 
 intense interest, the whole plot being wrought out with much power and effect; and no 
 one, we are confident, can read it without acknowledging that it possesses more thaiv 
 ordinary merit. The author is a writer of remarkable genius and originality manifesting 
 wonderful power in the vivid depicting of character, and in her glowing descriptions of 
 ecenery. 1 1 agar, the heroine of the " Deserted Wife," is a magnificent being, while Ray- 
 mond, Gusty, and Mr. Withers, are not merely names, but existences they live and move 
 before us, each acting in accordance with his peculiar nature. The purpose of the author, 
 professedly, is to teach the lexson, " that the fundamental causes of unhappiness in a 
 married life, are a defective moral and physical education, and a premature contraction 
 of the matrimonial engagement." It is a book to read and reflect on, and one that can 
 not fail to do an immense amount of good, and will rauk as one of the brightest and 
 purest ornaments among the literature of this country. 
 
 EEAD THE SUBJECT MATTER OF THE DIFFERENT CHAPTERS. 
 
 Marriage and Divorce. 
 
 The Old Mansion House. 
 
 The Aged Pastor. 
 
 The Old Man s Darling. 
 
 The Evil Eye. 
 
 The Philosopher. 
 
 The Young Lieutenant. 
 
 First Love. 
 
 Magnetism. 
 
 The Phantom s Warning. 
 
 The Wanderer s Death. 
 
 Raymond. 
 
 Fanaticism. 
 
 Ilagar. 
 
 Rosalia. 
 
 The Atti. 
 
 Gusty. 
 
 The Moor. 
 
 The Storm. 
 
 The Lunatic s End. 
 
 The Hunt. 
 
 La Lionne de Chase. 
 
 Hagar s Bridal. 
 
 The Love Angel. 
 
 The Bride s Trial. 
 
 The Forsaken House. 
 
 The New Horn/?. 
 
 The Midshipman s Love. 
 
 The Worship of Joy. 
 
 The Wife s Rival. 
 
 The New Medea. 
 
 The Bleeding Heart. 
 
 The Baptism of Grief. 
 Fascination. 
 The Forsaken. 
 The Fiery Trial. 
 Return to the Desolate Horn*. 
 Ilagar at Heath Hall. 
 The Flight of Rosalia. 
 The Worship of Sorrow. 
 God the Consoler. 
 Hagar s Resurrection 
 A Revelation. 
 Family Secrets. 
 Rosalia s Wanderings. 
 The Queen of Song. 
 Rappings at Heath Hall. 
 Hagar s Ovation. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON also publishes a complete and uniform edition of Mrs. Southworth s 
 
 other works, any one or all of which, of either edition, will be sent to any place in the 
 
 United States, free of postage, on receipt of remittances. The following are their names. 
 
 THE LOST HEIRESS. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. With a Portrait and Auto 
 graph of the author. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or in 
 one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents. 
 
 THE MISSING BRIDE ; OR, MIRIAM THE AVENGER. By Mrs. Southworth. Two 
 volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1 25. 
 
 THE WIFE S VICTORY; AND NINE OTHER NOUVELLETTES. By Mrs. Emma D. 
 E. N. Southworth. It is embellished with a view of Prospect Cottage, the residence of 
 the author. Two vols., paper cover. Price One Dollar; or one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 THE CURSE OP CLIFTON. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two 
 Toiumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in tw 
 volumes. Price in paper cover, One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSOIV, 
 
 No. 102 Chestnut Street. Philadelphia. 
 
 20 
 
THE JLOSIJEIRESS, 
 
 . BY MRSJEMIVI^D. E. N, JOUTHWOHTH, 
 
 Bead the Brief Extracts from Lengthy Opinions given by the Press. 
 
 " It presents some of the most noble and beautiful models of virtue, in private and in 
 public life, that ever came to us through a similar medium. It must have a moral, reli 
 gious, and elevating tendency." Godey s Lady s Book. 
 
 " Its pages can be read, and re-read with renewed pleasure. The characters stand mit 
 in bold relief. The incidents are well told, and the interest never flags for a moment. It 
 is a book not to be forgotten." Evening Bulletin. 
 
 "Maud Hunter, the heroine, is a beautiful creation, whose history will be perused with 
 intense interest, and moistened eyes, by every sympathetic reader. The moral tone is pure 
 and healthy, breathing the spirit of true religion." Boston Transcript. 
 
 " Its chasteness of morals, and its exalted role of virtue pervades every page. We 
 would desire it to become a parlor table-book in every family." N. Y. Sunday Times. 
 
 " It will sustain the already enviable reputation of the author, The character of Maud 
 is as near perfection as anything human could be. A deep and thrilling interest pervades 
 the whole work." N. Y. Spirit of the Times. 
 
 " We have perused it with care and an unanticipated pleasure. The auihor displays skill 
 and power. The plot is very well laid. The moral is good." Boston Congregationalist. 
 
 " This work is written with much ability. We have perused the whole of it, and been 
 greatly edified. It is far superior to, and more brilliant than the Lamplighter. " Daily 
 Orleanian, N. 0. 
 
 " It is a beautifully written, and absorbingly interesting work, which no one can com 
 mence without following it eagerly to the conclusion." Reading Gazette and Democrat. 
 
 " It shows great ability, a vivid imagination, and descriptive powers of a very high order, 
 It will be read with avidity." Saturday Evening Mail. 
 
 "- The characters are all drawn to the life. Those who are fond of a good book should 
 read it." Union, Harrislmrg, Pa. 
 
 " She is a writer of genius and originality, and has no superior in depicting character 
 and scenery." Buffalo Courier. 
 
 " Great power and originality graphic, brilliant and moral. She has hosts of admirers." 
 - Wheeling Intelligencer. 
 
 " We always read her creations with great pleasure. It is a charming work." Boston 
 Sunday News. 
 
 "It will be read with much interest. She is a pleasant writer, and has a high reputa 
 tion. - Boston Traveler. 
 
 " It possesses great fertility of genius, and incidents of deep pathos." Nat. Intelligencer. 
 
 " The plot is well wrought, and possesses an interest that is preserved to the last page 
 of the book." Sunday Mercury. 
 
 " It is her lap t and best work, and she has composed it with more than usual care." 
 Sunday Dispatch. 
 
 " The story is intensely interesting. The authoress has an established reputation." 
 Richmond Dispatch. 
 
 " She is a writer of remarkable genius and originality." N. Y. Sunday Mercury. 
 
 " It is a most entertaining volume. The writer is winning great popularity." Bait,. tsuti.. 
 
 " The Lost Heiress is a novel of great interest. The characters are well depicted, and 
 exhibited in colors as vivid as they are beautiful, aud are invested with a charm which 
 the reader will linger over in memory, long aftei he shall have closed the book." New 
 ark Daily Eagle. 
 
 Price for the complete work, in two volumes of over 500 pages, in paper cover, One Dollar 
 only; or another edition, handsomely bound in one volume, cloth, gilt, is published for 
 One Dollar and Twenty-Five Cents. 
 
 Copies of the above work will be sent to any person, to any part of the United States, 
 free of postage, on their remitting the price of the edition they may wish, to the publisher, 
 in a letter, post-pard. 
 
 Published and for sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 103 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 21 
 
THE WIFE S VICTORY; 
 
 AND NINE OTHER NOUVELLETTES. 
 
 BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 
 
 Being the Most Splendid Pictures of American Life Ever Written, 
 
 Complete in two volumes, paper cover, Price One Dollar, 
 or bound in one -volume, cloth, for $1.25. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON has just published this new and celebrated work by 
 Mrs. Southworth. The volume contains, besides "THE WIFE S VIC 
 TORY," NINE OF THE MOST CELEBRATED NOUVELLETTES ever Written by 
 
 this favorite and world-renowned American author, and it will prove to be 
 one of the most popular works ever issued. The names of the Nouvel- 
 lettes contained in " The Wife s Victory," are as follows: 
 
 THE WIFE S VICTORY. 
 THE MARRIED SHREW ; a 
 
 Sequel to the Wife s Victory. 
 SYBIL, BROTHERTON ; or, 
 
 The Temptation. 
 THE IRISH REFUGEE. 
 EVEJL.INE MURRAY; or, The 
 
 Fine Figure. 
 WINNY. 
 
 THE THREE SISTERS; or, 
 New Year s in the Little 
 Rough Cast House. 
 
 ANNIE GREY; or, Neighbor s 
 Prescriptions. 
 
 ACROSS THE STREET* a 
 New Year s Story. 
 
 THUNDERBOLT TO THE 
 HEARTH. 
 
 THE WIFE S VICTORY will be found, on perusal by all, to be equal, if not 
 superior, to any of the previous works by this celebrated American author 
 ess, who is now conceded by all critics to be the best female writer now liv 
 ing, and her works to be the greatest novels in the English language, as 
 well as the most splendid pictures of American life ever wriuon. Either 
 one of the ten nouvellettes contained in this volume, is of itself fully worth 
 the price of the whole book. The Philadelphia Daily Sun says, in its edi 
 torial columns, that it shows all the grac% vigor, and absorbing interest of 
 her previous works, and places Mrs. Southworth in the front rank of living 
 novelists ; and that indescribable charm pervades all her works, which can 
 only emanate from a female mind. Though America has produced many 
 examples of high intellect in her sex, none are destined to a higher range 
 in the annals of fame, or more enduring popularity. It is embellished with a 
 beautifully engraved vignette title page, executed on steel, in the finest style 
 of the art, as well as a view of Brothorton Hall, illustrative of one of the 
 most interesting places and scenes in the work. 
 
 " Mrs. Southworth is the finest authoress in the country. Her style is 
 forcible and bold. There is an exciting interest throughout all her compo 
 sitions, which renders them the most popular novels in the English 
 language." New York Mirror. 
 
 " Her pictures of life are vivid and truthful." Sunday Times. 
 
 "She is a woman of brilliant genius." Olive Branch. 
 
 " She is the best fiction writer in the country." Buffalo Express. 
 
 Copies of the above work will be sent to any person at all, to any part of 
 th-d United States, free of postage, oo their remitting the price of the edition 
 they may wish, to the publisher, in a letter, post-paid. 
 
 Published and for sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 1O2 Chestnut St., Philadelphia. 
 
 22 
 
KATE AYLESFORD, 
 
 BY CHAELES J. PETERSON. 
 
 Complete in one large volume, neatly bound in cloth, for One Dollar 
 
 and Twenty-Five Cents ; or another edition, in two 
 
 volumes, paper cover, for One Dollar. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 "One of the great beauties of the story is, the characters are never unnatural nor the 
 incidents improbable. Yet we know no American novelist who has a stronger power of 
 holding his reader enchained by the stirring and life-like incidents of the narrative, or 
 who can individualize his characters more distinctly. The latter are real persons, acting 
 naturally and properly. Every scene is painted vividly and graphically, and the reader 
 seems moving among living persons and a spectator of scenes of actual occurrence. It 13 
 on all hands pronounced the ablest original novel published for many years, and justly 
 places its author at the very head of the popular romance writers of the day in this country. 
 This is saying a good deal, but we think the public, on the perusal of the story, will agree 
 with us that our commendation is not exaggerated." Philadelphia Public Ledger. 
 
 "The heroine is one of those rare characters, sometimes met within the practical world, 
 who combine all the womanly virtues, to be found in the highest degrees of life, with that 
 moral courage and bravery so often brought forth in the trying times which preceded the 
 independence of the country. The Uncle Lawrence of the author is a most charming 
 specimen of the yeomanry of the olden time. Kate Aylesford is a book well worthy to 
 be read by all lovers of light reading. With the ladies it must become very popular." 
 Pliiladelpliia Daily News. 
 
 "This is one of the very few historical romances of the age which lay claim to success. 
 The story has been carefully planned, and in like manner developed. The style is simple, 
 unstrained, natural and pleasing. Mr. Peterson deserves all praise for his manly contempt 
 of the transcendentalisms and milk-and-waterisms of the time, and for his daring to be so 
 natural." Hunterdon (N. J.) Gazette. 
 
 " This work is the best historical novel ever written in this country." Christian Observer. 
 
 " In literary merit generally, but especially in elegant use of language, and delineation 
 of female character, it exceeds either the Spy, Water Witch, or any of the Leather Stock 
 ing Stories." Philadelphia Sun. 
 
 " Sure of an enduring popularity." Baltimore Sun. 
 
 "Mr. Peterson is fast gaining on the laurels of Irving." New York Dutchman. 
 
 " Kate Aylesford is worth a hecatomb of Ruth Halls." Baltimore Argus. 
 
 " The scenes are portrayed in a powerful manner, and the whole storj invested with 
 thrilling interest." Baltimore Dispatch. 
 
 " Abounding with adventures of the most exciting character." Boston Times. 
 
 " The heroine is a trump of a girl." Boston Post. 
 
 " The most interesting and elegantly written novel of the day." Jersey Blue. 
 
 " A story of thrilling interest." Pittsburg Commercial. 
 
 " Those who read it can have the satisfaction of knowing that while they are deeply 
 interested, the attraction is not only harmless but healthy." Gospel Banner. 
 
 " Free from the sickly sentimentalism so common to works of this kind." True American. 
 
 " A work of genuine value." Lincoln Democrat. 
 
 " If you wish to read a thrilling story, absorbingly interesting, and at the same time in 
 no degree overstrained or unnatural, get Kate Aylesford. It reminds us of the best of 
 Cooper s novels, and it is free from faults which they abound in." Piedmont (Fa.) Whig. 
 
 *rice for the complete work, in two volumes in paper cover, One Dollar only; or another 
 edition, handsomely bound in one volume, cloth, gilt, is published for One Dollar and 
 Twenty-Five Cents. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the work will be sent to any person, to any part of the United 
 States, free of postage, on their remitting the price of the edition they may wish, to the 
 publisher, in a letter, post-paid. 
 
 Published and for sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 BTo. 102 CUestnut Street, Philadelphia, 
 23 
 
A NEW COOK BOOK, BYMISSJLESLI^FOR THE MILLION 
 MISS^LTsTTE S 
 
 "MEW REramoa GOOKING. M 
 
 - " 
 
 , 
 
 ^ 
 
 . 
 
 dictated by colored mnl, W? w2 1 t or th(Mr skill in housewife 
 
 *> Aw rf/tai that ^^- in tht> art " /Or 
 
 lection are of French origin Their Htio. ?J * ^, ome , v . er y fine receipts in this col- 
 " The corn meal preparatior s will be fm, T tran , slatt!d ln t our own language * * * 
 * for every method in wh "h th mJi I 11 1 n ," sua ^ ? ood as full directions are given 
 
 Indian 
 properly, 
 
 "not embraced in. my former ^ book com nt ? k ? w Ji d S e . and " ^ receipts for cooking 
 country women, all of which I have b?-e *iZ??* ? domestic improvement of my 
 
 country women, all of tfcb I|ra f ooiosc mproT(. m ,,nt of my 
 
 RlTM, and to rarefuHj tVl ami ha?o t "m nm ? Vi" ""I 1 ! " "" y PM lW 
 "in this NKW RliOMl T S FOR ron ;!"r y " " d have " ow ""> thtm .11 
 mtolliglble to all pcr.on, in I aS , X, r"""<T raplnlnlng tl,,,m in lan,uaj.-e 
 
 to all cr.on, r"""<T raplnlnlng tl,,,m in 
 
 s^ 
 
 KECEIPTS 
 
 
 BTo. 103 Chestnut Street, 
 
THE INITIALS: 
 
 A STORY OF MODERN LIFE. 
 
 Complete in two vols., paper cover, Price On7~Dollar or 
 
 bound in one vol., cloth. Price One Dollar and 
 
 Twenty-Five Cents a copy. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, 
 has just published this celebrated and world-renowned work. It will be 
 found on perusal to be one of the best, as it is one of the most celebrated 
 works ever published in the English language, and will live, and con 
 tinue to be read for generations to come, and rank by the side of Sir 
 Walter Scott s celebrated novels. 
 
 READ THE TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 in. 
 v. 
 
 V. 
 VI. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 i. The Letter. 
 ii. The Initials. 
 A. Z. 
 
 A Walk of no common De 
 scription. 
 An Alp. 
 
 Secularized Cloisters. 
 Vii. An Excursion, and Return to 
 the Secularized Cloisters. 
 Vin. An Alpine Party, 
 ix. Salzburg. 
 x. The Return to Munich. 
 xi. The Betrothal, 
 xii. Domestic Details. 
 xin. A Truce. 
 
 xiv. A New Way to Learn G erman. 
 xv. The October Fete. A Lesson 
 on Propriety of Conduct. 
 xvi. The Au Fair. The Supper. 
 xvn. Lovers Quarrels, 
 xvni. The Churchyard, 
 xix. German Soup. 
 xx. The Warning. 
 xxi. The Struggle. 
 xxn. The Departure, 
 xxin. The Long Day. 
 xxiv. The Christmas 
 
 CHAI TEE 
 
 xxv. The Garret, 
 xxvi. The Discussion. 
 xxvii. The Sledge. 
 xxvni. A Ball at the Museum Club, 
 xxix. A Day of Freedom. 
 xxx. The Masquerade. 
 xxxi. Where is the Bridegroom ? 
 xxxii. The Wedding at Troisieme. 
 xxxin. A Change, 
 xxxiv. The Arrangement, 
 xxxv. The Difficulty Removed, 
 xxxvi. The Iron Works, 
 xxxvn. An Unexpected Meeting 
 and its Consequences. 
 xxxvui. The Experiment, 
 xxxix. The Recall. 
 XL. Hohenfels. 
 
 XLI. The Scheiben-Schiesseu, 
 (Target Shooting- Match.) 
 XLII. A Discourse. 
 XLIII. Another kind of Discoui-se. 
 XLIV. The Journey Home Com 
 mences. 
 
 XLV. What occurred at the Hotel 
 D Angle-terre in Frank 
 fort. 
 
 XLVI. Halt! 
 XLVII. Conclusion. 
 
 Tree, and 
 Midnight Mass. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the work will be sent to any person, to any 
 part of the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the price of 
 the edition they may wish, to the publisher, in a letter. 
 
 Published and for sale by T. B. PETERSON", 
 
 No. 1O Chestnut St., Philadelphia. 
 To whom all Orders should be addressed, post-paid. 
 
OR, 
 
 ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS, 
 
 A NEW AND EXaUISITELY ORIGINAL WORK. 
 
 Have you read it? If not, then do so. 
 Price Fifty Cents in Paper ; or Seventy Five Cents in Cloth. 
 
 Wild Oats Sown Abroad is a splendid work. It is the Private Journal 
 of a Gentleman of Leisure and Education, and of a highly cultivated mind, 
 in making the Tour of Europe. It is having a sale unprecedented in the 
 annals of literature, for nothing equal to it in spiciness, vivacity, and real 
 scenes and observations in daily travel, has ever appeared from the press. 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS OF THIS EXTRAORDINARY WORK. 
 
 Opening the Journal. A View in Lyons. 
 
 Adventure in search of Ruin. Avignon Petrarch and 
 
 Parting Tribute to Love. Laura. 
 
 Three Desperate Days! Our First Ruin. 
 
 The Poetry of Sea-Sickness. The Unconscious Blessing. 
 
 The Red Flannel Night-Cap. A Crash and a Wreck. 
 
 A Ship by Moonlight. The Hailroad of Life. 
 
 Arrival in London. A Night Adventure. 
 
 The Parks of Loudon. " The Gods take care of 
 
 Poet s Corner, Westminster Cato." 
 
 Abbey. The Triumphs of Neptune. 
 
 England s Monuments. The Marquisi s Foot. 
 
 Madame Tussaud s Wax Beauties of Naples Hay. 
 
 Abelard and Heloise. 
 Scenes on the Road. 
 The " Tug of War." 
 " There they are, by Jove !" 
 The Raven-Haired One 1 
 Heaven and Hell J 
 The l< Hamlet" of Sculpture. 
 The Modern Susannah. 
 Hey, Presto ! Change ! 
 The Death Scene of Cleo 
 patra. 
 
 An Eulogy on Tuscany. 
 A Real Claude Sunset. 
 
 Works. 
 
 The " Beauties" of Hamp- zaroni. 
 
 ton Court. The True Venus. 
 
 Love and Philosophy. Love and Devotion. 
 
 " Love s Labor Lost." 
 A Peep at "The Shades." 
 The Modern " Aspasia." 
 Nob e Plea for Matrimony. 
 The Lily on the Shore 
 
 Natural History of the Laz- Tasso and Byron. 
 
 The Mortality of Pompeii. 
 Procession of the Host. 
 The Ascent of Vesuvius. 
 The Mountain Emetic. 
 The Human Projectile. 
 
 English Mother and Ameri- The City of the Soul. 
 
 can Daughter. 
 The " Maid of Normandie. 
 An Effecting Scene. 
 " Paris est un Artist." 
 The Guillotine. 
 "Give us Another!" 
 Post Mortem Reflections. 
 Fashionable Criticism. 
 
 The Shocking Team ! 
 Floatings in Venice. 
 The Venetian Girls. 
 The Bell-Crowned Hat! 
 The " Lion s Mouth." 
 The " Bridge of Sigh? !" 
 A Subterranean Fete ! 
 Byron and Moore in Venice. 
 Diana arid Endymion. 
 The Pinch of Snuff. 
 The Bock-Crystal Coffin! 
 Eccentricity of Art. 
 Thoughts in a Monastery. 
 The Lake of Coino. 
 Immortal Drummer Boy. 
 Wit, and its Reward ! 
 The Cold Bath. 
 " Here we are !" 
 The Mountain Expose. 
 The "Last Rose of Sum 
 mer." 
 
 The Coup de Main. 
 
 Night in the Coliseum I 
 
 Catholicity Considered. 
 
 Power Passing Away ! 
 
 Byron Among the Ruins. 
 
 A Gossip with the Artists. 
 
 Speaking Gems. 
 
 " Weep for Adonis ! 
 
 Whiskey Punch and Logic. The Lady and the God. 
 " Shylock asks for Justice 1" The Science of Psalmistry. 
 "Lorette" and - Grisette." " Sour Grapes." 
 Kissing Day. A Ramble about Tivoli. 
 
 The Tattoo. Illumination of St. Peter s. Waking the Echoes. 
 
 The Masked Ball. The Niobe of Nations." Watching the Avalanche. 
 
 The Incognita. A Ghostly Scene! A Beautiful Incident. 
 
 The Charms of Paris. " Honi soit qui mal y pense." A Shot with the Long Bow. 
 
 Changing Horses. A " BalF without Music. Mt. Blanc and a full stop. 
 
 Price for the complete work, in paper cover, Fifty cents a copy only; or 
 handsomely bound in muslin, gilt, for Seventy-Five cents. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the work will be sent to any person at all, to 
 any part of the United States, free of. postage, on their remitting the price 
 of the edition they wish, to the publisher, in a letter, post paid. 
 
 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 A T o* 102 Chestnut Street, 
 26 
 
GREAT ^ INDUjCEMENTS FOR 1856 
 
 J^Cl^JMJlf ILSJTcLUBsT "" 
 
 PETERSON S MAGAZINE 
 
 best and cheapest in the World for Ladies. 
 
 ^ 
 
 This popular Magazine, already the cheapest and best Monthly of its kind in the world, 
 Will be greatly improved for 1856. It will contain 900 paces of double-column reading 
 matter; from twenty to thirty Steel Plates; and over four hundred Wood En^rHvin-s- 
 Which is proportionately more than any periodical, of any price, ever yet gave 
 
 ITS THRILLIJTG ORIGIJT^L STORIES 
 
 Are pronounced, by the press, the best published anywhere. The editors are Mrs. Ann S. 
 Stephens, author of "The Old Homestead," -Fashion and Famine," and Charles J. Peter- 
 
 ITS COLORED FASHION PLATES IN ADVANCE. 
 
 It is the only Magazine wliose Fashion Plates can be relied on. 
 Each Number contains a Fashion Plate, engraved on Steel, colored a la mode and of 
 unrivalled beauty. The Paris, London, Philadelphia, and New York Fashions Ved<> 
 scribed, at length, each month. Every number also contains a dozen or more New Sftj 
 engraved on \Vood Also, a Pattern, from which a dress, mantilla, or child s cosJme 
 mautua - maker so tha * * number, in this way, will 
 
 3&jjntinfe, jraft nijjn: Itel 
 
 " &c - 
 
 PATTERNS FOR CROTCHET, NEEDLEWORK, etc , 
 
 In the greatest profusion are giv-n in every number, with instructions how to work 
 them; also L attcrns in Embroidery, Inserting. Broiderie Anglaise, Netting. Lace-rnalTin. 
 
 emisettes ; Patterns in ifead-work, 
 
 ii u- fA t-i.i*;3, i ducius in Dvwj-woTK, iiair- 
 
 L , 6 ^ *L C rne 5 8 ; Barnes for Marking and Initials. Eacb num- 
 to n 
 OM 
 
 ...^-.x^.-v.* vwi. HVAC* , -L^aijjco lui .iari\iiii^ HUU lUlCialS i^ flfh rnim. 
 
 ^!^ S^teST^*^^ h - *? -ake it, A piece of new and^sS 
 
 TERMS: ALWAYS IN ADVANCE. 
 
 One copy for One Year, - $2 00 
 Three copies for One Year, 5 00 
 
 Five copies for One Year, - $7 50 
 Eight copies for One Year, 10 00 
 
 Sixteen copies for One Year, ... $30 00 
 
 &UTTXNG up CS.TTBS 
 
 or 
 
 CHAELES J, PETERSON, 
 
 No. 103 Chestnut Street, Pliiladelplii. 
 
 * Specimens sent gratuitously, if written for. post-paid. 
 
 4W- All Postmasters constituted 
 
 GT Persons remitting will please get the Postmaster to register eir letters to v irh 
 tase the remittance may be at our risk When the sum is laWe a draft sLo^idV 2 
 3ureU, the cost of which may be deducted from toe amount P 
 
T. B. PETERSON S 
 
 WHOLESALE AND EETAIL 
 Cheap Book, Magazine, Newspaper, Publishing 
 
 and Bookselling Establishment, is at 
 No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON has the satisfaction to announce to the public, that he has removed 
 to the new and spacious BROWN STONE BUILDING, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET, 
 just completed by the city authorities on the Girard Estate, known as the most central 
 and best situation in the city of Philadelphia. As it is the Model Book Store of the 
 Country, we will describe it : It is the largest, most spacious, and best arranged Retail 
 and Wholesale Cheap Book and Publishing Establishment in the United States. It is 
 built, by the Girard Estate, of Connecticut sand-stone, in a richly ornamental style. 
 The whole front of the lower story, except that taken up by the doorway, is occupied by 
 two large plate glass windows, a single plate to each window, costing together over three 
 thousand dollars. On entering and looking up, you find above you a ceiling sixteen 
 feet high ; while, on gazing before, you perceive a vista of One Hundred and Fifty-Seven 
 feet. The retail counters extend back for eighty feet, and, being double, afford counter- 
 room of One Hundred and Sixty feet in length. There is also over Three Thousand feet 
 of shelving in the, retail part of the, store alone. This part is devoted to the retail busi 
 ness, and as it is the most spacious in the country, furnishes also the best and largest 
 assortment of aV kinds of books to be found in the country. It is fitted up in the most 
 superb style; the shelvings are all painted in Florence white, with gilded cornices for 
 the book shelves. 
 
 Behind the retail part of the store, at about ninety feet from the entrance, is the 
 counting-room, twenty feet square, railed neatly off, and surmounted by a most beauti 
 ful dome of stained glass. In the rear of this is the wholesale and packing department, 
 extending a further distance of about sixty feet, with desks and packing counters for the 
 establishment, etc., etc. All goods are received and shipped from the back of the store, 
 having a fine avenue on the side of Girard Bank for the purpose, leading out to Third 
 Street, so as not to interfere with and block up the front of the store on Chestnut Street. 
 The cellar, of the entire depth of the store, is filled with printed copies of Mr. Peterson s 
 own publications, printed from his own stereotype plates, of which he generally keopg 
 on hand an edition of a thousand each, making a stock, of his own publications alone, 
 if over three hundred thousand volumes, constantly on hand. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON is warranted in saying, that he is able to offer such inducements 
 to the Trade, and all others, to favor him with their orders, as cannot be excelled by any 
 book establishment in the country. In proof of this, T. B. PETERSON begs leave to 
 refer to his great facilities of getting stock of all kinds, his dealing direct with all the 
 Publ ehing Houses in the country, and also to his own long list of Publications, consisting 
 of the best and most popular productions of the most talented authors of the United 
 States and Great Britain, and to his very extensive stock, embracing every work, new or 
 old, published in the United States. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON will be most happy to supply all orders for any books at all. no 
 matter by whom published, in advance of all others, and at publishers lowest cash 
 prices. He respectfully invites Country Merchants, Booksellers, Pedlars, Canvassers, 
 Agents, the Trade, Strangers in the city, and the public generally, to call and examine 
 his extensive collection of cheap and standard publications of all kinds, comprising a 
 most magnificent collection of CHEAP BOOKS, MAGAZINES, NOVELS, STANDARD 
 and POPULAR WORKS of all kinds, BIBLES, PRAYER BOOKS, ANNUALS, GIFT 
 BOOKS, ILLUSTRATED WORKS, ALBUMS and JUVENILE W T ORKS of all kinds, 
 GAMES of all kinds, to suit all ages, tastes, etc., which he is selling to his customers 
 and the public at much lower prices than they can be purchased elsewhere. Being lo 
 cated at No. 102 CHESTNUT Street, the great thoroughfare of the city, and BUYING 
 his stock outright in large quantities, and not selling on commission, he can and will 
 sell them on such terms as will defy all competition. Call and examine our stock, you 
 will find it to be the best, largest and cheapest in the city ; and you will also be sure to 
 find all the best, latest, popular, and cheapest works published in this country or else 
 where, for sale at the lowest prices. 
 
 JBSf Call in person and examine our stock, or send your orders by mail direct, to the 
 CHEAP BOOKSELLING and PUBLISHING ESTABLISHMENT of 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 302 Chestnut Street) Philadelphia, 
 32 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 RENEWALS ONLY TEL. NO. 642-3405 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 CIRC DEPT 
 
 LD21A-60m-6, 69 
 (J9096slO)476-A-32 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY