UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 3E7 152 
 
 .^^- 
 
 A 
 
 DBO 
 
 i/f^e 
 
 U'>® »®"®«»®'»®'»®< 
 
\YOODBOURNE 
 
 A Novel cf the Rsvcluticnary Peri:! in Virginia 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 BY COIxOKSL. JOSEPH MAYO. 
 
 BALTDIORE : 
 
 THE BALTIMORE PUBLISHING COMPAXY, 
 
 No. 171 W. Baltimore Street. 
 
 1884. 
 
CoPY^JdTiT 18S4, bV LCiDU)^ Eti JosErn Mayo. 
 
 Presn of John U. rid & Co. 
 
dedigatiok: 
 
 TO COLCIIEL EC5ERT II. HAYO 
 
 izi A'j.i'arn, in the County cf V/estmoreland, Yirginia), 
 
 £3 a Slight Tclisn cl the Author's Gratit'a.le Icr 
 
 hi3 numtsrlesa acta oi mere than Erotherly 
 
 Kindness, this Yol'^ime is Alfes- 
 
 tionately Inscribed. 
 
 Mi20 V7 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The principal events recorded in these pages relate to 
 the most interesting epoch of American history. The 
 scene is chiefly confined to a little spot of that "Land 
 within the Capes," which its first explorer has described 
 as bearing the prerogative over the most pleasant places 
 known. In our unambitious narrative, which is con- 
 cerned with the fortunes of two or three families, we 
 profess to deal with subjects of general public interest 
 only as they may serve to elucidate the main design. 
 We do not propose to write a society novel, nor yet a 
 pure romance, nor to try and bedizen a prosy array of 
 unimi)ortant events in the trumpery garb of sentimental 
 fancy. Much less sliall we undertake to draw an elabor- 
 ate i^icture of tlie every-day manners and customs of 
 the ancient proverbial cavaliers of Virginia— cavaliers still 
 in spite of the disgust which some people affect to have 
 for the name. Yet in giving to the American public 
 our "poor account of rich doings," we deem it emi- 
 nently proper to devote a short space to the task of 
 correcting some of the erroneous impressions of our 
 fatherland and its inhabitants which have gone abroad 
 unchallenged over the face of the earth. First and fore- 
 most, then, let it be distinctly aflirmed that the Yir* 
 
 (V) 
 
Yl PREFACE. 
 
 ginians of that clay were no more Mr. Thackaray's 
 *' Virginians" than is the country in which they dwelt 
 the same which figured in the chart of his fruitful 
 imagination. True, their landed possessions were in 
 several instances as large as many a petty European 
 principality; and the owners of sucli vast domains were, 
 doubtless, entitled to as great consideration as any beg- 
 garly landgrave or boorisli count palatine, yet it is a 
 figment of prurient fancy to suppose that these manorial 
 nabobs all lived in solitary habitations twenty miles apart 
 each from his neiglibor, and surrounded by savage wild3 
 where, as the nursery rhymer says, 
 
 " Naked men in forests prowled, 
 And bears and panthers roamed anl ho-wled." 
 
 And whatever may have been their capacity for getting 
 over the ground, they surely were not equal to tlie task 
 of performing impossible journeys over impassible roads 
 in preposterous yellow vehicles, '-carrying six insides." 
 In all seriousness, if the chief merit of fiction consists, 
 as Macauley has remarked, in its resemblance to a model 
 with which we are already familiar or to which we can 
 constantly refer, in the name of the fairy muse what 
 shall be said of the incongruous brood of extravagan- 
 cies which one sees in the Virginia booth of Mr. Tiiack* 
 aray's teeming bazaar? "Wlien Colonel Henry Esmond — 
 the only fine, real gentleman who figures in his owil 
 memoirs — souglit at once refuge from villainous company 
 and balm and solace from gout and ennui amid the 
 charming solitude of his plantation in Virginia, it is cer- 
 tain that he found tlic moral atmosphere of his nevt 
 
PREFACE. yil 
 
 abode to bo a vast improvement on the mcphitic im- 
 purities of the grotto-dd-cavne^ from which he had escaped 
 in a half-asphyxiated condition. Here, at least, he -was 
 rid of the beastly Yahoos of Vanity Fair. Ilerc the 
 unsophisticated country people called things by their 
 given names. My Lord Mohun, the grand sachem of the 
 civilized Mohocks, ^vas rated as a consummate ruffian 
 and knave, and the fairest of the frail nymphs of St. 
 Germain's and Soho square was a very llecate of moral 
 deformity because of the shame, 
 
 "Which, like a canker in the frasrant rose. 
 Did spot the beauty of her budding name." 
 
 The vot.iri^s of fashion, the roues of the salon and 
 boudoir, tlie maccaronis of the club-house and the gam- 
 bling den, the starveling villipenders of Grub street, the 
 swarms of seedy political pimps, panders and prostitutes, 
 were in their eyes the same disgusting caricatures of 
 humanity, whether paraded in Steele and Addison's 
 polished periods, or pilloried by Pope and Swift in 
 *' Images from tlie dungliill and lazar house." These 
 were the early and late associates and boon-companions 
 of this courtly clironicler of scandalous small beer, who 
 would make us believe that half the women in England 
 of that day would have been most profitably employed 
 in beating hemp in Bridewell to make "cravats" for 
 three-fourths of the men. The world he has described 
 is that in which the dramatic fancy of Congreve and 
 Wychcrly revelled with delight, where "the women were 
 like proUigate, impudent and unfeeling men, and where 
 the men were too bad for any place but Pandemonium 
 and Norfolk Inland*" "What, after all, is this tiresome 
 
YlU PREFACE. 
 
 old male gossip, but one of those "coxcomb birds, so 
 talkative and grave," "wlio from his cage pelts the passers- 
 by with ribald words and sciun-y jests? 
 
 "Though many a passenffer he rig-htly call, 
 We hold him no philosopher at all." 
 
 "With like indignant emphasis do we repudiate the exag- 
 gerated portraits of our good ancestors which grace the 
 galleries of certain native artists, who appear to labor 
 under the strange delusion that tlie subjects of their 
 delineations spent the best part of their lives in stalking 
 around the circle of stiltish, purse-proud arrogance, and 
 swaggering in a "high-kilted" Babylonish dialect, which 
 out-gasconaded Gascony. It is farthest from the truth, 
 moreover, to suppose that the typical Virginian cavalier 
 found his only x^leasures in fox-hunting and cock-fighting; 
 carousing in tap-rooms, and wrangling over cards and 
 dice, betting at races, and whispering vapid sentiment 
 in the ear of simpering beaut}'. On the contrary, he 
 was as exquisitely alive and keenly sensitive as any 
 "mortal mixture of earth's mold' to those lofty impres- 
 sions and del'cate touches of feeling and passion which 
 elevate tlic soul, expand the intellect, enliven the fancy, 
 kindle in the heart the generous llamc of sympathy and 
 love, and strew with flowers the thorny paths of life. 
 And in the hour of severest trial, when Red Battle's 
 stern alarum rung out . over hill and dale, he approved 
 himself a manlj-, robust, bold and independent freeman, 
 who bared his bosom to the howling storm and recked 
 not of danger and sacritice in his country's cause. Of 
 Toryism, as the term was applied during tlie Revolu- 
 
niEFACE. IX 
 
 tionary era, there ^Aa3 little or nothing in this part of 
 the Old Dominion. All classes and conditions of the peo- 
 ple were more nearly united" in thought, feeling and 
 purpose than had hccn the case in n.ny civil disturbance 
 previouslj- recorded in English history. Still, there were 
 not a few among the wealthy and most influential plan- 
 ters who dreaded to cut loose all of a sudden from the 
 ancient moorings and set out on a voyage of explora- 
 tion "in thick weather on an unknown sea." They were 
 not able by a single eflort to break the tics, "light as 
 air and strong as links of iron," which bound them to 
 the time-honored institutions, hoar}' traditions, and imme- 
 morial usages of their fathers. They cherished a fond 
 veneration of the aristocratic and monarchical features 
 of the constitution, for the canons of property and laws 
 of descent, for the wholesome restrictions upon the 
 elective franchise and the right to hold ofTice, and in 
 regarding the freedom and safety of the subject as the 
 origin and cause of all laws ; they nevertheless believed 
 that the principles to which they were so ardently attached 
 aflbrded the only secure bulwarks and muniments of right 
 and justice. They read, with avidity, the letters of 
 Junius, and applauded the burning utterances of Burke 
 and Chatham; but they were not prepared to receive, 
 without debate, the precepts of the sage of Gunston, 
 nor to hear without trepidation the inspired voice of the 
 Seer, "whose thunder shook the Philip of the Seas." 
 As hostilities advanced, their minds were gradually 
 changed, and they became in the end zealous supporters 
 of the cause of American freedom. To the influence of 
 this class — wise, prudent, high-minded and determined 
 
X PEEEACE. 
 
 men — was mainly due the anspicioriS result that, in the 
 formation of the Kepublic, the spirit of innovation was 
 restrained within the confines of just and rational re- 
 form. 
 
 But our ''prolegomenon" is growing into a tedious his- 
 torical dissertation. ISTot to make too sudden a "pull-up," 
 we take occasion to repeat that in the following pages 
 we have striven to produce a popular vrork of fiction 
 which should be catholic in si)irlt, national in tone, free 
 from sectional and sectarian bias and prejudice, and con- 
 taining not a word or thought, hint or allusion, of ques- 
 tionable propriety. As such it is khidly commended to 
 the appreciative consideration of the American people. 
 
oolsrTEisrTS 
 
 
 ^J^Tl^ 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 
 I, - 
 
 ' 
 
 II, 
 
 - 
 
 III, - 
 
 - 
 
 IV, 
 
 - 
 
 V, - 
 
 - 
 
 VI, 
 
 - 
 
 VII, - 
 
 - 
 
 VIII, 
 
 - 
 
 IX, - 
 
 - 
 
 X, 
 
 - 
 
 XI, - 
 
 - 
 
 XII, 
 
 - 
 
 XIII, - 
 
 - 
 
 XIV, 
 
 - 
 
 XV, - 
 
 - 
 
 XVI, 
 
 - 
 
 XVII, - 
 
 - 
 
 xviir, 
 
 - 
 
 XIX, - 
 
 - 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 13 
 27 
 40 
 
 Gl 
 
 73 
 
 SO 
 
 91 
 
 9'J 
 112 
 125 
 VoG 
 
 i:3 
 
 IGS 
 1S3 
 195 
 200 
 20G 
 215 
 
WOODBOURNE 
 
 s'.^:e^"i: I. 
 
 cnAPTErv I 
 
 XE of her own native bards has sung in 
 mournful numbers the miseries of "hap- 
 less Caledonia,'"' doomed to reap the bit- 
 terest fruits of the last bloody harvest of 
 internecine strife which ripened in gory ghastliness 
 on the soil of Britain. It is no horrid dream of 
 phrenzied imagination, the tragic picture we are 
 gazing upon; but the frightful reality of calamitous 
 woe, fell-born progeny of the grisly demon of civil 
 discord and fratricidal rage. 
 
 Scotland, indeed, was made to feel its keenest 
 pangs; but the terrible scourge did not confine its 
 ravages to her ill-fated borders. It carried desola- 
 tion and mourning to many a happy English home, 
 and everywhere inflicted great gaping wounds on 
 the bosom of society, which, for long years to come, 
 broke out and bled afresh at the whisper of some 
 name of hateful memory and portentous sound. 
 

 
 WOODBOUKXE. 
 
 Iliive tliey been ^vholly healed by the great physi- 
 cian, Time? For the sake of all that hiimauity 
 holds dear, let lis so hope and believe. AVho so 
 basely vile aiul malevolent as would wish to see 
 a^aiu the fiery signal of insurrection cast its bale- 
 ful gleam across tliat fair liorizon, vrhence the 
 genius of Christian civilization from its island 
 throne instructs the nations in the victorious arts 
 of Peace. 
 
 It is necessary, for the elucidation of these pages, 
 for us to take a flying trip across the ocean. ^Ye 
 are now in the midst of the beautiful region which 
 has been appropriately styled the Arcadia of Scot- 
 land. The scene is a small villa near the banks 
 of Leven Water; and time, an evening in the leafy 
 month of June, in the year 1753. It has been 
 raining — a passing thunder shower. The sun lias 
 just come forth from his vapory bath, and every 
 bush and brake is hailing his reappearance with 
 warbling pxans of surpassing melody. The fleecy 
 clouds, all radiant with prismatic glories, are slowly 
 trooping towards the east, and the last faint peal 
 of heaven's artillery reverberates far down the vale. 
 On every twig and blade of grass the pearly rain- 
 drops are sparkling bright; the air is laden with 
 the rich perfume of blossoming flowers; on the 
 mountains tlie heatlier blooms v.ith a deeper pur- 
 l)le, and tlic dimpling wavelets of tlie limpid stream 
 dance merrily in the shimmering sunlight. 
 
 Two ladies are seated at an open wir.dovr v,hich 
 commands a delightful prospect, embracing the most 
 bewitching features of the extensive landscape. One 
 is old ; yet tlic frosts of age have not chilled her 
 
"WOODBOUIiXE. 6 
 
 heart, ^vliicli speaks in the look of tender affection 
 and solicitude with which she is regarding her com- 
 l^anion. Tiie latter lady is in the ercrly prime and 
 loveliness of charming womanhood. Her face wears 
 an expression of sadness, which appears to be for- 
 eign to her natural disposition. She is resting her 
 chin on one hand; in the other is an open letter, 
 and htr large, grey eyes, moist with springing teifrs, 
 are gazing absently at the distant clor.d-payilioned 
 crag towards which the sun is rapidly declining. To 
 a long and earnest conversation, vrhich was not with- 
 out painful interest to the young lady, there had 
 ensued a silence of some moments' duration. It was 
 broken by the elder lady. 
 
 "All happens for the best, my child," slie said, 
 meeting an outburst of disappointment with the 
 golden commonplace of old age's proverbial philoso- 
 phy. ^'I was convinced from the first that the 
 effort would prove fruitless; yet I did not try to 
 dissuade you from making it, because I knew you 
 would not be satisfied until you had done every- 
 thing in your power to discover vrhat was your 
 brother's fate; now your mind is at ease on that 
 account. You cannot justly reproach yourself with 
 having left undone anything which sisterly affection 
 and duty commanded you to do, and you will soon 
 forget this heavy affliction in your nevr home, amid 
 untried scenes and cares." 
 
 ''lu io impossible for me ever to forget it, dear 
 aunt," replied the other lady; "but with God's help 
 it shall not be the means of bringing a single pang 
 of unhappiness to others. True, as you say, there 
 is an end of my long cherished hope;— this letter 
 
4 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 assures me of it; but I must beg you to repeat the 
 story over again as Uncle Leslie heard it from the 
 dying lips of our cousin, Duncan Campbell; I fain 
 would impress every syllable of it on my memory 
 in indellible characters. It may seem to be a weak 
 and frivolous fancy to you, and I am certainly 
 unable to explain it; yet only a Yvitness from the 
 grave can dispel the strange tormenting presenti- 
 ment I have that my brother escaped alive from 
 that bloody field.'' 
 
 "If such was the incredulous state of your mind, 
 Ellen, after having once heard Duncan's clear story," 
 said her aunt, gravely, " I do not see what good 
 can come of worrying yourself with trying to remem- 
 ber it. lioAvever, you know best. Perhaps it may 
 in time dispel the wicked illusion which harasses 
 you with constant anxiety, and to gratify you, I 
 will relate the story once more as your uncle told 
 it to me. Poor Duncan! he was another dear vic- 
 tim of that sinful rebellion. Oh, those wretched 
 times! how it makes me shudder to revive the 
 recollection of them. I must le brief, my dear, for 
 it is not pleasant to dwell on this painful subject. 
 Duncan, as you are aware, Avas serving on the staff 
 of his kinsman, the Duke of Argyle. He had learned 
 that your brother, whom he loved dearly, had, in 
 a freak of madness, left Oxford and enlisted with 
 the Chevalier's party at Derby; and all the time 
 the battle was going on at Culloden he was look- 
 ing everywhere for the miserable boy to take him 
 prisoner, believing that with Argyle's influence there 
 would be no difflculty in getting a pardon for him. 
 It was not until the battle was over, and the poor 
 
AVOODBOURXE. 5 
 
 misguided rebels were flying in every direction, 
 that lie came upon the object of his search. A 
 little band of the bravest of Charles Edwards' fol- 
 lowers, seeing the day was lost, had made a gal- 
 lant stand in order to enable their leader to make 
 good his escape; with them was your brother. His 
 hat was gone, and a stream of blood was pouring 
 from a ghastly wound on his head, and he fought 
 as one fights who courts death on the field of 
 battle. Brave boy, alas I alas I that he should have 
 been reserved for such a fate." Aunt Leslie paused 
 to vripe the gathering moisture from her eyes, while 
 her niece, with a convulsive sob, buried her face 
 in her hands, as seeking to shut out the horrible 
 scene. "Duncan," resumed the old lady, "as soon 
 as he saw his cousin, pressed eagerly towards him 
 through the thickest of the fray. Presently, he 
 beheld him suddenly reel in his saddle and fall to 
 the ground ; at the sanie instant he himself was 
 struck in the breast by tlie fatal bullet and borne 
 away lifeless, as was thought, from the field. When 
 he returned to consciousness he found himself lying 
 upon a pallet of straw in a farm house close to 
 the battle-ground, and in the first words that he 
 spoke he begged them to go and search for your 
 brother, describing as Avell as he could the spot 
 where he had seen him fall. His entreaties were 
 promptly obeyed. A diligent search was made for 
 the body; it was not found. Still Duncan was not 
 satisfied. Next, day, at his request, a squad of men 
 were detailed by the Duke's order to prosecute the 
 unavailing search, and when the officer in charge 
 of them, who was selected by Duncan himself, 
 1* 
 
6. WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 reported another failure, the poor lad at last 
 despaired of ever finding his unfortunate kinsman's 
 remains. His own wound was mortal; he was taken 
 home, Avhere he lived only a short month more. 
 In his dying hour his mind wandered hack to the 
 terrible battlefield, and Henry's name was the last 
 word his lips were heard to speak. And now, 
 Ellen, since all efforts to find your brother have 
 been in vain, T\-e are forced to conclude, after list- 
 ening to this circumstantial narration, that he was 
 numbered among the dead on that woful day at 
 Culloden Muir. Tell me, my love, what did John 
 say when ho heard your tragical story?'' 
 
 A sudden glow, rivalling the tints of the sky 
 she had been looking upon, mantled the beautiful 
 face of the young lady, and her tearful eye shone 
 with a brightness which was akin to rapture. 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! " she exclaimed, " I imagined before 
 that I loved and respected him with my whole 
 heart, but I never dreamed of falling at his feet 
 and worshipping him until that moment. When I 
 saw him looking at me vrith such an expression 
 of love and sympathy and tender compassion, no 
 words can portray. I could not help crying as 
 though my heart was breaking, while all the time 
 it was running over with joy and gi'atitude. It 
 was very weak and foolish, but he knew the cause — 
 so noble and good, so gentle and considerate. Then 
 ■\ve quietly talked it all over again, and agreed that 
 it was best for the happiness of others that it 
 should remain forever a sealed chapter in the book 
 of our wedded lives." 
 
 *'I am truly rejoiced to hear you speak of John 
 
WOODBOUr.XE. 7 
 
 in that Avav, my dear child," replied Mrs. Leslie; 
 '•he was always a great favorite with nie from a 
 boy. You were rather slow to consult me, but he 
 is the man of all others I would have picked 
 out for your husband. Yet I am sadly loth to 
 give you up, for I know I shall never see vou 
 again in this world, you will be so far awav. How 
 many miles did John say it was to Virginia?" 
 
 '•'He said thousands, aunt, I do not remember 
 how many; but I feel as though I were really 
 going to live in a world which had nothing in 
 common with this. It gi-ieves me sorely to think 
 of having to part with you, my dearest aunt — you, 
 who are the sole remaining tie which binds me 
 to my native land. You must not then believe I 
 ami cold and unfeeling because I long to be quickly 
 transported to those scenes I have never yet beheld, 
 where lies my future home, together with all mv 
 hopes of peaoe and happiness on this earth. My 
 mind is so constantly employed with contemplating 
 the new career which opens before me, that I feel 
 inspired with energies and aspirations and desires 
 of which I have hitherto been unconscious. It is 
 good to know that I was not made to mope and 
 pine in indolent apathy and corroding sorrow. There 
 is the germ of real, earnest, strong and courageous 
 stuff in my nature^my birthright and only inher- 
 itance, which, when transplanted to a more generous 
 soil, and fostered with loving care, will one day burst 
 into the full flower of domestic usefulness. Hence, 
 it is natural that I should hail with exceeding joy 
 the approach of the time appointed for me to assume 
 the dignity and responsibility of wifehood, and strive 
 
8 ^VOODBOniXE. 
 
 to become as one wliose ^linsband is knovvn in the 
 gates where he sitteth among the rulers of the land/ 
 For all that, dearest aunt, my heart is none the 
 less warm for 3^ou and yours, and whatever Iw 
 may say, I am sure there is no place in America 
 can compare in beauty with this lovely spot." 
 
 As she spohe a bird flew down from a neigh- 
 boring tree, and alighting on a spray of woodbine 
 close by the yvindow, carolled forth a single note 
 of enchanting sweetness. In a moment it was gone. 
 It had come to say good-bye to the pretty lady, 
 and to give her that little gem of song for a 
 keepsake. 
 
 "Xor any music like the song of the mavis, my 
 dear," said Aunt Leslie. "Do you believe John',,^ 
 wonderful tales of the mocking birds in Virginia i 
 But of course you do, and all he says about tha 
 beautiful flowers growing wild in the woods. Speak- 
 ing of them, the woods, you must promise me, 
 Ellen, not to venture to go into them unless John 
 goes with you. It was only the other day that I 
 heard our neighbor Smollett telling of a little girl, 
 the daughter of a friend who was living in Vir- 
 ginia somewhere or Jamaica, I am not certain wliich, 
 but it is all one, who had gone out to hunt for 
 flowers in the forest, and — " 
 
 "Was murdered and scalped by the hideous sav- 
 ages I " cried the young lady in a voice of affected 
 horror. 
 
 "Not so terrible as that." 
 
 "Bitten by one of those frightful rattlesnakes!" 
 
 "Not so, either; don't interrupt me, cliild. As 
 I was saying, the girl was lost in the woods, 
 
^OODBOUEInE. 9 
 
 ani T\'licn tlioy found her, after looking ever so 
 many hours, she was fast asleep under a huge tree, 
 and her clothes were literally torn to tatters." 
 
 The effect of this fearful climacteric shovred that 
 the Youno; hidv was not wantins: in a keen per- 
 ception of the ludicrous. 
 
 *' Why, aunt," she exclaimed, with a ringing laugh, 
 which chased away the shadow from her pensive 
 brow, ^'I was on the tenter-hooks for some awful 
 catastrophe, and lol and behold, it is only a story 
 of one poor babe in the woods with the dear lit- 
 tle redbreasts left out. Do not be uneasy on my 
 account; the flowers may ^a' wede away' in their 
 native wilds for me; it is the thought of crossing 
 the great ocean which really alarms my fancy, and 
 if I get safely through the ^ vexed Bermoothes,' 
 there is no danger of my being lost in the jun- 
 gles of Virginia. But, oh I aunt, just behold the 
 sunset; could anything be more magnificent? I 
 shall carry that away with me among my heart's 
 treasures, and," she inaudibly added, **the recollec- 
 tion of the dear, svreet face which is turning to 
 look at it, will abide with me as a joy forever- 
 more." 
 
 Aunt Leslie was touched. 
 
 '•It is indeed a beautiful sight, my dearest child," 
 she fervently responded. ^'I earnestly pray it may 
 prove to be the emblem of the evening of a long 
 and happy life to you." 
 
 Again the ready tears gathered in Ellen's lovely 
 eyes. She hastily rose, and throwing her arms about 
 her aunt's neck, kissed her affectionately; then she 
 knelt reverently at her side. Mrs. Leslie softly 
 
10 WOODBOURKE. 
 
 drew the sweet suppliant's head towards lier until 
 it rested on her bosom, and raising her eyes to 
 heaven, besought its guidance and protection for 
 the lonely orphan Avho Avas about to tempt the 
 perils of the deep, to find among strangers, in a 
 strange land, the haven of rest and happiness she 
 had looked for in vain in a country where every 
 object she beheld was tinsred with the dark hue of 
 a sorrowful remxembrance. 
 
 They had remained for a short while in this 
 prayerful attitude, when the sound of carriage wheels 
 was heard approaching the house. 
 
 "The gentlemen have returned, Ellen," said jLvs. 
 Leslie, "and soon the friends who are coming to 
 take leave of you vrill be here. It is time you 
 were dressing for the parlor. There, dry your eyes, 
 and keep the rest of your tears for the hour of 
 parting. John will expect you to wear your warm- 
 est smiles to-night, as to-morrow is vour wedding- 
 day." 
 
 The young lady calmed her agitated feelings as 
 promptly as she could, and proceeded to comply 
 with her aunt's injunction. But before leaving the 
 room, she turned once more to the window, and 
 her glance lingered in a last fond farewell on the 
 beloved images of her girlhood's home. The next 
 morning John Graeme and Ellen Campbell were 
 married, and ere another sun had set they are 
 miles away on their journey to Glasgow, v.'herc the 
 siiip was waiting which was destined to bear them 
 safely to their pleasant home in the Old Dominion. 
 
 Twenty years or more have come and gone. The 
 good Aunt Leslie has been gathered to her fathers 
 these many days; but her prayers liave been an- 
 
TTOODBOURXE. 11 
 
 swered. The junior partner of the famous mer- 
 cantile house of Ballantine & Graeme has pros^x^red 
 amazingly, and Ellen has found a home T.hich fills 
 the measure of anticipated happiness to the very 
 brim. They call their house lionhill, in honor of 
 jilr. Graeme's old friend and school fellow, the 
 author of Peregrine Pickle and the Ode to Levcn 
 Water, It is a loTely place, and whilst we do its 
 sweet mistress the justice to state that she does 
 not fail on occasion to speak in becoming terms 
 of admiration of the Arcadian delights, the bonny 
 burnsides, the fiowery braes and fragrant spreading 
 shaws she left behind her in the Land o' Cakes, 
 she assuredly appreciates none the less the glowing 
 chtirms of this favored clime. She readily admits 
 that the gorgeous splendors of the autumnal even- 
 tide in Virginia are enchanting beyond anything 
 her imagination had foretold, and that the mock- 
 ing-bird is a very marvel of feathered symphony. 
 As for the wild flowers, she argues that they flour- 
 ish most bonniiy in their native j^arterres, among 
 the rich meadows, the thorny brakes and bosky 
 hill-slopes; but she prefers to have a garden of 
 her own, — 
 
 And the jessamine sweet, and the sweet tuberose. 
 The sweetest flower for scent that blows, 
 And all rare blossoms from every clime 
 Grow ia that gardou ia perfect i^rhue. 
 
 But there are no dusky mountains bristling with 
 furze and gorse; no crystal river warbling over its 
 pebbly bed, only the wooded hills and chalky clifis 
 of Stratford, and the placid blue waters of the 
 noble Potoma? mirrorinc: the bluer skv. And iu^lead 
 
12 WOODBOUP.XE. 
 
 ot the nut-brown lassie trilling her simple love- 
 song over the pail, we can hear, if we like, Aunt 
 Dinah's doleful baritone drovrsily crooning some 
 eldritch catch, as she lazily plies her evening care 
 of milking the cov^^s. The last comparison, how- 
 ever, is entirely gratuitous, not to say impertinent. 
 Mrs. Graeme was happily possessed of a rare talent 
 for music, and had diligently improved the gift, and 
 the barbarous ditty of milkmaid, brovrn or black, 
 was harsh discord to her sensitive ear. 
 
 Taken all in all, the lot of Ellen Graeme had 
 been such as does not fall to many in this vale 
 of tears, even when we debit the account of hap- 
 piness with tlie sorrows and privations of her child- 
 hood's years. From the moment she set foot on 
 the threshold of her new home until now, she had 
 known but one great affliction, in the death of her 
 oldest child, — a bright little blossom of three years 
 plucked from its parent stem to deck the heavenly 
 bowers; and she lived to see the son and daughter, 
 with whom she was afterwards blest, grow up under 
 her watchful eye, and become all that a mother's 
 heart could desire. Her cup of rejoicing was then 
 full, crowned, overflowing. Xobly had she earned the 
 sweet reward of woman's highest earthly ambition — • 
 ' her children arise up and call her blessed; her 
 husband also, and he praiseth her." And John 
 Graeme's praise was no holiday compliment; it was 
 the constant, free, unstinted offering of tenderest 
 love and unfailing sympathy. AThile he did his 
 duty to his neighbor as a God-fearmg man should 
 do, and was in the truest sense a fatlier to his 
 children, to his wife he gave the unmeasured devo- 
 tinn of his loyal, nianiv heart. 
 
CHAPTEPv 11. 
 
 N" a bright eYening iu the early part of 
 the month of Xovember, 1775, a gentle- 
 man on horseback, approaching at a can- 
 ter the brow of the gently sloping decliv- 
 ity which overlooks X Ferry, drew rein so 
 
 suddenly that he seemed to have been riveted to 
 the spot by the wand of enchantment. 
 
 Xow we protest, most ungentle of critics, there 
 is nothing in this simple prologue to provoke that 
 derisive ejaculation. Go on with the story, and you 
 will presently discover that our cavalier is quite 
 another sort of person from the hackneyed creature 
 you are thinking of. That far from being one of 
 those fantastic images vrith v\-hich the genius of 
 romance has peopled its realm of shadows, yonder 
 solitary horseman is fully endued with the prop- 
 erties of mortal flesh and blood, however much he 
 may be destined to excel the vulgar herd of human 
 kind. Erect and motionless as a statue, he could 
 not have assumed a better attitude were he con- 
 scious of having his picture taken by the cleverest 
 of modern photographers. The subject is worthy 
 the pencil of Apc41es ; but in the absence of the 
 divine artist, we will try our profane hand at a 
 rough and ready sketch. 
 
 2 (13) 
 
14 WOODBOUEis^E. 
 
 First of all, it is evident that our traveler is 
 decidedly youthful, as his cheek, ruddy-bro^ii from 
 exposure to sun and breeze, is smooth and dim- 
 pled as a damsel in her teens, and his chin is 
 innocent of even the rudiments of a heard. At a 
 venture, one might say he T\'a3 a little the rise of 
 twenty years old. He is a trifle larger than Vnat 
 would he thought the middle size at his age; his 
 form, is at once lithe, graceful and compact, and 
 he is withal strikingly fair and comely in every 
 feature and lineament, gesture and glance. For his 
 dress, he is neatly habited in a fashionable drab- 
 colored riding suit, tipped off with plain double 
 gilt buttons, and in lieu of boots his nether limbs 
 are enveloped in a pair of yellow buckskiii leg- 
 gings, which reach nighly to his hips. Like proof 
 of unostentatious refinement is observed in the hat 
 he has on, which is entirely divested of the tawdry 
 embellishments so profusely worn by the young 
 fops of the day. Tiie accoutrem.ents of his horse, 
 a superb bay gelding, meet in all respects for so 
 gallant n rider, are of simple and substantial Eng- 
 lish workmanship, without ornament of any kind. 
 His pose is the perfection of ideal elegance and 
 ease, betraying in every respect, from the grasp of 
 the nervous hand on the tightened rein, to the 
 light, airy touch of the foot on the polished stirrup, 
 a very prince of tlie man62:e whose throne is the 
 saddle. Gathered in a roll, and strapped behind 
 the saddle, is a blue cloth surtout, and thus scan- 
 tily equipped it is easily inferred that our cavalier 
 is not going a very long journey. Leisure enough, 
 too, he seems to have for indulging the poetical 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 15 
 
 sensations a^.vakened by the glorious panorama v.-liicli 
 has broken upon him like a vision of fairy land. 
 And surely a lovelier, softer, and more gorgeous land- 
 scape never inspired the exquisite soul of Italian 
 art. On this particular occasion, two rare circum- 
 stances conspired to give additional charm to the 
 scene. The evening was as calm as an infant's 
 sleep, so that the numberless sounds of rustic music 
 floated, mellowed and swcglIj modulated, on the 
 downy bosom of the atmosphere. Then the season 
 had been unusually mild, and the fields and for- 
 ests had not yet surrendered their rich treasures to 
 the ravages of '• chill Xovember's surly blast " ; 
 but bedecked in all the splendor of their many 
 hued liveries, they displayed the ecstatic harmony 
 of colors wliich is the unreached paradise of the 
 painter's despair. Here and there on the summit of 
 a gentle eminence the gable, roof or other portion 
 of a dwelling house peered forth from a bowery 
 of embosoming groves, and across the open fields 
 an occasional herd of kine soberly wended their 
 way to the evening fold. Away in the distance 
 the majestic "river of svrans," its broad face glow- 
 ing with delight, was enjoying with supreme satis- 
 faction the interval of unwonted repose, and at 
 
 your feet the modest little X , pursuing its 
 
 gently winding way round headland and cliff, 
 appeared like a chain of silvery lakes, whose bright 
 mirrors gave back with enhanced glory the ravish- 
 ing loveliness they imbibed. Over all this scene 
 of varied beauty the slowly sinking sun of an 
 Indian summer spread its indescribable sheen, and 
 earth and sky vied with each other to produce 
 
16 WOODBOUE:srE. 
 
 such a masterpiece of jSTature's handiwork as would 
 have kindled adoration in the heart of the coldest 
 skeptic. 
 
 Kot many moments was our susceptible cavalier 
 permitted to remain in rapt contemplation of this 
 beautiful picture, for now his ear has caught a 
 familiar sound, that, rising gradually above the 
 drowsy hum and gathering volume as it approached, 
 burst all at once so clear and resonant on the 
 still air as to send the blood rushing through his 
 veins in a torrent of wild cxliiliration. Partaking 
 the same enthusiasm, the noble courser gave a 
 great bound forvrard, and before rider could recover 
 his seat and bring the full force of the curb to 
 bear, was speeding away in tlie direction of the 
 inspiring sound. 
 
 Moralists may homilize to their hearts' content, 
 but there is no enjoyment so intense and tumul- 
 tuos to man and horse as the intoxicating revelry 
 of the chase. Checking his impatient steed, and 
 galloping back to his post of observation, the 
 young gentleman reached it just in time to see a 
 pack of hounds emerge from the cover of the 
 forest into a large field a short distance beyond the 
 river. In a twinkling they have crossed it, and 
 are again lost to view in the pine thickets which 
 adorn the river's edge with an emerald fringe. 
 Straight after them, trailing one behind another, 
 comes a party of fifteen or twenty huntsmen. As 
 they cross the plain, most of those in rear come 
 up on a line with the one in front and some pass 
 him, so that it is now become a headlong race for 
 the prize whicli woodland heroes so ardently covet. 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 17 
 
 Many a ditch, Lotli broad and deep, traverses the 
 field, but these are easily cleared at a flying leap 
 by the whole chasing troop. A more serious obstacle 
 interposes in the shape of an ngly Avorm-fence, 
 high and bristling -with jagged stakes and unconth 
 riders. At sight of this formidable barrier, all but 
 two of the eager sportsmen prudently abate their 
 speed and look about them for a safe gap in the 
 fence. The twain more adventurous than the rest, 
 or else having greater confidence in the vaulting 
 qualities of their steeds, keep straight ahead in 
 their hurrying career, fierce competitors for the 
 honor of being first in at the death. They are 
 abreast, though some paces apart. At this stage 
 of the sport, the looker-on from the hill fairly 
 brims over with excitement; but it does not appear, 
 from the tenor of his exclamations, that he would 
 have those two madcaps desist from their dare- 
 devil attempt. 
 
 "That's I)ick Alloway on the sorrel; but who 
 can the other fellow be? Iso matter; ten to one 
 neither of them makes the leap. You and I could 
 do it, old boy," addressing his horse, which at the 
 moment looked the image of a ''fiery Pegasus;" 
 "and we are the only pair in the county. By 
 George I they are over it. Splendid! splendid!" 
 
 Sure enough, there they were, over the fence as 
 clear as a whistle, and off like the wind neck and 
 neck for the woods, into Avhicli they soon disap- 
 pear. The more sober gaited of the party, having 
 abandoned the contest for the prize, follow on each 
 according to his whim. Presently, the blast of a 
 horn announces the catastrophe, and as its echoes 
 
 2* 
 
18 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 die away along the liills a deeper quiet than ever 
 settles down npon the scene. Huntsmen and hounds 
 have yanishcd like a dream from sight and hearing, 
 and our traveler, recovering himself, replaces the hat 
 which he had snatched from his head in the excite- 
 ment of the moment, gives the rein to his mettle- 
 some steed, and goes on his way at a bounding pace. 
 Crossing the ferry, a mile or so beyond the river, 
 just as the last rays of the sun lingered on the 
 tree tops, he turned off abruptly from the high- 
 way he was pursuing into the depth of a large 
 virgin forest. He had gone but a short way in 
 his new direction, when he was startled by a noise 
 which resembled, in thrilling intensity and pro- 
 longed horror, the war-whoop of an Indian ravage; 
 but as the last relic of the interesting race of 
 yore had long ago disappeared from these once 
 familiar haunts, of course the sotmd could not be 
 referred to any such alarming source. Stopping 
 his horse, he sought an explanation of the rude 
 clamor which, judging by the effect on his own 
 nerves, had so frightened the peaceful denizens of 
 the silvan bowers from their propriety. He was 
 not long in ascertaining that it proceeded from a 
 pair of lusty lungs bawling aAvay at a song with 
 a stentorian gusto which set at defiance all the 
 laws of melodious concord. The words of the 
 obstreperous ditty betrayed the vocalist's zest for 
 the noblest of manly sports. Here is a specimen, 
 as near as we could come at the words: 
 
 Oil yonder liill tli to sits a hare, 
 Oppressed with sorrow, grief cand care, 
 B.'causc iior prospects are so bare ; 
 Halloo, bo3's, halloo ! 
 
WOODBOrRXE. 10 
 
 Tlie refrain being rendered at a pitch that made 
 the woods to ring, and set the owls to screeching 
 and hooting in mocking chorus. It was this 
 unearthly diapason, which might have been likened 
 unto the hideous yell of the lurking red devil as 
 he springs from his lair, and the next moment the 
 gleaming tomahawk hurtles through the air and 
 crashes into the skull of the nnsuspecting way- 
 farer. But to our sprightly cavalier there is some- 
 thing irresistibly ludicrous in the mixed concourse 
 of diabolical sounds, and he greets the nnlooked 
 for serenade with a loud peal of laughter. Then, 
 as the lines come so pat, he cannot forbear to 
 shout them out at the top of his voice : 
 
 '"Silence, ye wolvc?, while Ralph to Cynthia howls, 
 And makes illght hideous; answer him, ye owls!" 
 
 "In Saint Hubert's name, Dickon, stop your hor- 
 rible racket; you have scared the 'molly-cottontails' 
 out of their wits." The adjuration was addressed 
 to the owner of the enviable lungs, who now 
 appeared to view in the person of another horse- 
 man coming along a bridle-path through the woods 
 — a big-boned, strong-limbed, young giant he was, 
 with such a wilderness of light-colored hair about 
 his face and neck that scarcely anything could be 
 seen of his features. So much as was visible 
 showed extremely prepossessing, and the careless, 
 free-and-easy abandon of his mien, as well as the 
 merry light which danced and sparkled in his 
 clear, blue eyes, betokened a heart which was on 
 the best terms with itself, and all the world 
 beside. He was encased in buckskin cap-a-pie, save 
 
20 -WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 that he wore the stoutest of high-topped boots that 
 ever "skelpit through dub and mire." A h.irge 
 silyer-mounted horn hung by a cord under his 
 arm, at his saddle bow was disphiyed the trophy 
 which prochdmed him victor in the day's hunt, 
 and a brace of fixgged and foot-sore fox hounds of 
 the genuine ^'bhick St. Hubert's breed" limped at 
 his horse's heels. 
 
 ^•AYhv, Harry," exclaimed the newcomer, as he 
 rode up and shook the traveler warmly by the 
 hand, '-where did you drop from; is this the way 
 you keep promises? AVe looked for you to join 
 us to-day without fail— that was your word." 
 
 "If I lived and nothing happened," replied his 
 merry companion, whom we introduce as ' young 
 Henry Carleton, of that ilk. "You may be sure it 
 was not my fault, Dick, that I did not give you 
 a tilt for the brush I see you have there. My 
 father, who is just returned from Eichmond, 
 detained me aU morning Avriting letters for him, 
 until it was too late for me to take part in your 
 hunt. You may see I was in trim for the fray," 
 pointing to his nether garment. 
 
 "Well," replied Alloway, accepting his friend's 
 explanation, "I am delighted to see you all the 
 same, tliough you certainly did miss a glorious 
 treat— just one uproarious frolic from beginning to 
 end; men, dogs and horses perfectly frantic with 
 delight," and with true sportman's enthusiasm, he 
 launched forth in an animated description of the 
 chase, as they rode on together. 
 
 "Oh, I witnessed the grand closing scene from 
 the ferry hill," said Carleton, interrupting the flow 
 
WOODEOUKXE. 21 
 
 of Somervilian eloquence. '-Tell me, t\1io i;\-as the 
 spruce-looking fellow on the gallant grey, who 
 seemed to be pushing you so hard for the prize?'' 
 
 "Pushing me so hard? You may well say that." 
 replied Alloway, "for if his horse had not tripped 
 over a hanging vine and tumbled the fine gentle- 
 man over its head, he would have undoubtedly 
 won the race by several lengths. He wasn't a 
 bit hurt by the fall ; but you should have heard 
 him swear at his horse in the most outlandish 
 gibberish, as if the poor animal could help the 
 vine's being in the way. Who is he ? That's pre- 
 cisely what 1 vrould like to find out; none of the 
 party knew anything about him. He landed among 
 us right out of the clouds ; pitched like fury into 
 the sport without asking anybody's leave, and when 
 it w;i3 over he vanished in a flash no one saw 
 whither.'"' 
 
 Carleton. — "^Vhat's he like, this terrible hobgoblin 
 of the chase?'' 
 
 AUoicay. — "Oh, good enough looking, for that 
 matter, if he wasn't so infernally black — I don't 
 mean his skiii, which is none of the fairest — his 
 eyes and hair, especially his eyes — they looked like 
 two great lumps of charcoal with the light shining 
 through 'em, and Jupiter! how the sparks flew out 
 of 'em when his horse threw him — like a whole 
 blazing pile of hickory logs spitting fire all at 
 once. One thing I must say for the fellow, he 
 certainly knows how to sit a horse, and had he 
 not shown a spice of the devil in his temper, 1 
 would have desired better acquaintance, instead of 
 leaving him and his horse to settle their little 
 misunderstanding the best way they could.''' 
 
22 wooDEOun:N''E. 
 
 Carlelon. — "Xow, you liaye described an Italian 
 brigand or otlier sort of gentienian-like cutthroat." 
 
 The big sportsman jerked up his shoulders in 
 sign of contempt, and would have replied, doubt- 
 less, in a manner the gesture implied, had not the 
 sharp crack of a rifle close by cut short the col- 
 loquy. At the same instant a squirrel came bound- 
 ing from an overhanging limb a rod in front of 
 them, and had barely touched the ground before a 
 stout, half-grown stripling sprang into the road, gun 
 in hand, and, snatching up the game, held it aloft 
 in triumph, his face betokening the liveliest pleasiire. 
 
 "Well shot, Archie," exclaimed Alloway; "from 
 a rest, I'll wager." 
 
 "Indeed it was not, Mr. Alloway, it was, a fair 
 off-hand shot, and I did not see anything but its 
 head, either," protested the youth, pointing to the 
 wound behind the creature's ear. 
 
 "I only jested," replied Alloway; "it is not the 
 first proof I have had of your marksmanship. But 
 it is too late for another shot; come, mount behind, 
 I am going to take you home Avith me." 
 
 "Xo, thank you, Mr. Alloway," replied the lad, 
 "I have not been out on a regular hunt; I just 
 came on an errand for father, and must hasten 
 back. He says he wants you to come over early 
 in the morning and attend to* that little matter he 
 spoke to you about several days ago; I suppose you 
 know Avhat it is, I am sure I do not." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I understand," said Alloway; "say to 
 your father that I will be on hand between nine 
 and ten o'clock, and be sure and tell your mother 
 it was my fault that you did not get home to 
 supper." 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 23 
 
 *'0b, I'll be there by candle-light," laugliingly 
 exclaimed the boy, as he bounded away through 
 the woods like a deer. 
 
 "A pretty youth, Dick," said Carleton, as they 
 resumed their journey; "who is he?" 
 
 "'The very question I was asking myself for the 
 hundredth time," replied Alloway. "Archie is a 
 fine, manly little fellow; I wish I knew more about 
 him." 
 
 Carleton. — "' Xot know who the boy is ? why you 
 seem well acquainted with his father." 
 
 Alloway. — "There's the quandary; Archie is a fos- 
 ter-child. If I only could muster courage io ask 
 the collector."' 
 
 Carleton. — "The collector? Pray what new riddle 
 is that, you incorrigible sphinx?" 
 
 AUoicay. — "The collector, the great exciseman, the 
 tax-gathering plenipotentiary of our Ccesar-Augustus ; 
 who else could it be but old Jake Thompson, the 
 most redoubtable tory inside of the capes." 
 
 Carleton. — "I have frequently heard of the eccen- 
 tric !Mr. Jacob Thompson, but not by that for- 
 midable designation." 
 
 Alloicay. — "And you never heard how he earned 
 the title? Ah, I remember, you were at college 
 when it happened. Mr. Leo was addressing a large 
 gathering of the rebellious clans at the court house, 
 when Mr. Thompson suddenly burst in among the 
 crowd, boiling over with indignation. He called 
 the speaker a vile incendiary, traitor, demagogue, 
 and the like, and warned the people not to listen 
 to his seditious harangue. Parliament, he said, not 
 only had the riglit to tax them, but ought to tax 
 
24 WOODBOrEifE. 
 
 them till tliey groaned; it -sA'as a glorious privilege 
 to pay tribute to such a beneficent government, 
 and if his blessed majesty ^vould only make him 
 collector-general of his dominions in America, he 
 would teach his refractory subjects a lesson of 
 obedience to lawful authority they would not forget 
 in a hurry. The irate gentleman soon discovered 
 that he was in the wrong pew; he was hustled 
 out amid a storm of yells and hoots, and it was 
 as much as Ave could do to keep the populace 
 from giving him a chairing after the vulgar fashion. 
 From that day he has been known by a variety 
 of nicknames, all indicating the supreme object of 
 his loyal ambition. Here, everybody, down to the 
 school-boys, calls him Collector Thompson, and far 
 from resenting their familiarity, he actually glories 
 in the popular recognition of his zeal in his royal 
 master's service. Once in a while he breaks out 
 and ramps and raves like all bedlam let loose; but 
 take him right, you will find him to be at bot- 
 tom a very good kind of an old heathen — doesn't 
 bear a particle of malice, and is openhanded and 
 honest as the day." 
 
 Carldon, — "Bat what has the old tory to do 
 with the boy?" 
 
 AUoway. — "Everything — he and his wife. Having 
 no children of their own, they have adopted Archie; 
 but where they picked him up, I have not the 
 remotest idea." 
 
 CarUton. — "Another Tom Jones in embryo, very 
 likely. Come now, Dick, who do you suppose the 
 wild huntsman to be; for to me, he is a more 
 interesting per.^onage than your little foundling.'' 
 
^VOODBOURXE. 25 
 
 Anotiier pronounced shrug -was all the repl3\ 
 
 Carleton. — ^'A brave set of fellows, truly; twenty 
 of you to one poor forlorn foreigner, and not one 
 ]uid the courage to ask him a civil question. How 
 I wish I had been there." 
 
 Alloiuay. — "What would you have done? most 
 puissant imp of valor." 
 
 CarUion. — "AVhat would I have done? AVliy, first 
 of all, I would have gone to the relief of the dis- 
 comfited unknown cavalier and helped him to 
 remount; next, I would have felicitated him, in a 
 delicate way, on his superb horsemanship, and ten- 
 dered him the prize, which an untoward accident 
 deprived him of; and, in fine, I would have gen- 
 early dispensed him the hospitable treatment which 
 is due to a stranger and a gentleman — common 
 politeness, nothing more. Suppose now, this terri- 
 ble person should turn out to be what I verily 
 suspect he is — '' 
 
 "Xo more of thai, Hal, an' thou lovest me," 
 exclamied Alio way, retreating behind an apt quota- 
 tion. "And since you speak of politeness, I am 
 reminded to say, welcome to Woodbourne, if you 
 have been all this while paying me that long 
 promised visit." 
 
 " There, again, my dear friend, I am not to 
 blame," replied Carleton. "It was impossible for 
 me to leave home while my father was absent on 
 that plagucy Indian business ; and ever since he 
 came back lie has had me constantly at work in 
 the fourfold capacity of scribe, amanuensis, con- 
 fidential secretary, and general factotem. I am only 
 this moment relieved of my multifarious task; my 
 . 3 
 
20 AVOODBOURIsE. 
 
 luggage is on the way, and you are not going to 
 be rid of me for some days." 
 
 "Only stay until you -wear your welcome out, 
 and I will overlook past transgressions," replied 
 Alloway, in liis liearty manner. 
 
 By this time they had gotten clear of the for- 
 est, and, passing througli a gateway which opened 
 upon a wide lawn, were approaching a large and 
 comely mansion, half hidden in a tuft of sheltering 
 trees, and perched npon the summit of what, in 
 that country, was regarded as a somewhat ambi- 
 tious knoll. This was Woodbourne, the goodly resi- 
 dence of Mr. Pilchard Austin Alloway, where he 
 maintained, with a very bad grace, it was said, his 
 present reign of solitary grandeur. 
 
CIIAPTEP. III. 
 
 rJCHAED ALLOWAY'S 
 
 n Austin. The founder of 
 
 mother vras 
 the Virginia 
 f.imilj of that name ^as the younger son 
 of a younger brother, Trho appears to have 
 drifted hither toAvards the close of the seventeentli 
 century. At an early period of his life he set 
 out from Kent County, England, to seek his for- 
 tune ^-heresoever he could find it, and in his case 
 the proverb of the rolling stone received a flat 
 contradiction. Ilis various enterprises on land and 
 sea met v^ith. unvarying success, and he rapidly 
 accumulated a considerable store of wealth. Jamaica 
 was the last field of his commercial operations. 
 Thence he removed to Virginia, having previously 
 
 to Virginia, hav 
 invested the bulk of his large means in land and 
 negro slaves. He now abandoned mercantile pur- 
 suits, and became a planter of magnificent propor- 
 tions. From this description, it is easy to infer 
 that Mr. Eichard Austin the elder was one of 
 
 those 
 
 ;o]id men of whom the saw, ''Better to be 
 
 born lucky than rich," was written, and who, in 
 all the mutations of human affairs, never lose sight 
 of the main chance nor let go an opportunity to 
 turn an honest penny. Had he devoted himself 
 
28 vrOODBOUE2>^E. 
 
 body and soul to the service of Mammon, he 
 would in all probability have become the reignmg 
 monarch of Change Alley, and, dying, left a pile in 
 the funds for executorial "rooks, committee men 
 and trustees," to squander in contingent fees and 
 incidental expenses, to say nothing of fat salaries to 
 countless dispensers of infinitesimal benefactions to 
 the widow and fatherless. 0, blind heaper-up of 
 the shining hoard, why should you be so much 
 concerned about the disposition of your toilsome 
 gains when you yourself shall have been hutched 
 in the insatiable grave? AVhat difference v;ill it 
 make in the general account of human liappiness 
 whether 
 
 To heirs unknown descends the unguarded -store, 
 ^^ Or wanders, Heaven directed, to the poo:? 
 
 It was Richard Austin's son a\'1io designed the 
 capacious dwelling that erstwhile looked down in 
 stately pride from the crest of yonder sedgy knoll, 
 and of which naught remains to tell the tale save 
 a crumbling heap of bricks and mortar, and the 
 charred end or two of ^ a beam or rafter. It was 
 burned by the British in the war of 181^2, one of 
 the many similar acts of vandalism of which tlic 
 locality retains the proof to this day. 
 
 Mr. John Austin was liberally educated at the 
 best schools in England, obtained a degree at 
 Oxford, and received the extra polishing of the 
 grand Continental tour. That he made the most 
 of his opportunities is evident from the fact, that 
 had he not been a man of rare talents and acquire- 
 ments, he could not possibly have attained to the 
 
TTOODBOURiCE. 29 
 
 honors he in after years enjoyed, having, at different 
 times, been a member of Conncil, sat several ses- 
 sions in the House of Burgesses, and filled, as long 
 as he desired it, the responsible office of Presiding 
 Justice and High Sheriff of the county. Under 
 his forming hands AVoodbourne blossomed as a rose 
 in the T\-ilderness, and displayed in every feature 
 the evidences of a cultivated mindc and refined 
 taste. To this day the name recalls Tvhatever of 
 elegant ease, solid comfort and social pleasure found 
 an abode -^vithin ^-the ancient, hospitable hall 
 
 Whose vaulted roof once rung to harmless minis : 
 Where every passuig stranger was a guest, 
 And every guest a friend." 
 
 For all that the house had its skeleton. Here, 
 as everywhere, the stream of happiness was "the 
 torrent's smoothness ere it falls belovr." This pic- 
 ture of joy and gladness could not last for the 
 brief space of one man's life, and the last diiys of 
 Mr. John Austin's career on earth repeat the sad, 
 sad story of the vanity of human wishes. He had 
 but one son, the youngest of seven children, and 
 although he was far from wanting affection for 
 his daughters, the boy had been the principal 
 object of his pride and care. The good dominie 
 Avho held the station of private tutor in the fiimily 
 was not permitted to have exclusive control of his 
 pupil's training. The fond father devoted every 
 leisure moment to the gi-ateful task, and deemed 
 himself abundantly rewarded for his diligent pains. 
 The boy was sprightly, apt and ambitious to learn, 
 and not only did he m.aster with ea^e the lessons 
 
 3* 
 
30 WOODEOURXE. 
 
 which were assigned him, but by the time he was 
 seyeiiteen years okl he had read through every book 
 of travel, history and polite literature in his lather's 
 well-stored library, and thus acquired an amazing 
 deal of miscellaneous information. Vvlth these advan- 
 tages he was sent to the college at ATiliiamsburg, 
 and it Avas intended, when he had taken the course 
 there, he should complete his studies abroad. 
 
 In the bright annals of the Old Dominion there 
 is no name of purer lustre than that of Commis- 
 sary Blair, the pioneer of letters, to whom belongs 
 the imperishable honor of having erected a temple 
 where all the wisdom of the old world Egyptians 
 could be had without encountering the jierils and 
 cost of a double voyage across the ocean. His 
 darling foster-child was now grown to be a flourish- 
 ing seminary of science and literature. In another 
 decade it became the prolific nursery of republican 
 *?enius, the fountain to vrhich the brightest intel- 
 "\ects of the colony repaired, and '-'in their golden 
 urns drew light." 
 
 Thoroughly accoutred by previous careful prepa- 
 ration, Iiichard Austin enlisted with the fairest 
 auspices in the earnest and jealous contests of his 
 new arena. Among his associates were a score of 
 ardent competitors, all eager to endure the suffo- 
 cating heat and dust of the Olympic course to 
 win the victor's crown of glory. Xaturally, his 
 disposition was the most amiable and gentle; he 
 was ingenuous, frank and warm-hearted to a fault, 
 and the current of his feelings and affections 
 usually flowed in a strong, even and pellucid clian- 
 neh AVhilst he was a general favorite with his 
 
T\'OODBOURXE. 31 
 
 fellow-students, lie had especially singled out one 
 among the number for his warmest and most inti- 
 mate regard, and this attachment gradually ripened 
 into a friendship passing the love of women. 
 
 The session was drawing to a close; the final 
 examinations were close at liand, and the candi- 
 dates for the various badges of merit vied with 
 each other in nnremitting application to their 
 absorbing duties. Foremost in the generous race 
 were Eichard Austin and his friend, Reginald 
 Aubrey, twin stars in the galaxy of academic dis- 
 tinction. In the midst of the animated contest, a 
 marked change was observed in Richard's deport- 
 ment; he grew suddenly morose and cynical, 
 neglected his books, and went moping about in soli- 
 tary despondency. One evening, while the spell 
 was on him, he was crossing the college campus, 
 where a number of students were playing at cricket, 
 when one of them thoughtlessly accosted liim in 
 what he conceived to be an insulting and jeering 
 manner. Instantly he stooped, and, seizing a large 
 stone, threw it with all his strength at the offender's 
 head. The deadly missile flew harmlessly past 
 the mark at which it was aimed, to find a dearer 
 victim, and striking poor Auljrey full upon the 
 temple, felled him to the earth. The blow was 
 fatal. Let us not linger on the harrowing story. 
 The anguish and remorse of the unhappy young 
 man were terrible beyond description; and when 
 his father came to take him home, his sorrowful 
 companions could scarcely recognize, in the stony 
 image of voiceless and tearless woe around which 
 they stood weeping, a trace of the once light- 
 
32 WOODEOUEXE. 
 
 hearted leader of tlieir sportive pastimes, and many 
 vrondered if it yrere not better to be "^^dtli him 
 v.-liom they had tenderly L^.id to rest in the silent 
 grave. Ah, could he have ^vhispered one little 
 word, or had he even smiled in his sleep when 
 the cry of wild, despairing agony burst from the 
 wu'etched form that bent over him as he lay so 
 cold and still upon the ground! Alas! there V\'as 
 no solacing remembrance — no transient gleam of 
 compassion— no drop of healing balm in the over- 
 flowing cup of hopeless misery. Like a plummet 
 the soul of Eeginald Aubrey dropped into the 
 ocean of eternity, and from that moment Richard 
 Austin was rarely ever seen to smile. 
 
 Thus it happened that one flash of an angry 
 spirit had kindled a fire vrhich consumed to ashes 
 as fair a temple as was ever fashioned by skill 
 divine. 0, wretched man, voyager on life's uncer- 
 tain main, be not beguiled into false security because 
 the sea is calm and the stars are shining brightly 
 over your head. In calm and storm alike be ever 
 watchful and circumspect. To the wary pilot the 
 ripple on the glassy surface gives vrarning of the 
 jagged reef that lurks below. Let that strong 
 hand for an instant loose its hold upon the helm, 
 and the frail vessel which bears your soul's eternal 
 fortunes is engulphed in the yavrniug deep, or 
 drifts, a shattered and helpless vrreck on the bosom 
 of the remorseless wave. Beware! beware! or else 
 learn, v/hen it is too late, that to the mind which 
 is not already callous grovrn in sin there may 
 come an anguish which cannot be vrcaried down, 
 a pang which cannot be assuaged. 
 
AVOODBOURXE. 33 
 
 For weeks the grief of Eichard Austin was 
 excessive, and manifested itself in sncli fearful con- 
 vulsions that his fatlier inwardly prayed for death 
 to come and release him from suffering. At length 
 these violent paroxysms ceased entirely, and were 
 succeeded by another form of malady, less poignant 
 in the excruciatinsr torture of the body, but dis- 
 tressing beyond measure, inasmuch as it foreshad- 
 owed the vrorst calamity Avhich could befall the 
 unhappy youth. He sunk into a deep, pervading, 
 listless melancholy ; a thick, impenetrable pall of 
 gloomy dejection shrouded his whole being; it was 
 the acme of the misery which "rejoiceth exceed- 
 ingly, and is glad when it can find the grave." 
 Hour after hour he sat, silent and motionless, 
 gazing on vacancy, and when he was with difficulty 
 pursuaded to move at all, he walked with uncer- 
 tain and tottering steps, as one whose senses Avere 
 completely dazed and Avho had lost the faculty of 
 volition. The family physician now gravely shook 
 his head, and frankly confessed that h'.s patient 
 was beyond the reach of any remedy he possessed. 
 There was but one recourse left, he said, which 
 promised a chance of success. He had known a 
 change of air and scene to prove efficacious in 
 similar disorders after the ordinary appliances of 
 medical skill had been exhausted in vain. The 
 advice vras taken. To his father's great joy, Eichard 
 yielded readily to his entreaties, and they set out 
 on a voyage to England. The result showed the 
 value of Dr. Harrington's prescription. The trip 
 across the ocean of itself wrought a miracle of 
 cure, which Mr. Austin had not dared to hope 
 
34 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 for; there was a precious elixir in tlie far-sweeping 
 breezes unknown to Imman science, and when they 
 reached their destination Eichard was so far restored 
 to health as to evince a lively interest in the nn ac- 
 customed sights and scenes around him. In a little 
 Avhile the cloud which hung upon his mind sloAvly 
 lifted and floated away, and the light shone out 
 again. But not with the radiance of its early 
 beams. It was no longer the glory of the sun, 
 sparkling with myriad hues of ever-changing bright- 
 ness; but a soft, dreamy and subdued influence of 
 moon and stars, as of a halo from another world. 
 The beautiful visions of life's morning march, the 
 glowing aspirations for worldly fame and rewards, 
 the fairy forms and fantasies of young desire, each 
 object of passionate love and eager anticipation, 
 vrhich had imparted energy and animation to his 
 heart, appeared through the mystic drapery of that 
 serene shadowy twilight of the soul, like an unsub- 
 stantial pageant fast fading from sight. The old 
 vivacity and humor, tlie bounding pulse, the elastic 
 step, the gay, soaring spirit were gone, and instead 
 of these was a quiet, sedace, earnest ^nd contem- 
 plative demeanor, as if the mind was constantly 
 occupied vrith dark communings on subjects of 
 everlasting import. This was, indeed, the very crisis 
 of his fate. A deadly blight had fallen upon his 
 prospects and fame. He had no pleasure in the 
 diversions Avhere happiness is usually sought. His 
 heart vras a fountain of bitter waters, and despair 
 presented its poisoned chalice to his lips. But 
 thanks to his early complete religious training, he, 
 in this supreme moment of mortal agony, turned a 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 35 
 
 ueaf ear to the voice of the tempter, and taking np 
 his heavy cross bore it ^vith unmurmuring patience 
 to the end. 
 
 Eichard Austin had remained abroad scarcely a 
 year, "^hen he vras summoned home by the ilhiess 
 of his father. Here he arrived in time to close 
 the d}ing eyes of his only parent, and a fevr 
 months afterAvards he Tvas called upon to perform 
 the same sad task in the case of the unmarried 
 oldest sister, Tvho had been to him from infancy 
 in the place of the mother he had never seen. 
 Of his remaining sisters, Mrs. .Alloway alone resided 
 in the vicinity of Woodbourne; the others -were scat- 
 tered far and v;ide over the colony. All of them 
 were happily married, and did not require his aid 
 and protection. So, having arranged his affairs, and 
 given all needful instructions to his overseer, he 
 locked up the house, handed the key to the faith- 
 ful old butler, and once again crossed the Atlantic, 
 this time to become an aimless and solitary wan- 
 derer in foreign lands. He left an address with 
 Mrs. Alloway vrhere letters would reach him, but 
 he did not answer one of the many which she, 
 with true sisterly affection, continued to write all 
 the same as though he had been the most punc- 
 tual of correspondents. 
 
 Years rolled by, and still no tidings came from 
 him, nor could the persistent inquiries of the friends 
 who, from time to time, visited Europe discover the 
 faintest trace of his footsteps. His secret was 
 known to but tvro bosoms, by whom it was held 
 in tlie close embrace of professional confidence — that 
 of the old hnvver who had been his father's most 
 
36 WOODBOURNE. 
 
 intimate friend and counsellor in his private and 
 public affairs, and of liis agent in London. 
 
 Mrs. Alloway Tvent regularly to AVoodbourne four 
 or five times a year to make a tliorough inspection 
 of the premises, and especially to see tbat the 
 flowers were properly cared for, and the fruit trees 
 did not suffer for want of pruning. To her the 
 old place was always home, and nowhere else did 
 the roses and dahlias bloom so gorgeously, nor the 
 plums and apricots hang with such tempting 
 lusciousness. On these visits she was accompanied 
 by the children, in whose eyes grandfather's house, 
 as they called it, was a miracle of magnificence, 
 which laughed Aladdin's palace to scorn. What a 
 merry sight it was, to see these little elves drop 
 suddenly from the clouds, and put to rout the 
 legions of grim spectres lurking there in that 
 sombre and forsaken abode. How they scampered 
 through the house, chased around the lawn, 
 tumbled over the flower-beds, climbed the cherry 
 trees, swung upon the garden gate, ransacked the 
 poultry yard, performed every imaginable mischiev- 
 ous antic, and raised such a din about the cars of 
 Vncle George Hamilton, the sable factotum in 
 charo-e, that he wished them a thousand times in 
 Jericho, and wondered what Miss Jane could have 
 been thinking about to fetch them there to "towse 
 and mummock things to pieces that sort o' way." 
 But Miss Jane did not pay the slightest attention 
 to the grand airs of her brother's prime minister, 
 and the children gamboled on in unrebuked glee- 
 fulness. 
 
 Master Ttichard Austin Allowav was now a great. 
 
"WOODBOURXE. 37 
 
 gawky, hobble-de-hoy urchin, with a freckled face, 
 a tangled shock of sandy hair, a small flock of 
 goslings in his voice, and a superabundance of 
 good humor and animal spirits. lie had learned 
 to ride and shoot, to fish and hunt, and to swim 
 like a duck, to bridle a three-year old, and break 
 him, too, to worm a dog, and phlegm a horse — in 
 a word, he was a very prince of the tribe of 
 Ximrod, and the Admirable Crichton of rustic 
 accomplishments. Of the nectared sweets of learn- 
 ing, he does appear to have been particularly fond, 
 being like other truants given to exclaim, jam satis, 
 before tcstins: the fact whether crude surfeit reimed 
 in repletion. In Latin, Ciesar's bridge was an ever- 
 lasting stumbling block, and as for Greek, the 
 very alphabet was the quintessence of foolishness. 
 But although he was not on speaking terms with 
 the heroes of Homer and A'irgil, lie was well up 
 in English history, and had by heart the -entire 
 catalogue of British celebrities, from Boadicca, war- 
 like queen, to Captain James Cook, the latest won- 
 der of the world. Moreover, he knew perfectly well 
 that the world was round like a ball, and not flat, 
 like a pan-cake; that the old turn and turn about 
 theory was all gammon, and that the earth revolved 
 on its own "axle-tree" once in twenty-four hours, 
 and circumgvrated round the sun in three hundred 
 and sixty-five days and a fraction over, which 
 explained all about night and day, and winter and 
 summer, and led to the invention of the mariner's 
 compass and the discovery of America I Add to 
 the list a familiar acquaintance with the exploits 
 of "Jack-the-Giant-Killer," the Avonders of the 
 
 4 
 
38 WOODBOURKE. 
 
 ^'Arabian Xights/' the adventures of ^■Eobinsoii 
 Crusoe," and such knowledge of the Episcopal cate- 
 chism as a pious mothers unremitting care did not 
 fail to supply, and this inventory of Master Dick's 
 then acquirements is well nigh complete. 
 
 The fields and forests of Woodbourne were a 
 favorite resort of this young poacher, and if, which 
 was rarely the case, he did not succeed in filling 
 his game-bag, he was sure to comxC back with his 
 pockets groaning with the spoils of the orchard. 
 There were no interdicted preserves in this part of 
 the colony, and the sportsman vras free to roam 
 and ravage at Vfill; yet there was an illusion of 
 forbidden pleasure to Eichard in thus trespassing 
 on liis uncle's domain, from the fact that it was 
 highly displeasing to the august functionary we 
 have spoken of, who looked upon it as an offence, 
 nothing short of Jcze majcstie to shoot a squirrel 
 in the gum-spring woods! 
 
 One day, tovrards the end of the month of Octo- 
 ber, 1770, Eichard had started with his gun and 
 dog on one of these predatory excursions to "Wood- 
 bourne, saying, as usual, that they might not look 
 for him before supper time. He had been gone 
 but a few hours, v.hen he came hurriedly back in 
 a great fli^.rry of excitement, and startled his mother 
 with the intelligence that he had seen a strange 
 person walking on the \\x\\\\, and had stood and 
 watched him ever so long, and saw him go across 
 to the graveyard and pull one of the flowers she 
 said nobody was to touch, and hov/ he was dressed 
 in a rich suit of black velvet and walked witli a 
 cane, and seemed to be weak and lame, and — well. 
 
WOODBOUr.i^E. 39 
 
 that was all. He had run every step of the ^'ay to 
 let her know about it. AYho could the stranger 
 be? 
 
 ^•'Your o^vn dear uncle, my son/' replied the good 
 lady, warmly embracing the bearer of the joyful 
 news. "There, run and order the carriage to be 
 brought, and send some one for your father." And 
 in the next hour Mr. Alloway and his wife were 
 rolling rapidly along the road to "Woodbourne. 
 
 To the desolate wanderer the meeting was unspeak- 
 ably affecting, and he wept and sobbed on his 
 sister's' breast in a wild, passionate ^ay, which 
 showed how, in ail the days of his dreary pilgrim- 
 age, his heart was ever yearning for that one touch 
 of heavenly sympathy. Where he had 'been, what 
 he had been \loing, and how he had fared, none 
 ever heard the whole story from his lips. He sel- 
 dom referred to his personal adventures, and seemed 
 to regard whatever had befallen him as of no con- 
 sequence to the rest of the world. There was 
 neither affectation of indifference nor ill-natured 
 reticence in this enforced silence; only the weari- 
 ness of melancholy dejection, and blank, unfathomed 
 desolation of heart. Xot a murmur of complaint 
 nor symptom of impatience escaped him in word 
 or gesture; still, the bent form, the tottering gait, 
 the worn and weary look, and wan and wasted 
 features, these told their eloquent tale of sorrow 
 and suffering, and shoAved that at all times and in 
 all places the ceaseless horror, "fell tyi'ant of the 
 throbbing breast," held its victim bound with an 
 iron chain. Every trace of angry passion and cyn- 
 ical emotion had departed; he was now all gentle- 
 
40 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 ness and patiencG and holy resignation, watching 
 and waiting for the joyful summons v;hich would 
 call the grief-burdened soul to its appointed rest. 
 Such was his appearance to the observant eyes of 
 his affectionate sister, when the first gush of sup- 
 pressed feeling was over and he had relapsed into 
 his habitual seriousness. Her womanly intuition 
 divined the secret at a glance, and she felt a thrill 
 of unspeakable rapture on finding that all was well 
 with him at home. He had sought and found the 
 Peace which the world cannot give nor take away. 
 Mrs. Alloway came to see him every day for 
 weeks after his return, and found him always the 
 same quiet, uncomplaining and abstracted being. To 
 her anxious* inquiries after his health, he invariably 
 responded that he slept well, felt no decided pain, 
 and usually ate with a relish what was set before 
 him. On one of these visits she was much grati- 
 fied to observe that he noticed the absence of the 
 children, and wondered why they were never brought 
 to see him; so far from being annoyed by them, 
 nothing she could devise would afford him half so 
 much agreeable diversion as their merry gambols and 
 innocent prattle. After that they always accompa- 
 nied her, and frequently came by themselves. At 
 first they were considerably awed in his presence, but 
 they were not long in finding out that he was the 
 gentlest and most harmless of God's creatures, 
 instead of the terrible ogre they had been led to 
 imagine from the mystery in which his history 
 was enveloped. In a little while his grave deport- 
 ment ceased to impress them; but what they lacked 
 in reverence, they more tlian made up in fondness. 
 
^'OODSOURXE. 41 
 
 And now the master was here, even the frowning 
 grimaces and dreadful contortions of old George the 
 butler, began to lose their former terrors. *• Uncle 
 didn't care," was the aggravating rej^ly to every 
 protestation of the enraged majordomo; "and every- 
 thing on the land belonged to uncle, himself in 
 the bargain; and he was nothing but an ugly, 
 bhick, Guinea nigger, for all his consequential airs," 
 which sally of juvenile wit never failed to rout 
 the enemy, horse, foot and dragoons. Matters were 
 even worse than before he came home, and the 
 disgusted old servant, himself a paragon of all that 
 was proper and decorous in behavior, out of patience 
 with such weakness, wishes he had staid away alto- 
 gether, since he was of no more account in his 
 own house than to be made a stick-horse of by 
 "dem audacious chill'un of Miss Jane's," the men- 
 tion of whom was always coupled with the awful 
 prognostication that *'de debble was sartin to git dc 
 las' one on 'em." The monster! couldn't he see 
 that the boisterous romps and antics of this wild 
 troup of joyous sprites was worth all the physic 
 in Dr. Harrington's saddle-bags to liis mister, and 
 brought the only ray of real cheerfulness that ever 
 illumined that sad face? And when they gathered 
 around his chair, under the spreading oak on tiie 
 lawn, to listen with breathless interest to the voice 
 so unlike any they had heard before in its strangely 
 plaintive and musical tones, telling such beautiful 
 stories of the for-off lands he had visited, and the 
 wonderful people and things he had seen, his 
 devoted sister overflowed with thankfulness to fmd 
 her tender ministering was not unavailing, since it 
 
 4* 
 
42 WOODLOUEXE. 
 
 awakened in Ins breast transitory gleams of sun- 
 shine whicli she feared would never reyisit that 
 shady desert. 
 
 Shortly after his uncle's return, Eichard was 
 sent from home to try what efficacy there was in 
 a noted fountain of learning in an adjoining county. 
 To what extent he partook of its Pierian waters, 
 and v.-hether he derived any great benefit from 
 the same, we have not been able to ascertain; but 
 from the fact that he was never heard to brag of 
 his attainments, it may be safely conjectured that 
 he was contented v/ith the intoxicating effect of 
 shallow draughts, and left to older topers the sober 
 delights of potations pottle deep. "When his vaca- 
 tion came, Mr. Austin, who had manifested- much 
 interest in the boy, importuned his father to let 
 him come and live at Woodbourne. Mr. Alloway 
 readily consented, and as Dick was now grown 
 almost to be a man, his society and assistance 
 became at once a source of unmistakable pleasure 
 and comfort to the lonely occupant of the great 
 mansion, who, among other things, now directed 
 his studies, and succeeded in inspiring him with 
 a relish of' the dainties which are bred in a book 
 which he had never before experienced. With the 
 help of such a kind and affectionate mentor, he 
 made wonderful progress, and well-nigh atoned for 
 liis misspent hours. In return, he gave his atten- 
 tion to the affairs of the plantation, and as lie did 
 not interfere with Uncle George's department, 
 everything went on now as pleasantly as could be 
 desired by all parties. In and about the house was 
 a perpetual atmosphere of calm serenity and tran- 
 
wooDBorr.XE. 43 
 
 quil repose, now and then disturbed by an incur- 
 sion of the okl butler's uproarious tormentors. 
 Apparently, Mr. Eichard Austin vras greatly im- 
 proved in health and spirits; yet he never went 
 into society, and, except an occasional visit to his 
 sister, led a life of perfect retirement and seclu- 
 sion. His nephew relieved him of the irksome cares 
 of his estate, and was the almoner of his generous 
 bounty to the poor, so tha^* he was vr holly exon- 
 erated from worldly concerns. But he marked how 
 swiftly the days were gliding by, and knew that 
 his end was fast approaching. 
 
 One morning last May, Eichard, who had been 
 on some unusual errand, came in late to breakfast, 
 and was surprised to find his uncle had not yet 
 made his appearance. He was an early riser, and 
 it was his custom, when dressed, to go to his library 
 and spend an hour in study and devotion. Here 
 they found him kneeling beside a chair, his head 
 bowed over his clasped hands, which rested on the 
 Holy Book he had opened for the last time. His 
 prayer was answered; the poor captive was free, and 
 the sweet smile which lingered on his face, recalling 
 the image of his boyish grace and beauty, showed 
 with what blissful ecstacy he had greeted the mes- 
 senger of Heaven, and walked with him out of the 
 dark shadow into the light of eternal happiness. 
 His grave is the fourth one you sec there, and 
 the fifth is that of the old slave who followed 
 him in a little while, and was laid at the feet of 
 those he had so long and faithfully served. Such 
 was the peaceful close of a life which had been 
 embittered by one crushing grief, and it was con- 
 
44 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 soling to know tliat during the last years of liis 
 earthly sojourn he had found an alleyiation of his 
 sorrovv's. 
 
 By his uncle's vrill, which vras written before he 
 Trent abroad, and lodged with Mr. Coi^land, the 
 old lavryer whom Ave have mentioned, and which 
 was never afterwards altered, his nephew succeeded 
 to all his property, and as he left no debts or 
 legacies to be paid, there Avas nothing to do but 
 to take immediate possession Avithout legal formali- 
 ties of any description. xVnd thus Ave find Mr. 
 Eichard Austin AlloAA'ay, at the free age of one- 
 and-tAA-enty, lord of the goodly manor of "Wood- 
 bourne, Avith all its broad acres of field and forc-:t — 
 as fine a specimen of a free-handed, bold^spiritcd, 
 bluff and burly country squire as could be found 
 in the Avide borders of the Old Dominion; a noted 
 fox hunter, to be sure, and the proud OAvner of 
 the AA'inner of the SAveepstakes at Mt. Airy race- 
 field; yet by no means the embodiment of extraA'- 
 agance, idleness and dissipation, Avhich he is rep- 
 resented to be in the caricaturing pictures of certain 
 prejudiced and prudish story Avriters. He is A'ery 
 23opular Avith his neighbors, young and old ; enter- 
 tains as becomes his station and fortune, and makes 
 one in every party for pleasure and amusement; but 
 he does not, on any account, neglect his plantation, 
 Avhich he manages Avithout the aid of an OA'erseer, 
 and his affairs prosper accordingly. For the rest, 
 it is evident that he does not intend to remain a 
 bachelor longer than he can help, and of late the 
 frequent apparition of a stahvart cavalier on a Avell- 
 knoAvn sorrel horse, Avith a nosegay at his button- 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 45 
 
 hole, and a countenance expressive of the extremes 
 of sheepish bashf nines s and reckless indifference, 
 always going the self-same Avay, furnishes an exhaust- 
 less theme for gossiping people, who will persist 
 in taking so much trouble upon themselves about 
 matters that don't concern them. How his wooing 
 sped will in due time appear. 
 
 ^- 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 resume the thread of our story, the 
 young gentlemen from whom vre parted 
 a moment ago to take this short flight 
 over the " dark backward and abysm of 
 time," are now seated by a cheerful fire in the 
 dining-room; for, although the days are remarkably 
 mild for the season, the nights are so cool that 
 the warm blaze does not come amiss in that spacious 
 apartment. Dick has been telling about his uncle, 
 and when he had finished his Yoice was tremulous, 
 and a tear was glistening in his mild, blue eye. 
 His friend was fiir from being unmoved by the 
 touching story, and sat for some time in deep 
 meditation, gazing intently at the fire as if it were 
 a Merlin s Mirror, in which he expected to find an 
 explanation of all tliat is dark and enigmatical in 
 human life. 
 
 "Dick," he at length said, musingly, "I hope 
 you will not think me impertinent for pursuing a 
 delicate topic — your family secrets — but there is a 
 mystery here I would like to explore." 
 
 Dick. — "Certainly not, Harry; you are heartily 
 welcome to all the information I have to impart; 
 but, really, I am unable to see what there is so 
 
 (46) 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 47 
 
 very mysterious in my poor iinclc's sorrowful his- 
 tory." 
 
 Harry. — ''Xotliing in the history, as far as it is 
 written; but were you never curious to learn what 
 was in the books the sybil burned? You are quite 
 sure he left no record of his travels?" 
 
 Diclc. — '-'Xone, as far as I have discovered in 
 examining his papers; not the remotest hint of 
 anything that happened to him while he was abroad 
 is divulged in his writings, and all I know of the 
 matter is what he told me at odd times, when in 
 the vein of talking. The reason why the efforts to 
 find his retreat proved futile, is now perfectly obvi- 
 ous — he had changed his name in order to prevent 
 the possibility of his being traced. Doubtless, he 
 imagined that this self-imjDOsed penitence would be 
 of no avail, unless it was fulfilled with scrupulous 
 severity." 
 
 Harry. — "Was the late Mr. Austin a Roman 
 Catholic?" 
 
 Dicl:. — '-'On the other hand, he was ardently 
 attached to the Church of Ensfland; why do vou 
 ask?" 
 
 Harry. — ''You spoke of his doing penance, which, 
 as you know, is a word of fearful significance to 
 devout Catholics — means frightful torturings and 
 macerations of the flesh, lacerating integuments, 
 horrible flagellations, peas and pebbles in one's shoes, 
 sackcloth and ashes, pierced with cold, tormented 
 vrith hunger, parched with thirst, and ever so many 
 other unimaginable and unendurable agonies. Did 
 he suffer all or any of these things ? " 
 
 DicTc. — "Of course I did not mean that sort of 
 
48 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 penance. Indeed, I only used the "word for want 
 of a better. From the time that I came to knoAV 
 him well, he was religiously abstemious and self- 
 denying, a pattern of temperance in all respects ; 
 but I am sure he did not entertain the fanatical 
 notion, that the troubles of the mind could be 
 eased or dispelled by racking the body with every 
 manner of pain. Whenever the children came to 
 see him, he would talk to them for hours at a 
 time, in a pleasant and instructive way, of his 
 ramblings and observations in Europe, and his 
 sketches of characters and scenes were often exquis- 
 itely racy and humorous; especially glowing and 
 beautiful v\'as the description he gave them, with 
 almost childish rapture, of what he called his 
 'Happy Valley,' in Switzerland, where he lived a 
 whole year in a family of the better class of peas- 
 antry, for whom he formed the strongest attachment. 
 Our conversation was usually confined to literary, 
 moral and religious topics, followed by critical 
 remarks from him on his favorite authors. He was 
 thoroughly versed in French and Italian, and had 
 what seemed to me to be an inordinate passion for 
 Tasso, from whose 'Jerusalem Delivered' I trust to 
 be evermore excused. That and 'Milton's Paradise 
 Lost' were the toughest jobs I ever undertook; but 
 to please Uncle Eichard, I went resolutely through 
 both of them without skipping a line."' 
 
 Harry. — "AVhicli is more than I can sav. Is 
 that all, Dick?" 
 
 Dlch. — "Yes; at least I can think of nothing 
 more at present." 
 
 Harry. — "One other question— but no, I will not 
 
WOODSOURXE. 49 
 
 trouble you witli that." Then suddenly puttinpj on 
 a quizzical mask of profound gravity, he continued, 
 quoting fro:n tlie quaint old Knight of Xorwich: 
 '' * What songs the syrens sung, or what name 
 Achilles assumed when he hid himself among 
 women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond 
 all conjecture.' My bay against your sorrel, Dickon, 
 that I unmask your domino the very first trial. 
 Your uncle's name- -his assumed one, that is to 
 say — was Metcalf." 
 
 Alloway regarded his companion with undisguised 
 amazement. 
 
 "AThy, Harry,'' he exclaimed, '-'you are — " 
 
 "Doctor Faustus or the devil!" cried his lively 
 companion. "Don't be alarmed, old fellow; there 
 is not a grain of black magic in it. Strange, 
 though,'' he muttered, as if talking to himself, 
 "that this interesting solitaire should never have 
 occurred to us to be the man we were looking for." 
 
 Dicfc. — " The man you were looking for ? AVhat 
 in the name of common sense do you mean by 
 this provoking mummery?" 
 
 Harry (still preserving his serio-comic vein). — 
 " Davus sum noii (Elipus; you can read the rid- 
 dle for yourself. Hearken unto the story. Some 
 four or five months ago, while the convention was 
 sitting, there came to Richmond a stranger, whose 
 unusual appearance and mysterious behavior created 
 no little stir in political circles. He brought let- 
 ters from Mr. Charles Carroll, of Maryland, to Mr. 
 Peyton Randolph and other distinguished gentle- 
 men, to whom he made known his business, and 
 then disappeared as quietly as he came. What was 
 
 5 
 
50 WOODBOUKXE. 
 
 the nature of liis communication lias not yet 
 exactly transpired, but report says it had an im- 
 portant bearing on the questions at issue with 
 Great Britain. The general notion seemed to be 
 that he \vas a secret ambassador of the French 
 Court. Shortly after his yisit, the exigency of 
 public affairs called my father to the temporary 
 capital, where, meeting with Mr. Eandolph, lie was 
 casually asked by that gentleman whether he was 
 acquainted with a* man in Virginia named Ivichard 
 Metcalf, and answering to a particular description. 
 His late yisitor, said he, was greatly concerned to 
 discover the whereabouts of the person he had 
 described, and he had engaged to look him up if 
 he could be found in the colony. My father had 
 never heard of such an individual, but promised 
 to aid Mr. Iiandolph in searching for him. All 
 inquiries np to the time of Mr. Eandolph's sud- 
 den death wTre fruitless, and after that lamentable 
 event my father gave himself no further concern 
 about the matter, until he received a letter from 
 Mr. Carroll, some days ago, repeating the inquiry. 
 The stranger, I learned, was a Catholic priest, the 
 Abbe Julian Soule. Did you ever hear of the 
 name ? " 
 
 Alloway shook his head; he was sorely puzzled. 
 ^•It is too hard a nut for me to crack, Harry; 
 a Catholic priest? AVhat could he possibly want 
 with Uncle Eichard?" 
 
 "Yes, a veritable Catholic priest,"' repeated his 
 friend, resuming his rallying tone; "'you could not 
 well look more preposterously horrified if I had 
 said it was Old Xick himself, in hot pursuit of 
 
"SVOODBOrRXE. 51 
 
 some poor forsworn "wretcli "^"lio hud managed to 
 give Mm the slip, haying repented too hxte of an 
 evil bargain Tvith the arch-enemy. Isonsense, Dick; 
 YOU know well enough your good uncle was not 
 a sorcerer, nor, what some folks think a great deal 
 worse, a papist. I thought you were superior to 
 such vulgar prejudices." 
 
 Dicl:. — ''You are quite in the right for so thiuk- 
 iiig ; I am not the least bit prejudiced on that 
 score. Had you said he was a Jew or a Turk, it 
 would have made no difference, as far as uncle 
 vras concerned; his religious faith was as rooted as 
 that oak tree out there. A Catholic priest," he 
 slowly repeated; "yes, I remember, in that thrilling 
 story he narrated, a priest figures conspicuously, but 
 his name was Father Manso, an Italian; the other 
 name, I am positively certain, I never heard before." 
 
 Carleion. — ''Well, I don't reckon it is of much 
 consequence to you and me who his reverence is, 
 or what he is after; so, letting him go for the 
 present with a pax vol i scum, or what you please, 
 t^ll me now, in few words, what you think U 
 likely to be the be all and end all of this dis- 
 turbance with England?" 
 
 Did'. — '^That is what I would rather you should 
 tell me, Harry; you have been playing statesman 
 of late, and are deep in the public counsels. To 
 my unsophisticated mind, there is every indication 
 cf a bloody and devastating civil war. It is not 
 our fault, to be sure; we have had sufficient pro- 
 vocation, in all conscience, to justify an appeal to 
 arms; but the alternative is none the less dreadful 
 for that reason, nor will the righteousness of our 
 
52 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 cause avert the miseries Avhicli fratricidal strife is 
 sure to entail upon us. The die is cast; the 
 sword only can decide the quarrel; resistance to 
 the death should now he the watchword and reply 
 in every patriot's mouth." 
 
 Harry (eagcrlyj. — '-'Just what I expected to hear 
 from your lips; they belied you, who said you 
 were lukewarm in the cause." 
 
 Dich (with considerable warmth). — ^-'What right 
 has anybody to say that of me? Because I keep 
 my own counsel, and don't choose to go swagger- 
 ing and ranting about the country like a fantas- 
 tical Armido or blustering Bobadil, ravished with 
 the music of my own valorous tongue? It is 
 nevertheless true, I am no Hotspur." 
 
 Harry. — ''AH the better for that; it is a name 
 of unlucky omen— a splendid meteor, vanishing m 
 darkness and dismay; a spasm of heedless insur- 
 rection expiring in a field of Shrewsbury. Cool 
 heads and stout hearts are Avhat we need. A^ou 
 are right; we cannot shut out the truth by hold- 
 ing up our hands in hopeless deprecation. It is 
 now either independence or abject slavery. There 
 is no longer room for temporizing expedients and 
 patch-work compromises. There is but one course 
 left for us, the idtima ratio; and that signifies 
 everlasting liberty, or endless subjugation to the 
 American people. So say the oldest and most 
 cautious heads in the colony. The fact is, my 
 dear friend,"' he proceeded to say, warming with 
 the exciting theme, '-'our English cousins have 
 never had the slightest idea of granting our very 
 reasonable demand. They steadily look upon us as 
 
•NVOODBOUEXE. Cd 
 
 a set of political Pariahs and Islimaelites — aliens 
 from the Israel of British freedom, having no part 
 or lot in the glorious heritage of Magna Charta. 
 They have the monopoly of the commodity of 
 price, and they mean to keep it if they can. Pic- 
 ture these lords of humankind, as they modestly call 
 themselyes, ^vith their proud ports and defiant eyes 
 passing in grand review before the nations, every 
 dirty tatterdemalion among them swaggering about 
 his birthright of liberty, and we, miserable outcasts 
 from the pale of the constitution, not permitted to 
 feed upon the husks that are left by the swinish 
 multitude. Oh, it makes my blood boil to think 
 of their audacious effrontery. How I wish I had 
 never been born a British subject; a fig for the 
 name!" 
 
 This sudden outburst of indignation was too much 
 for Alloway's gravity. Seeing Carleton pause for 
 breath, he caught up the satirical strain: ''Let us 
 have another manifesto of non-intercourse, Harry, 
 and make its provisions as broad and general as 
 the casing air. Henceforth homespun is the only 
 wear, 'Sainte Croix' and *01d Madeira' the only 
 tipple; and John Bull shall not have our tobacco 
 at a guinea a sneeze. That's tlie sum tottle o' 
 the whole business — a mere matter of barter and 
 exchange with these voracious sharks — a rump of 
 pickled blue beef from the royal shambles for a 
 cwt. of Virginia smoked venison; a cask of rotten 
 Scotch herrings — " 
 
 ^«rr^'.— "Pshal those are mere trifles compared 
 with the one great grievance—" 
 
 Dick (re*fusing to yield the floor).— "And then 
 
54 AVOODEOURXK. 
 
 -we must kee]) on paying the old woman over there 
 her annuity of pin-money for sending her Eedcoats 
 over here to stir up the redskins to mutiny and 
 rage, and on no account forget to tickle the Pope 
 of England's nose Avith a tythe's pig's tail for 
 teaching us how to read the thirteenth chapter of 
 Eomans backwards. Others may do what they like, 
 but, as for me, I hereby forever abjure, renounce, 
 repudiate, scorn and despise the whole race of John 
 Bull — not excepting Shakespeare and Spenser, and 
 ^Milton and Pope, and Bacon, and Locke and Xew- 
 ton, and Boyle and — '0, Jemmy Thompson, Jemmy 
 Thompson, 1 ' — let me not forget to anathematize 
 the panegyrist Avho lauded his mighty countrymen 
 after that disgustingly fulsome fashion — 
 
 For every virtue, every worth renovrncd ; 
 Sincere, j)lahi-heartecl, hospitable, kind; 
 Yet, like the mustering thunder, when provoked. 
 The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource 
 Of those who under grim oppression groan. 
 
 You have not forgotten my famous "[)icce of decla- 
 matiou, Harry; how robusj:iously I used to mouth 
 it, to the admiration of our dear old master, rest 
 his soul I from * Heavens ! what a goodly prospect 
 spreads around,' to tlie awful eidolon of — ^Public 
 zeal, ever musing on the common weal, and labor- 
 ing glorious for some great design.' Jupiter! how 
 fine I thought it was I — the very sublime of heroic 
 verse, outstri})piug ^Achille's AVrath' and throwing 
 ^Arma Vininique' completely in the shade. Pah! 
 nothing but downright flummery and arrant balder- 
 dash from beginning to end! Oh, the luxury of 
 hating ! I never knew what it was until now. 
 
"V\'OODLOUEXE. 55 
 
 See how you liave set me in a Llaze, you f.rebranJ 
 of treason." 
 
 "Then," said Carlcton, langhiiig, '•' I hal better 
 strike while the iron is hot. It is my purpose 
 to go to work right away and raise a troop of 
 light horse, and I want your assistance at the 
 start." 
 
 Dick, — ^*You shall have it:, heart and hand." 
 
 Harry. — '* Seriously ? " 
 
 Dich. — "As a Quaker afc a love feast. I never 
 jest on that subject." 
 
 Harry (enthusiastically). — ^-I am o\erjoyed to have 
 you second my project so warmly. "We will about 
 it at once. Our noble chief shall not have cause 
 longer to reproach us for our tardiness. As you say, 
 it is not a subject for idle jest or vaporing. We 
 should prepare in real earnest for the contest, and 
 to fight we must have an army." 
 
 Dick. — "'An army? Where is the army of Gen- 
 eral Washinsfton ? " 
 
 o 
 
 Harry. — "' Little better than a mob, and fast melt- 
 insr awav, from all accounts. "We cannot fisfht British 
 regulars with raw militia with any hope of success. 
 You are a crack shot and a capital rider, my boy; 
 but to cut a squirrex's head off with a riile and 
 jump a horse over a worm fence, desirable accom- 
 plishments as they may be, are not everything that 
 is required to make a soldier of a man. Disci- 
 X-line, subordination, endurance, courage, fortitude — 
 these are the necessary elements of an efficient 
 army. It must be taught to move like a j^erfect 
 machine at the will of its commander; and, fighting 
 or retreating, marching or countermarching — " 
 
56 TVOODBOUEXE. 
 
 DicTc. — "Xever mind the 'disciplines of the -^-ars,' 
 brave captain; Braddock's defeat has not shaken 
 my faith in cold steel and steady valor. Close up, 
 touch ~ elbows, eyes front, march straight into the 
 cannon's month, like an embattled stone wall, 
 and — 'Our army swore terribly in Flanders,' quoth 
 my Uncle Toby — which last accomplishment is easily 
 learned. It is a stubborn fact, Hal; there is no 
 more dangerous animal alive than that same British 
 Lion when he shakes his yellovv^ mane and glowers 
 and roars in very anger. It will require all the 
 strength of our united hearts and hands, and other 
 help beside, I am thinking, to keep our heads out 
 of his ugly mouth. What do you perpend sliall 
 be done ? ' ' 
 
 Harry. — '-'ATere all the people of my mind, they 
 would declare George AVashington military dictator, 
 and resolve to a man to follow him blindfold. As 
 it is, I shall endeavor, unfledged stripling as our 
 reverend seniors call me, to do my full duty— carry 
 out the scheme I have suggested, with your aid, 
 and be ready to take the field before the campaign 
 opens next spring. We shall have our hands full, 
 without doubt; and, between us, Dick, matters are 
 not as they should be at Boston. We need not 
 proclaim our weakness on tlie housetops. If we 
 did, vv-e were irretrievably ruined— an easy prey for 
 your ravening beast. Still the truth should not be 
 concealed from those whose hearts are in the cause, 
 and who have the will and the power to remedy 
 the evil. Washington's confidential letters reveal a 
 picture of poltroonery, sordid meanness and flagi'ant 
 peculation which would be incredible if drawn by 
 
T^'OODBOUEXE. 57 
 
 a less scnipulons pen. He calls upon the fiower 
 of the native chivalry, the real yoemanry of the 
 land, to come to the rescue; men who will freely 
 take upon themselves the solemn vow of consecra- 
 tion to the holy work, and not quit the field until 
 their country takes her equal station among the 
 powers of the earth. It was well enough to adver- 
 tise the world of the nature and extent of our 
 grievances; to tell King George in good, set phrase 
 that we will not longer bear the yoke of vassalage 
 to the mother country. jSTow, silence in the ranks. 
 Xo more brave words; no more paper fulminations; 
 no more exuberant outpourings of the duJce et decus 
 spirit in cataracts of rhetorical bombast. Are we 
 earnest patriots, vrho look upon liberty as a jewel 
 above price? Then let us take our stand without 
 delay in the. deadly breach, by the side of our 
 chosen leader. But we will talk further of this 
 another time. There is a ship lying below; can you 
 tell me anything of her movements — when she sails 
 and whither bound?" 
 
 DicTc. — ''That, sir, is the good bark Katrine, from 
 Glasgow, Hamilton & Osborn, owners. She is here, 
 I am told, to take on board the household goods 
 and chattels, Lares and Penates, of Mr. Thomas 
 Osborn, one of the firm, who has prudently deter- 
 mined to go back to Scotland and stay there until 
 the storm blows over, if not for the rest of his 
 days. Xon-intercourse has already rendered the 
 occupation of the Scotch merchants comparatively 
 worthless, and some of them are seeking safer and 
 more profitable investments." 
 
 Uarry. — ""What of your neighbor, Mr. Graeme? 
 IIow is he affected by these troubles?" 
 
58 YrOODBOURiH-E. 
 
 Diclc, — "Generally reserved and circumspect; avoids 
 discussion, and keeps strict guard over liis temper 
 when the behavior of certain of his countrymen 
 in Maryland is denounced. Yet he openly avows his 
 abhorrence of Dunmore's brutal proclamation, and 
 declares that it and other outrages, that spring-gun 
 affair particularh', are past endurance. Like many 
 others, I suspect he earnestly deprecates having to 
 resort to extreme measures, without well seeing hov/ 
 they can be honorably avoided. His son is as out- 
 spoken a rebel as Patrick Henry, and had to bo 
 shipped over to Scotland to keep him out of mis- 
 chief. Eeally, though, it was done more to relieve 
 his mother's anxiety of mind than because his 
 father disapproved his sentiments. By the way, Mr. 
 Graeme can give you the information you desire 
 respecting the vessel. He was once a partner of 
 Mr. Osborn, and, I believe, still retains an interest 
 in the concern. 
 
 //«rr^.—" Which is all the better for my pur- 
 pose. Will you go with me to see him to-morrow?" 
 
 Dick. — "Yes, in the evening; I have an engage- 
 ment will occupy the entire forenoon. A plague 
 on't! I wish they had pitched on somebody else 
 for the disagreeable^ job." 
 
 //rtrry.— " AVhat is it, Dick?" 
 
 Diclc.~''Oh, a most weighty affair. You see, my 
 especial friend and pitcher, the collector, has been 
 ever so long at loggerheads with an c^^iially cross- 
 grained neighbor about a patch of alder brake, 
 which a fastidious muskrat wouldn't have as a 
 gracious gift. There has been an interminable suit 
 in ejectment between them, and at last, sick of 
 
WOODBOURXE. 59 
 
 the laws delay, and sicker still of the fee bills 
 they hare had to foot, they, for a Tvonder, agreed 
 to take it out of court, and refer it to two disin- 
 terested and judicious freeholders to decide. Lastly, 
 the arbitrators have locked horns, and, ^vorse to 
 embroil the fray, have called me in as umpire. Do 
 you know -what I mean to do ? '' 
 
 Harry. — "Halve the loaf between the litigants?" 
 
 Harry. — ''Give them an equal share apiece of 
 hard crust, and decree the rest in costs? that's 
 English for equity.*' 
 
 i>iH\— "Xot a bit of it." 
 
 Harry. — ""What then, 0, learned judge?'' 
 
 Dicl\ — ""W'hy, I intend to award the whole of 
 it to the frogs for a free commonwealth — a nevr 
 Atlantis, where they may croak and croak from 
 daylight to dawn again, with none to molest or 
 make them afraid." 
 
 Carleton laughed heartily. "' Capital, famous,'' he 
 exclaimed; "the tvro-edged sword of justice ctitting 
 both ways at once — one edge lopping off an ever- 
 lasting casus Mil between two tough old sticklers 
 for their rights; the other carving out a perpetual 
 paradise for the subjects of King Log. If yoti 
 wield a sabre with the same address, what a trooper 
 vou will make. Then you can't go till evening; 
 well, that will be time enough for my business 
 with Mr. Graeme. I'm sorry his son is gone away; 
 the country can ill afford to spare such as he. Is 
 young Graeme their only child? 
 
 Duk — "The only son living; they had another 
 and — a daughter,"' there was just the least 
 
GO WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 'tremor of embarrassment in his voice, and the 
 faintest shade of heightened color suffused his sun- 
 burnt cheek, but they did not escape the quick, 
 sparkling eyes of his sprightly guest. 
 
 "And one fa'ir daughter," he exclaimed; "I see 
 it all now; you sly old fox, earthed at last. But 
 how is this, Dick; what have 3'ou done with your 
 other charmer of whom report tells — the lovely 
 rose of Clifton ? she that is said to be * the shop 
 of all the qualities that man loves woman for.' 
 Has the fair Eoseline found a Juliet in the daisy 
 of Bonhill? Why, I took you for the very north 
 star of constancy, and, lol 3'ou are as fickle as 
 the moon. Come, unbosom; I am dying to hear — " 
 
 "Get out with your nonsense, Harr}-," replied 
 the persecuted swain; "it is time to go to bed."' 
 And withottt further ceremony he snatched up a 
 candle and conducted Carleton to his apartment for 
 the night. 
 
 
CHAPTEP. T. 
 
 OU must amuse 3'ourself here as best you 
 can till dinner-time, Harry," said his host 
 next morning, as he Avas mounting his 
 horse. "James will give you the key of 
 the library, and nothing more is wanting to install 
 you in full authority during my absence.*' 
 
 Carleton was not at all averse from being left 
 to himself for some hours in the pensive solitude 
 of the quiet mansion. He had not been able to 
 close his eyes immediately on retiring, fatigued as 
 he was, for thinking of its late occupant, and 
 weaving all manner of imaginary adventures out of 
 the little hank of party-colored material, which 
 Dick's strange narrative had furnished; and when 
 he did fall asleep, the memory of that disjointed 
 story he had been listening to and trying to put 
 together in congruous and intelligible form, still 
 lingered and haunted him in a tantalizing dream, 
 in which he seemed to be chasing a phantom shape 
 through scenes he had read of, until they were as 
 familiar to his imagination as any spot known to 
 his school-boy rambles. Xow he saw it toiling 
 painfully up some rugged Alpine steep, and ever 
 and anon resting on its staff and gazing wistfully 
 
 6 (Cl) 
 
62 WOODBOUPvXE. 
 
 at the glittering peak, which mocked its daring 
 aim; then it apx^eared to be gliding like a shadow 
 among mouldering ruins and crumbling fanes, or 
 vanishing in the cloistered gloom of solemn min- 
 ster or grim sepulchral vault; then, again, it is 
 seen standing lonely and weird on the deck of the 
 storm-driven vessel, and straining its wild, yearn- 
 ing eyes over the dark and barren waste of waters, 
 and, at last, it returns to find its only rest under 
 the canopy of the loving oak, whose mighty arms 
 stretch forth and clasp the wanderer in an eternal 
 embrace. 
 
 On awaking from his fevered trance — sleep it 
 could hardly be called — he found it impossible to 
 shake off the enchantment of those nightly visions, 
 and at breakfast his host did not fail to note the 
 air of musing and absent-minded soberness, which 
 vras so much at variance with his wonted rollick- 
 some and debonair gaiety. Alloway did not venture 
 to ask for an explanation of his guest's unusual 
 pensiveness, for fear of bringing on another fit of 
 teasing, and, with the ordinary polite commonplaces, 
 left him to chew the cud of vrhatever fancy had 
 taken possession of his thoughts. 
 
 After a short stroll over the lavrn and through 
 the garden, Carleton returned to the house, and 
 taking the key from the servant, proceeded to the 
 library. He could not repress a slight feeling of 
 awe as he turned the key in the lock, but it dis- 
 appeared as soon as he opened the door. 
 
 The sun, streaming in at the windows, bathed 
 the apartment in a quivering flood of mellow radi- 
 ance, and far from presenting the gloomy array he 
 
■\yOODBOUE:N'E. 63 
 
 had pictured, every object "wore the brightest and 
 most cheerful aspect. The heavy avails and ceiling 
 paneled in grained oak, and glistening Avith a new 
 coat of Tarnish; the solid furniture of shining 
 mahogany and black vralnnt without speck or stain; 
 the well-filled book-cases, around which no sign of 
 cobwebs and venerable dust was clinging — these 
 certainly were not the common appurtenances of an 
 anchorite's devotional retreat. In one corner of the 
 room stood a large, old-fashioned cabinet, or "sec- 
 retary," profusely embellished with brass ornaments 
 in the highest state of polish, and opposite to this 
 was a glass case of imposing dimensions, which 
 was stored with an Gmnium gatherum of rare curi- 
 osities — mineral substances in endless variety, relics 
 of art, ohjcts-de-vcrtu, and the like — a sight such 
 as would make a virtuoso's heart leap for joy, and 
 prove by no means uninteresting to the man of 
 real science. The ample fireplace was adorned with 
 huge brass andirons, on which the wood was piled 
 ready to be kindled; a substantial fender of the 
 same material protected the uncarpeted and wax-pol- 
 ished floor, and they, the andirons and fender, as 
 well as the shovel, poker and tongs, Avere burnished 
 to a degree of immaculate brilliancy that was mar- 
 vellous to behold. In the middle of the room was 
 a large, round table, on which were writing male- 
 rials, several books, and bundles of papers neatly 
 tied up and sealed, and by its side stood an ancient 
 heirloom in the shape of a capacious easy-chair, 
 lined with morocco and padded witli hair, and having 
 a contrivance for writing or resting a book attached 
 to one of its arms. The mantlepiece was decorated 
 
G4 WOODBOUKNE. 
 
 with a pair of massive silver-plated candelabra, two 
 handsome-figured porcelain vases, and various speci- 
 mens of Wedgewood's ornamental wares, and in a 
 niche above it v/as a terra-cotta bust, which passed 
 current, on what authority is not stated, for a speak- 
 ing likeness of the renowned founder of Jamestown 
 colony; one or two bronze statuettes, on brackets, 
 of famous mythological characters, a few select pic- 
 tures of English hunting and pastoral scenes, a 
 dozen chairs of sundry patterns, a commodious sofa, 
 and an inviting settee, or kind of lounge; these, 
 with the books on the shelves, the map on the 
 wall, the dove-colored window curtains and one large 
 portrait, complete our tame description of this fairer 
 dwelling of heavenly pensive contemplation than the 
 awful monastic cell to which she has been ruth- 
 lessly consigned by Pope and ParnelFs melancholy 
 muse. The deeply-recessed windows looked out on 
 a wildering maze of shrubs and flowers, whose glories 
 had fled the approach of winter, and at no great 
 distance in the background towered, in regal pomp 
 of purple and gold, the majestic forest, which was 
 "Woodbourne's envied ornament and pride. Through 
 the latter a wide and deep ravine, making a natural 
 vista, aff*orded a tantalizing glimpse of the lovely 
 prospect beyond, bounded by the dark-blue line of 
 the Potomac, and the softer azure-hued "silent hills 
 and more than silent skies" of Maryland. Within, 
 every object was bright and alluring, and without 
 it was so dreamy and still it seemed as if all the 
 world, like the cat demurely dozing on the garden 
 fence, had gone to sleep under the drowsy influ- 
 ence of the delicious Xovember haze— 
 
vrooDBOuriXE. G5 
 
 "Whose vapory folds o'er the landscape strays 
 And half involves the woodland maze, 
 
 Like an early widow's veil, 
 "\Miere dimplhig tissues from the gaze, 
 The form half hides and half bL'trays, 
 
 Of beauty wan and pale. 
 
 "Whatever of agony and torturing care the self- 
 exiled wanderer may have suffered elsewhere, or 
 what the pangs, if any, he endured in secret at 
 home, assuredly they could not be laid to the charge 
 of the tutelary genius of this delightsome abode. 
 Such vras Carleton's internal conviction as he took 
 in the whole charming scene at a glance, before 
 pausing to inspect the portrait which confronted 
 him. It -was that of a rosy-cheeked, fiiir-haired boy 
 of sixteen summers, surprisingly beautiful and radi- 
 ant with the "purple light of love and bloom of 
 young desire.'' Looking on that exquisite picture, 
 how vividly came rushing into his memory the 
 mournful numbers of that psalm of life he knew by 
 heart, and there vras an unsuspected pathos and 
 depth of feeling in his voice as he repeated aloud 
 the lines. 
 
 Yet see how all around them wait, 
 
 The ministers of human fate. 
 
 And black misfortune's baleful traai ! 
 
 Could that handsome cavalier, proud, self-reliant, 
 panoplied in complete armor for the fray in the 
 times which tried men's souls, have had a premo- 
 nition of the evil days to come ? Had the unseen 
 hand of the wizard pushed aside the mystical cur- 
 tain for a moment, and revealed to his gaze the 
 maimed and broken wreck of a noble form, racked 
 
 6* 
 
CG WOODBOUEXE, 
 
 upon a bed of suffering, on a lonely island, and 
 dying far from Avife, and children, and friends, and 
 sacred home ? He turned away with a sigh, and 
 walked to the book-case. Having diverted himself 
 there for awhile with turning over the leaves of 
 one or two books, and discovered that he was in 
 no humor for reading, he at last fell to contem- 
 plating the old secretary in the corner, and sur- 
 mising what it might have hid away in its num- 
 berless receptacles. There was no telling how old 
 it was; it had the unmistakable impress of hoar 
 antiquity; had witnessed, no doubt, the passing 
 away of several generations, and consequently pos- 
 sessed the irresistible attractions which surround the 
 proverbial tomb of secrets in every old house. It 
 should be remarked, however, that we Virginia 
 peo2:)le have a queer delusion on the subject of anti- 
 quarianism, and are in the habit of speaking inva- 
 riably of the Old Dominion, of colonial memory, in 
 that venerating -way which seems to imply an 
 antediluvian existence, and of our blessed great 
 grandams as if they flourished at a period when 
 "Pharaoh's mothers mother's mummy" was a crispy- 
 headed marvel of toddling babyhood. 
 
 To resume, our young friend was in the best 
 possible frame of mind to indulge a roving, listless 
 curiosity, and he felt himself drawn towards the 
 mysterious object in the corner by an invisible 
 power. He could not forbear smiling at the eager- 
 ness with which he found himself approaching it. 
 How ridiculous, he thought, the idea of expecting 
 to discover anything here which would throw a ray 
 of light on the subject of his idle cogitations. Of 
 
^OODBOURXE. 67 
 
 course, eyery hole and cranny had been probed and 
 peered into a hundred times over. Still he could 
 not divest himself of a certain vague, undefined 
 sensation that he was treading on the verge of a 
 wonderful revelation— due in a great measure to the 
 reflection he was then making, that Dick had only 
 examined his uncle's papers in a careless, perfunc- 
 tory manner, without reference to any particular 
 inquiry, and, therefore, had probably overlooked or 
 forgotten many things vrhich he might consider 
 extremely significant in clearing up the mystery 
 concerning the late Mr. Austin and the Catholic 
 priest. The first drawer he opened contained naught 
 but a pile of uninviting rubbish, newspapers, pam- 
 phlets, loose sheets of paper torn from old ledgers, 
 mingled in a confused mass, which showed the little 
 value in which they were held, and the many times 
 they had been rummaged over; so with the second 
 and the third, which, in addition to the trumpery 
 we have mentioned, were filled with an endless 
 assortment of disabled household utensils. The 
 fourth drawer was more attractive in appearance, 
 though it, too, promised very little towards reward- 
 ing the painful researches of a curiosity hunter, 
 presenting, as it did, one sea of letters upon letters, 
 some of them tied up in packages, whilst others 
 lying open were fastened together in piles by a 
 thread, as if arranged for easy reference. They bore 
 the address of Ui\ John Austin, and embraced the 
 greater portion of his voluminous correspondence 
 with distinguished men of his day, on topics of 
 public interest — matter, perchance, valuable to the 
 future historian of the colony, but wholly uncon- 
 
68 WOODBOUR^'E. 
 
 cerned with the fortunes of the recluse. There was 
 a MS. among them, which proved to be an unfin- 
 ished memoir and biographical sketch of his father, 
 on which Mr. Piichard Austin was employed at the 
 time of his death. Having given this a hurried 
 perusal, and entertained himself for some time with 
 skimming over old letters, in which politics, the 
 price of tobacco and negroes, religious squabbles, 
 Indian depredations, Braddock's expedition, and other 
 matters relating to the welfare of the colony before 
 he was born, were mixed in an inextricable melange, 
 Carleton was about to close the dravrer, when a 
 familiar hand-writins^ on the back of one of the 
 bundles of letters he had not disturbed arrested his 
 attention. It was from his father, who had once 
 been Mr. John Austin's colleague in the House of 
 Burgesses. He untied the package, and examined 
 the contents. The letters were all from the same 
 source, and of the same general purport — consult- 
 ing and comparing opinions on legislative matters. 
 All but one, v/hich appeared to be strangely out 
 of place in that company, intruded there evidently 
 through inadvertence. These documents had been 
 carefully inspected by the author of the MS., as 
 was shown by the copious extracts of them he had 
 made. The interloping epistle was addressed to 
 
 Eichard Austin, Esquire, Gent; X • Store, 
 
 W County, Virginia. x\s Carleton stood holding 
 
 the letter in his hand, and looking Avonderingly at 
 the strange superscription, he again felt the sensa- 
 tion of mysterious aAve creeping over him. 
 
 "Psha!" said he, striving to throw off the spell 
 with a contemptuous shrug; "what childish folly is 
 
wooDBornxE. G9 
 
 this I One would think I Wcis in the very act of 
 unrolling the dread scroll of fate, and reading what 
 it had in store for me, when, in fact, I am only 
 halloing my idle fancy on a wild-goose chase. There 
 is nothing in Mr. IMchard Austin's melancholy his- 
 tory can affect my career in life. Yet, how do I 
 know that? 'Wlio can foretell the influence which 
 one m.an's lightest act or word may have on the 
 fortunes of others? Is not each of us a link in 
 the chain of inscrutable destiny? But a truce to 
 moralizing; let's see what is here.-' lie opened the 
 letter, and read as follows: 
 
 LoXDOX, Feb. 12, O.S., 1773. 
 My Dear Sir : 
 
 Yours, under date of Xovember IGth, 1774, came to 
 liand only a fortnight ago, the vessel having been delayed 
 on the voyage over by stress of weather. Agreeable to 
 your wishes, I lost no time in calling upon Sir William 
 ilarkhara, M.P., at his lodgings in this city. Our inter- 
 view was of the most pleasant and satisfactory charac- 
 ter. Waiving preliminaries, I showed him your letter, 
 remarkhig that it would best explain the nature of my 
 business. lie perused it with grave interest, and, as 
 I thought, suppressed emotion. After which he said, 
 *• Please do me the kindness to say to Mr. Austin, that I 
 duly received his communication, and that my failure to 
 acknowledge it involves a tedious and painful explana- 
 tion, which shall be made as soon as I can command 
 sufficient leisure." He then told me of a visit he had 
 from a Catholic priest, who was apparently interested 
 about the same subject, and "VAhom he had treated very 
 cavalierly, to say the least, not having deigned even to 
 ask his name. "Was that person in Mr. Austin's confi- 
 dence? If so, where could he be found? I replied that 
 I had never heard you speak of such a person in con- 
 
70 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 nection M'itli him, and that I would advise you of the 
 circumstance in my answer to your letter. WItli that 
 our conference ended. 
 
 The master of the Speedwell has just called to inform 
 me that his vessel will drop down on the next tide, 
 and to know if I wish to send anything on board. As 
 I have several little commissions to dispatch, I must 
 bring tliis letter to a close. Please tell Mr. Copland 
 that his matter received prompt attention; I sent remit- 
 tance to him last week in exchange on Amsterdam, for 
 fear of accidents. I yet hope and believe we will arrive 
 at a good understanding with the colonies. Let me 
 hear from you by the first opportunity. Communication 
 with America is becoming more and more uncertain 
 every day. Did you get the books shipped per packet 
 Hover? I am pleased to hear that 3-onr health continues 
 to improve. With best wishes, I remain, 
 
 Fa'thfull.v, your friend and obedient servant, 
 
 James Buchanan. 
 
 "February 12tli, 1775," repeated Carleton, looking 
 back at the date of the letter; "received April 6tli, 
 and answered on the 15 th of the same month. Mr. 
 Austin died shortly after; and so ends the chapter. 
 How provoking. It is plain that Dick has not seen 
 this letter. The priest again. Can he le the same 
 Julian Soule? I have a mind to write to Mr. 
 Carroll." The sound of hurried footsteps in the 
 hall interrupted the train of his thoughts, and he 
 barely had time to thrust the letter in his bosom 
 before Alloway came bursting into the room, 
 
 "Halloo, old fellow," he exclaimed, in his hearty 
 way, as his eye fell on the open drawer of the 
 secretary; "what the deuce are you up to there? 
 Could you find nothing better to console you for 
 
WOODBOURXE. 71 
 
 my absence than is to be got by gnawing at the 
 mouldy bare bones in that himber chest? Come, 
 I am sure you need something to wash your throat 
 and help your digestion after such a musty repast. 
 You see I am back sooner than I promised,"' he 
 rattled on, while Carleton was re-arranging the con- 
 tents of the drawer. " One of the referees was sick, 
 and the case had to be laid over. I would have 
 been here an hour ago, if I had not chanced to 
 fall in with Bob Temple on the road. He is always 
 brimful of news, and is a kind of good-natured, 
 gossiping burr that one finds hard to shake off. 
 To tell the truth, I relish a little of Bob once in 
 a while, taken fresh, but he gets to be consumedly 
 boring on too long and too frequent acquaintance. 
 Still, there is no great harm in the prattling jay- 
 bird of a creature. He had been to Clifton, he 
 said, to pay his respects to the foreign gentleman 
 from France, who is Colonel Littleton's guest. * For- 
 eign gentleman,' said I; 'do you mean the fellow 
 who bolted into our chase yesterday, and out again, 
 like a clap of thunder?' 'The very same,' replied 
 Bob. 'You see, one of the colonel's hands vwis down 
 at my house betimes this morning for a load of 
 oysters, and he told me as hovr his master and 
 young mistress were just, the day before yesterday, 
 come home from Maryland, and brought with them 
 a mighty nice gentleman, they called Mr. Conrad — a 
 beau Miss Mary had caught somewhere over the 
 river. So I thought it was the civil thing to do 
 for me to ride up and call on the distinguished 
 stranger, for between us, not to go any farther, 
 there is no manner of doubt about it, he is a count 
 
72 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 or marquis, or something of ilie sort, as sure as a 
 gun's iron.' * Marquis, fiddlesticks I ^ said I ; * more 
 likely a runagate of a dancing master, or abscond- 
 ing valU-de-cliamhre. Did you see him?' *Xo,' said 
 he, 'he was gone to ride with Miss Littleton. I 
 sat some time waiting for them to return, when 
 who should walk in but my especial aversion, old 
 Jake Thompson' — he gave Bob his title of Daily 
 Postman — *he was come for his usual dish of pol- 
 itics with the colonel, and they were soon at it 
 tooth and nail, talking, and swearing, and gesticu- 
 latino: like mad. That sort of fumino; and ravin 2^ 
 did not suit me, so I left my compliments for the 
 marquis, and promised to call again.' Marquis, 
 quotha I and this philandering Monsieur Magnifico 
 is Miss Littleton's latest conquest. A second Portia 
 is my fair cousin, and this another Colchos strand 
 for many Jasons," and Dick closed the library 
 door with a bang, and led the Avay to the dining- 
 room in the loftiest imaginable state of scornful 
 incredulity. Carleton was too busily occupied with 
 his own thoughts to pay attention to this disdainful 
 ebullition. When they had finished their toddy, and 
 were seated together on the porch, he adroitly turned 
 the conversation into the channel in vrhich he 
 wished it to flow. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T had not escaped his guest's keen obser- 
 vation that Mi\ Eichard Alloway was 
 more deeply agitated than he cared to 
 acknowledge by that incident concerning 
 the Catholic priest. Evidently, it had not before 
 occurred to him that there was aught of especial 
 interest in his uncle's lonely career to anybody but 
 his own family and small circle of friends. His 
 emotion, on hearing Carleton's story, was that of 
 undisguised wonder at a most unexpected revelation. 
 The fact that a stranger, whose name he did not 
 remember to have ever heard from Mr. Austin's 
 lips, was so much interested to find him out, was 
 well calculated to excite in a less sensitive mind 
 than Dick's something more serious than a transi- 
 tory feeling of curiosity. Duly respecting the ten- 
 der and affectionate reverence with which his friend 
 invested the memory of his uncle, Carleton observed 
 the utmost delicacy in approaching the subject. 
 
 "What a charming library you have, Dick," said 
 he; *' nothing of the awful or mysterious to be seen 
 there.-'' 
 
 "It is the brightest spot about the house,'' replied 
 Dick; "everything is just as uncle left it, except 
 
 T (73) 
 
74 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 the portrait, wliicli took the phice of one of my 
 grandfather I pointed out to yon in the halL 
 He had the room repaired and newly painted hist 
 spring shortly before his death. He Avas very par- 
 tial to it, and spent a third of his time there in 
 the old arm-chair beside the table." 
 
 Harry. — "Hovr did he occupy himself?" ^ 
 
 Diclc. — '"'Hsually in reading and meditation; lat- 
 terly he Avrote a good deal, being interested in 
 preparing memoirs of his father and other eminent 
 men of that day. You may have seen the MS. 
 among those old papers ? " 
 
 Harry. — ''I read portions of it; he has paid my 
 father the compliment of quotnig extensively from 
 his letters to Mr. John Austin. He was alone, I 
 imagine, the greater part of the time." 
 
 Diclc. — "Yes; frequently during the day and ahvays 
 at night until his regular hour for retiring, he had 
 the room entirely to himself. It was his custom 
 of a morning and evening, when the vreather was 
 good, to walk awhile in the garden and look after 
 the flowers, of which he vras very fond, and now 
 and then he would have his chair brought out in 
 the shade of the oak tree on tlie lav\-n; still, with 
 Prospero, he might truthfully say, his library was 
 his dukedom." 
 
 Harry. — "And you are positively certain he left 
 nothing in the v>-ay of writings except the unGn- 
 ished memoirs ? " 
 
 Dich. — "That is certainly my firm belief." 
 
 Harry. — "You have, then, made a thorough search 
 among his papers?" 
 
 /)«V7j.— "His papers? AYhy he left nothing but 
 
WOODBOUIi:S"E. 70 
 
 what you saw. Most of that rubbish in the old 
 secretary was a legacy from my grandfather; I have 
 never had the least inclination, to say nothing of the 
 leisure, to overhaul it. As for the unfinished mem- 
 oirs, pendunt opera interrupta, and so they are likely 
 to remain for this generation, if they look to me 
 for completion. But why are you so inquisitive, 
 Harry ? did you find a mare's nest in that ancient 
 heirloom? By Jove I old fellow — " It should be 
 remarked in this place, par parentliese, that Mr. 
 Eichard Alloway hud a habit of frequently appeal- 
 ing, in a familiar manner, to the great Olympian 
 Thunderer, whether as a meaningless expletive 
 merely, or a convenient rhetorical safety-valve, or as 
 his peculiar way of making known his veneration 
 of the ancient classics, we cannot undertake to say. 
 "By Jove I old fellow, I verily believe you are a 
 regular professor of black magic. That look, now, 
 * angels and ministers of grace defend us I ' Do 
 they teach necromancy in your famous "\\'ittenberg 
 in Xew Jersey?" 
 
 Carleton laughed, and putting off the mask of 
 simulated awe he had waggishly assumed, "Don't 
 be alarmed, Dick," said he; "I am not trying to 
 work upon your superstitious fears. My questioning 
 was only intended to make certain whether you 
 had ever seen this letter." 
 
 Alloway took it from his hand, and seeing to 
 whom it was addressed, became, on an instant, very 
 grave and thoughtful. When he had perused it 
 twice over, he fell into a profound reverie, and 
 began whistling in a low undertone — a sign, as his 
 friend well knew, that he was perplexed to an 
 
70 WOODBOUE^'E. 
 
 extraordinary degree. Carleton, too, dropped into a 
 brown study. To his susceptible imagination, the 
 letter revealed a fascinating scene of wild and 
 startling conjecture. It was like a yoice from the 
 grave of the buried past, whose weird, unearthly 
 tone vibrated on his heart, and called up a throng 
 of fantastic and shadowy images. The torturing illu- 
 sions of his last night's dream faded into nothing- 
 ness before the consciousness of some unknown life 
 mystery which lay hidden, as he conceived, under 
 the ivy green an arrow's flight from Avhere he sat, 
 j)ondering on the strange words he had read. 
 
 "You observed the allusion there to the priest, 
 Dick," he at length said, musingly; "he is the 
 veritable cleiis ex machina of our mystery. Of course 
 it can be no other than the Abbe Julian Soule." 
 
 "Like enough," replied Dick; "but it was not of 
 him I was thinking. Markham, Markham — why, 
 that was the name of the unfortunate hero of 
 uncle's pathetic little romance; and, what is like- 
 wise remarkable, the other prominent character, a 
 lady, was called Conrad; it is an Italian story of 
 cruelty and revenge." 
 
 Harry.— '[jyo tell it to me, Dick." 
 
 Dick. — "No, no; I would not like to mar it by 
 a hap-hazard recital; besides, it is too long to 
 remember. I have it written down in my common- 
 place book just as uncle narrated it, and another time 
 yon may read it for yourself. Let me see; where 
 was it that I saw mention of Sir William Markham? 
 Oh, I remember now; in looking over a batch of 
 old English newspapers on the top of one of those 
 book-cases in the library. It occurs in an account 
 
WOODBOrEXE. '711 
 
 of the proceedings in Parliament; lie is rei:)orted to 
 have made a strong speech in defence of the people 
 of ]^Iassachusetts. The passage was marked with a 
 pencil, but I did not see anything specially note- 
 worthy in it." 
 
 Harry. — "And nothing further has been heard 
 from Mr. Buchanan?" 
 
 J)icJc.—"0, yes; I have had one letter from uncle's 
 factor; I'll show it to you, it is such a perfect 
 model of commercial neatness and brevity." He 
 went in, and soon came back with an open letter, 
 which he handed Carleton, who read it as follows: 
 
 Cheapside. Loxdox, 12tli Aug., 177~. . 
 Esteemed Sir: 
 
 Inclosed please find account of my late coiTesponaenf. 
 Mr. Eichard Austin (whose sole devisee and legatee I 
 am advised you are), stated to date of his demise, show- 
 ing balance to his credit of £907, 8s. G}d., which is 
 subject to your instructions. 
 
 Begging you to accept the assurance of my sincere 
 condolence in your recent sad bereavement, I subscribe 
 myself, 
 
 Most respectfully, your obedient hua:ible servant, 
 James BucnAXAN-, Merchant. 
 For Mb. Eicii'd A. Allow ay. 
 
 "Xeat as a copper plate, and, doubtless, very cor- 
 rect; but not a syllable about the baronet and the 
 priest," said Carleton. 
 
 "And pray," said Dick, "'why should Mr. Bu- 
 chanan suppose that I felt any interest in these 
 distinguished persons ? " 
 
 Harry.— '' Nothing was more reasonable than for 
 
78 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 liim to infer that Mr. Eicliard Austin's faTciite 
 nephew shared his intimate confidence, and ought, 
 therefore, to be informed of whatever pertained to his 
 private and peculiar transactions." 
 
 Diclc. — '"'Then, I am glad he did not take your 
 very reasonable view of the case. It is my opinion 
 that there is nothing to be gained by boggling after 
 this plaguey will-o"-wisp of a mystery, as you call 
 it, which, if found out, Avould be of as little concern 
 to you and me as what is this moment coming to 
 pass at the Antipodes,"' with which Conclusive 
 remark, Alloway folded up the merchant's letters 
 and put them in his pocket. 
 
 Carleton was not a little puzzled by his friend's 
 nonchalance. He could not exactly divine what 
 was the nature of the sensations which had been 
 awakened in the young planter's mind by the dis- 
 closures he had made. Was it real or feigned, his 
 repugnance to pursuing the investigation? Yet, his 
 behavior vras in keeping with his general character. 
 His nature was too earnest and matter-of-fact; his 
 temper too hopeful and elastic to suffer him to 
 brood over the past, or vex his soul with chasing 
 the fleeting phantom of a heated imagination. He 
 was never at a loss for active, wholesome employ- 
 ment for mind and body, and his "bosom's lord 
 sat lightly on its throne,"' now that he was assured 
 by the sacredest of human vows of the joy which is 
 immeasurably above and beyond all other earthly ben- 
 isons, the immediate jewel of the soul, requited love. 
 
 **It is a tough case," such was Carleton's inter- 
 nal reflection; "but I am not yet disposed to give 
 it up. I was always expert in unravelling tangled 
 skeins, and see if I don't vet succeed in running 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 79 
 
 this thread off on a reel. The first thing to do 
 is to ascertain what the Abbe wants with Mr. 
 Eichard Metcalf, otherwise, Austin. That my father 
 can do when he replies to Mr. Carroll's letter. 
 But it occurs to me that Monsieur Conrad may be 
 able to give us some information on the subject; 
 at least, he can tell us who the Abbe is. He came 
 hither from Maryland in Miss Littleton's train, and 
 her sister is a near neighbor to the Carrolls', where 
 the priest is sojourning. Being fellow-countrymen 
 and strangers in a strange land, they must be known 
 to each other. Dick," said he, suddenly arousing 
 his friend from the pleasant doze into which he 
 had fallen, "suppose we call upon the Frenchman 
 in the morning?" 
 
 "You must excuse me, Harry,*' said Dick hastily; 
 "to-morrow I shall be busy at home; besides, I 
 want you to ride with me over the farm. I flatter 
 myself that I have made sundry improvements of 
 late, the hint of which I got from my neighbor, 
 Mr. Graeme. Speaking of him, I am reminded that 
 I have a note of invitation for you to a party at 
 Bonhill; here it is." 
 
 "xl party?" exclaimed Carleton ; '-'that is lucky. 
 I shall have a chance to see all my friends in a 
 lump. *Mr. and Mrs. John Graeme will be pleased 
 to see Mr. Carleton at Bonhill on Friday night, 
 instant, on the occasion of their daughter's birth- 
 day party.' What a beautiful hand — good sign, says 
 my Lord Chesterfield, of a graceful person and an 
 amiable disposition. Come, old boy, wake up, and 
 tell me all about the Graemes."' 
 
 But we will save Mr. Alloway the trouble of 
 complying with that modest request 
 
^ 
 
 CHAPTER Yll. 
 
 APPILY Llended in mutual love and esteem 
 had been the lives of John and Ellen 
 Graeme f]-om the day they plighted troth 
 to each other under the rowan-tree, on 
 the banks of Leven Water, to the date of the 
 l^resent memoirs. Goldenly bright had the hours 
 flown over their heads ; their house was the garner 
 of the choicest gifts of fortune, and the neighbors, 
 one and all, came to regard them as an example 
 of matrimonial felicity, which the most inveterate 
 celibate must envy and applaud. 
 
 But now again the heavens are hung with black, 
 and the future looks dark and ominous of apj^roach- 
 ing ills. True, the entire country is involved in a 
 common trouble, the same perils menace all alike; 
 but none of her neighbors had with her experi- 
 enced the actual calamities of civil war, and the 
 prospect of another sanguinary struggle between 
 kinsmen and former friends calls up, with all the 
 dread accompaniments of horror and alarm, the 
 woeful tragedy in which she had borne more than 
 her equal portion of sorrow and suffering. To others 
 it is as yet the vague apprehension of unknown 
 and indefinable ills ; to her it is the present reali- 
 
 (80) 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 81 
 
 zation of the acme of human misery, the sum of all 
 the -wretchedness that the worst passions of the vilest 
 men can invoke npon their sinful race; ever the 
 self-same demon of wrath and desolation, red with 
 the stains of all the righteous blood shed upon the 
 earth, whether welling slow, drop by drop, from the 
 breast of the first victim of murderous rage, or 
 poured forth in crimson torrents — 
 
 W^hen merciless ambition or mad zeal 
 
 Has led two hosts of dupes to battlefielil, 
 
 That, bUnd, they there may dig each others graves, 
 
 And call the sad work, Glory ! 
 
 Husband and wife had kept, with religious fidelity, 
 the vow they had made to each other long years 
 ago, and never a word had passed the lips of either 
 on the one forbidden topic. But Mr. Graeme can- 
 not help perceiving the change which has come 
 over his wife's spirits, and he intuitively divines 
 the secret cause of her trouble. He sees that a 
 great dread is constantly hanging over her, threat- 
 ening to fall with crushing weight. Again busy 
 memory is at work, reviving th-e agonies Avhich are 
 past, and filling her soul with wretched forebodings 
 of worst to come; again — 
 
 The field of the slain rushes red on her sight, 
 And the clans of CuUoden are scattered in flight I 
 
 Every day she grew more and more nervous and 
 disquieted, and her husband's anxiety increased in 
 proportion. Yet she firmly held by their mutual 
 pledge, and he was waiting for her to release him. 
 So it went on, until one night Mr. Graeme was 
 greatly startled to hear her sobbing violently in 
 
82 WOeDBOUK^'E. 
 
 her sleep, and repeating, in piteous accents, the 
 names of her father, brother and son. ISText morn- 
 ing the seal of the covenant was broken. She 
 unbosomed her soul to her husband, and earnestly 
 besought him to send George away to Scotland 
 until they saw how these unhappy troubles were 
 likely to end. The request was an agreeable sur- 
 prise to the worthy gentleman. He had a project 
 in reference to his son's future career in life, which 
 he had forborne t9 mention since the lad's return 
 from Williamsburg some months agone, for fear it 
 would not meet his mother's approval in the then 
 agitated state of her mind, as it required for its 
 accomplishment a separation from George of several 
 years. 
 
 Although Mr. John Graeme was never heard to 
 set up a pretence of being a very profound scholar, 
 he was by no means so unlearned as to be an 
 object of pity on a rainy day. In all the branches 
 of practical and useful information, he was far in 
 advance of the most polished and polite of his neigh- 
 bors. It had been his particular pride to keep 
 abreast with the scientific improvements of the age; 
 he was familiarly acquainted with the latest inven- 
 tions of mechanical skill, and had been instru- 
 mental in introducing some of them to the commu- 
 nity in which he resided. When he abandoned mer- 
 cantile pursuits, he transferred to his new avocation 
 of farming his entire stock of method, energy and 
 sagacity, and his example had imparted a fresh 
 impulse to agricultural development, which was 
 especially evidenced in the inroads Vvhich the culti- 
 vation of the cereals was beginning to make on 
 
TVOODBOUEXE. S3 
 
 the growth of the gi'eat commercial staple of the 
 colony. He was a noble instance of genuine, sturdy 
 independence. He bought nothing abroad which 
 could be as well made at home. Xo appliances 
 were wanting in his administration to make the 
 business of farming at once easy, economical and 
 remunerative. He had constructed, on his plan- 
 tation, a smithy and a large shop, where carpen- 
 ter, wheelright and cooper's work was done, and 
 where many of the implements and utensils of hus- 
 bandry were made out and out from the most 
 approved models. Then there was the '° ship-yard," 
 at which all manner of small boats and larger 
 river craft were built and repaired; but the splendid 
 ''double mills,'' in the ownership of which his 
 neighbor. Colonel Littleton, claimed a half interest, 
 were the pride and delight of the whole country- 
 side, turning out flour which rivalled in quality 
 the famous Mount Vernon brand, with its unim- 
 peachable inscription, " G. ^^ashington I "' The par- 
 aphernalia of his peculiar sanctum, the room in 
 which he entertained his particular cronies, displayed 
 the ruling characteristics of his mind; every article 
 of furniture having been manufactured on the spot, 
 from the plentiful supply of material of maple, 
 oak, cherry, walnut and pine, stored up in the 
 commodious warehouse of the neighboring forest. 
 In short, albeit Mr. John Graeme was theoretically 
 an avowed ■ advocate of free trade and sailors' rights 
 in the broadest sense, he v>-as in practice as per- 
 fect an illustration of home-brewed, home-loving, 
 and home-protecting industry and frugality as one 
 rarelv meets with now-a-davs. 
 
84 WOODBOUPNE. 
 
 George's fortune was already made, as far as 
 worldly goods were concerned; lie should, so his 
 father thought, learn to devote his leisure and 
 means to the prosecution of such useful aims and 
 purposes as here -found abundant scope for active 
 exemplification. As a preparation for this field of 
 usefulness, it was designed that the young gentle- 
 man should perfect his theoretical studies in phys- 
 ical science at the University of Glasgow, after 
 which he was to visit and inspect its more recent 
 discoveries, as exhibited in the various factories and 
 workshops of Europe. 
 
 But whilst Mr. Graeme was no doubt mainly 
 solicitous to see his son embarked on liis magnifi- 
 cent voyag3 of scientific exploration, there was 
 another motive, we have good reason to suspect, 
 for his acceding so promptly to his wife's request. 
 Master George was a remarkably susceptible youth, 
 as the phrase is, and, more is tlie pity, had fallen 
 madly in love with a lady who did not see fit to 
 return his inordinate attachment. The consequence 
 was, that he had grown, of late, very miserable 
 and melancholy, and his father reasonably concluded 
 that the best remedy for the disease of unrequited 
 love was to be found in ^^ change o* fowk and 
 change o' scene.*' Secretly, the old gentleman was 
 himself considerably cut up by his son's lamentable 
 misadventure in the mart of matrimonial speculation. 
 He was an extravagant admirer of Miss Mary Lit- 
 tleton, and had George's suit prospered, he would 
 have hailed the event with beaming satisfaction. 
 As it was, he did not altogether despair of its 
 being a match one of these days. George was 
 
-wooDBOur.xE. 85 
 
 hardly better than a grown-up boy; his education 
 for the stern pursuits of life was just begun, and 
 nobody could foresee the difference which a few 
 years might make in those qualities which attract 
 a woman's wayward fancy. While the fair maid of 
 Clifton remained mistress of her inclinations, there 
 Avas ground for the hope that she might be per- 
 suaded to look at the proposition in a more favora- 
 ble light. So argued jja^<;?/ff??2//ms on the general 
 theory of probabilities. But we shall presently see 
 that the capricious divinity, who regulates these little 
 matters, had decreed that his sanguine calculations 
 should be cruelly disappointed. 
 
 ■ For the reasons we have, detailed, Mr. Graeme 
 consented with alacrity to his wife's entreaties, and 
 George sailed in the next otitward-bound vessel for 
 Glasgow. There let us leave him for the present, to 
 quench the flame of his ill-starred passion, and at 
 the same time to temper the ardor of his patriotic 
 soul by contact with the discreet and calculating 
 burghers of that aspiring and eminently loyal me- 
 tropolis. When he was gone, and had written to 
 tell them of his safe arrival in Scotland, . and of 
 the pleasant reception he had met with among his 
 father's friends and relatives there, his mother 
 appeared to be greatly relieved, regained much of 
 her old cheerfulness, and went about her house- 
 hold duties with the diligence and grace which 
 were the ruling traits of her disposition. Thus des- 
 perately she clung to the faint hope of a happy 
 issue out of this last gi'eat affliction, and watched 
 with Avistful eyes and palpitating heart every sign 
 and portent of the political heavens. But the clouds 
 
 8 
 
86 TTOODBOUKJfE. 
 
 continued to gather thick and fast, and every day 
 the palpable darkness was increasing; now the air 
 was filled with the sulphury vapor of war; the 
 Iievolution was begun in earnest, and Mrs. Graeme's 
 faith in the emblematical evening sky was shaken 
 as a reed. The hour was fast approaching; she felt 
 it was close at hand when the irrevocable decision 
 must be made, and while she prayed the more fer- 
 vently that she might yet be spared the dreadful 
 ordeal, her heart indignantly spurned the base sug- 
 gestion that her darling son would prove a recreant 
 to the cause of his native land. Now that she saw 
 the fearful alternative could not be much longer 
 avoided, she sought to divert her mind from the 
 contemplation of the painful scene by constant em- 
 ployment. In vain her husband protested that she 
 was over-exerting herself; she only smiled at his 
 remonstrances, and said he was mistaken; the work 
 was good for her. Thus she continued to pay the 
 most assiduous attention to every demand of duty 
 until an untoward accident compelled her desist. 
 
 There had been a sort of epidemic prevailing in 
 the neighborhood during the month of August of 
 this year — a virulent type of fever — of which the 
 medical faculty Avere at loss for an explanation. The 
 distemper was said to be contagious, and every pre- 
 caution was taken to prevent its spreading. Bonhill 
 did not escape its ravages; half of the servants 
 were taken down with it, and the other half were 
 stupefied with terror, waiting for their time to come. 
 Amid this scene of suffering and dismay there moved 
 a ministering spirit with the balm of solacing joy 
 and healing on its wings. It was the lovely mis- 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 87 
 
 tress of the manor, fulfilling her mission with that 
 serene, unshrinking heroism, which shames the high- 
 est courage of man. The plague abated, and, thanks 
 to her unwearied exertions, there was not a single 
 death from its effects on the plantation. 
 
 By a miracle of mercy the good matron escaped 
 its fangs, but the fatigue and exposure she had 
 undergone in nursing the sick so impaired her 
 health and weakened her constitution, tliat her phy- 
 sician peremptorily commanded her to refrain from 
 her accustomed labors. Thus, reluctantly constrained, 
 she sought the needful refreshment of rest, and sur- 
 rendered the sceptre for a time into her daughters 
 hand. And, her father's word for it, that young 
 lady wielded it in queenly style. 
 
 Where is the woman that does not exult to exer- 
 cise authority, — in her rightful sphere, of course? 
 It was amusing to see the old gentleman, who was 
 used to nothing short of unquestioned obedience, 
 watching the little woman as she bustled about the 
 house, issuing her commands, and showing her love 
 of sway in a thousand nameless ways. Especially 
 did he note the delight it gave her to move all the 
 portable property in that inner shrine of his at least 
 once a day without the slightest provocation, merely 
 to intimate that her will was the supreme law of 
 the establishment. lie offered not a word of remon- 
 strance or complaint against such outrageous display 
 of arbitrary power; indeed he rather encouraged her 
 to play the imperial role on the grandest scale. 
 The day would come when she would have a little 
 domestic kingdom of her own, and it was high time 
 she was learning how to govern it. Like other vice- 
 
88 AVOODBOURXE. 
 
 royal personages, she \;s.s frequently a trifle more 
 exacting and unnecessarily fussy than there was any 
 occasion for; and she never failed to resent the 
 least hint that she was in any wise departing from 
 the established rules of the legitimate sovereign. 
 "Ole Missis didn't do dat way" was an affront not 
 to be tolerated, even from Aunt Dinah, a venerable 
 dom^estic oracle v.liom her mother often deigned to 
 consult. Miss Lucy was not content with sporting 
 the tawdry trappings of place; her maxim was, 
 Aut CcBsaVy aut nullus ; she would be the real 
 fountain of dignity and power, or else not wear the 
 purple robe at all. Errors and blunders she might 
 commit at first; but better these than irresolution, 
 weakness and vacillation. First establish your throne 
 was what she said to herself; impress your subjects 
 with becoming deference and respect of your au- 
 thority; learn to command; the minor details of 
 administration are easily learned by observation and 
 practice. This was her code, and, to our thinking, 
 Machievilli nor Oxensteirn could have expressed it 
 with more sententious and discerning perspicacity. 
 The neighbors were wont to say of Lucy that 
 she was her father's own dear child. In certain 
 prominent traits of character, as well as in personal 
 appearance, there was a striking likeness between 
 father and daughter. The same sunshiny and mirth- 
 ful disposition; the same self-reliance and firmness, 
 blended with gentleness and forbearance towards 
 others; the same large-hearted and spontaneous be- 
 nevolence; the same shrewd and penetrating common 
 sense and even placidity of temper; the same in- 
 stinctive abhorrence of ill-natured carping and evil- 
 
AVOODBOUKNE. 89 
 
 speating — in a word, every quality for which the 
 one was noted found its counterpart in the other. 
 If not the bonniest, she was the most irresistibly 
 charming and winsome of lassies. Her figure was 
 slight, though far from being fragile, and her 
 every movement was the perfection of unconstrained 
 grace. Her complexion was a rich combination of 
 unrivalled tints; her temples were literally crowned 
 with a golden diadem of sunny locks; her eyes, 
 the color of the cloudless sky, beamed with playful 
 mirth and mischief, and her smile was a foretaste 
 of the joys of heaven. She had her mother's rare 
 gift of music, and her voice was melody itself. 
 True, the harpsichord was the only instrument she 
 had ever learned to play on, and singing simple 
 ballads and hymns was the extent of her vocal 
 attainments, but in these her execution was unri- 
 valled, and she was justly regarded as a musical 
 prodigy in all the region around and about. 
 
 Her sweetest songs were those of her father's 
 native land. She had the whole of xVllan Eamsay's 
 collection by heart, and she learned them not merely 
 for the sake of gratifying Mr. Graeme's clannish 
 devotion to the customs and associations of Scotland, 
 but because there was an indescribable charm to 
 her in the language itself, which rendered it so far 
 superior to her mother tongue in expressing the 
 tenderest and most exquisite touches of sentiment, 
 humor and pathos. In this way, too, she acquired 
 so great familiarity with the dialect and current 
 literature of Scotland, that between her mother and 
 herself, her father was never at a loss for a pleasant 
 companion in his rambles whenever he felt iiiclined, 
 
 8* 
 
90 WOODBOUKXE. 
 
 as he often did, *' to gae daunering like a gliaist 
 amang the sweet and mournfu' memories o' lang 
 s}iie." 
 
 And when the morning and evening air was 
 vocal with her delicious warblings, he was never 
 heard to lament that there were no linties in the 
 Bonhill woods. Thus joyous and loving, tender and 
 true, surrounded by all holy influences, enshrined 
 in her happy home like a pearl in its shell, grew 
 into the perfect form of modest maidenhood, this 
 "so fair a thing, so free from mortal taint." 
 
 To-morrow come and gone, Miss Lucy Graeme 
 will have reached her eighteenth birthday. The joy- 
 ful event is to be celebrated with appropriate fes- 
 tivities — with music, dancing and feasting, amid the 
 hajipy congratulations of her numerous young friends 
 and admirers. The invitations have gone out through 
 the length and breadth of the neighborhood, and 
 there is sure to be a goodly gathering of tlie beauty 
 and chivalry of the Old Dominion under Mr. 
 Graeme's hospitable roof-tree. In those days a wed- 
 ding was the especial grand occasion for the dis- 
 play of cheerful hilarity and festive munificence; 
 but then, as now, and as it ever will and ought 
 to be, young folks would be young folks, and they 
 were not slow in finding or inventing pretexts for 
 frolic, fun and glee, as outlets and safety-valves for 
 the efi'ervescing spirits of abounding gaiety and 
 light-hearted mirth. 
 
CnAPTER YIII 
 
 HE friends have returned from their visit 
 to Bonliill. A fire Las been kindled in 
 the library, and there ^ye now find them. 
 The visitor i's reclining negligently on the 
 sofa, loosely arrayed in dressing gown and slippers, 
 garterless stockings and open shirt collar, and enjoy- 
 ing, to the utmost degree, the luxurious ease with- 
 out troubling his head about the dignity of the 
 position. He looks dreamily up at the ceiling, and 
 runs his fingers through his hair in a ruminating 
 way. In striking contrast to this picture of musing 
 indolence, mine host is sitting bolt-upright in a 
 straight-back chair, with a resigned and martyr-like 
 aspect, presenting a complacent exhibition of the 
 loftiest qualities of heroism and fortitude under the 
 most trying circumstances. He is gazing fixedly at 
 the rugged bust over the mantle-piece, and is obvi- 
 ously rehearsing in imagination the part of the 
 redoubtable warrior in the famous scene where the 
 murderous club is hovering over his devoted head, 
 and he, wholly in the dark concerning the humane 
 intentions of the lovely Pocahontas, swears a soldierly 
 prayer or two preparatory to taking final leave of 
 his senses. 
 
 (91) 
 
92 W'OODBOURNE. 
 
 Carleton (loquiler), — "Dick," said he, "I am de- 
 lighted with your Scotch neighbor; was never more 
 agreeably entertained than I have been this even- 
 ing, saving your delectable company." 
 
 "xVh, indeed," was the reply; "I am heartily glad 
 you were so much pleased with your visit. It is 
 a pity, though, we did not stay to supper. Such 
 ambrosial porridge, such nectareous usquebagh, and, 
 
 Apicius! what a hantle o' gude eating there is 
 about a swine I" 
 
 Harry. — "Don't be a fool, Dick. I hope you have 
 not repeated that contemptible saying of Dr. John- 
 son at my expense. The loke would have been 
 sorry enough in the mouth of a clown; coming 
 from a grave moralist, it was simply disgusting." 
 
 Dich (paying no regard to the energetic dis- 
 claimer). — "I say, Harry, what a deal of humor 
 there is in those lines of Churchill. You remem- 
 ber? The "Prophecy of Famine." 
 
 Two boys whose birtli, beyond all question, springs 
 From great and glorious, though forgotten kings, 
 Shepherds of Scottish lineage — 
 
 1 forget the rest, but it was intensely witty and 
 droll — the part about Sawny and Jockey, and the 
 Highland lass who scratched her lover into rest 
 and sank pleased and hungry on his breast." 
 
 Harry. — "Stuff and nonsense. Churchill was a 
 coarse, vulgar calumniator — just what Hogarth 
 painted him — a beer-drinking bear in a dirty, black 
 gown." 
 
 Dick (still impassably severe of mein). — "Of course 
 you undertook to enlighten the benighted Jockey 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 93 
 
 on politics and got a taunt of one that makes 
 better fritters of English than Parson Hugh in the 
 play, * Hout, tout, lad ; dinna fash yer noddle wi' 
 sic and orra deal o' fusionless whigmaleries, it's 
 fient a bit else but an auld toot on a new horn, 
 yer screed o' independence and a' that. Vrhat ken 
 ye noo o' the steam engine ? ' '' 
 
 ^'Admirably mimicked, Dick," cried Carleton, clap- 
 ping his hands with delight and laughing heartily. 
 "AVhat a genius you have for the languages. But 
 amor vincit emnia, to vrin the daughter you would 
 learn to gabble all the barbarous dialects that were 
 ever grunted or squeaked since the building of 
 Babel. Is Miss Lucy like her father?" 
 
 " The young lady," replied the imperturable Eich- 
 ard, who all this while had not taken his eyes 
 from the effigy of the Jamestown hero, "is reputed 
 to possess the combined excellent qualities of both 
 her parents. In personal appearance, she is strik- 
 ingly like her father." 
 
 Harry. — '•' Then, sir, I give you fair warning ; look 
 to your girth and stirrups, I am coming at voti 
 full tilt." 
 
 "I accept the gage, most peerless mirror of knight- 
 hood," retorted Dick, "and will contest the prize 
 in accordance with the ancient laws and usages of 
 our illustrious and never-to-be too highly extolled 
 order." 
 
 " Gallantly spoken, renowned Cid, Amadis de Gaul, 
 Guy of Warwick, or — " 
 
 "Captain John Smith," exclaimed Dick, with 
 emphatic gusto; "he is my Icau-idcal of chivalry; 
 worth an army of your huge iron-clad, spine-cleavers 
 
94 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 of romance. Where ^vould vre be now if it had 
 not been for him ? '' 
 
 Harry. — "A shrewd question, truly, Sir Knight; 
 in my opinion, we might have been in a mucli 
 worse phice. But as Horatio says in the play, that 
 were to inquire too curiously. I agree with you; the 
 Smiths are an ancient, honorable and powerful clan, 
 and our John Smith, of glorious memory, was the 
 greatest son of Vulcan that ever forged a horse- 
 shoe or a thunderbolt. If he had only rounded 
 the period by marrying the dusky maiden he would 
 have been the bright, particular star of chivalry, 
 totus, teresaique rotundus! By the beard of the 
 immortal Cid Hamete Beu Engeli, he should have 
 married her had she been a common scullery wench, 
 and her complexion the 'shadowed livery of the 
 burnished sun,' instead of being what she really 
 vv'as — a royal model of innocent simplicity and untu- 
 tored loveliness, — copper-colored, to be sure, sed ne 
 nimhim crede color i ! Honor bright, don't you con- 
 sider that to be a black spot on the otherwise 
 untarnished escutcheon of the paragon of Smiths?" 
 
 Diclc. — '-I don't jiew it in that light. Suppose 
 lie did not love the girl ? " 
 
 Harry. — "Answered like the silly, sighing Strephon 
 you are. What had love to do with it, simpleton? 
 It vras a question of sheer gratitude; and, more 
 Latin for you, the poet tells us, ingralum si dix- 
 eris, omnia dices! It was most reprehensible con- 
 duct in Captain John Smith, say what you please; 
 and history will set a cross mark against it in 
 spite of the brilliant renown of his warlike deeds.'' 
 
 Dick. — '• He wasn't near so much to blame as 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 95 
 
 Tvas the pious founder of the Eoman colony in his 
 treatment of Madam Dido; and isn't he cracked up 
 by Virgil and the rest as a marvellous proper 
 man?" 
 
 Harry. — ''It is not a parallel case, my boy, by 
 any means. ^Eneas' work had been allotted him by 
 inexorable fate, and espousing the pretty Dido was 
 not included in the programme. He was like Ulysses 
 dallying at the Calypso isle while Ithaca was yet 
 afar. With Captain John Smith it was entirely dif- 
 ferent. There was nothing to prevent his taking a 
 wife at the time; and to my mind, there was poetic 
 fitness in his offering his hand to the generous 
 woman who had saved his life, and who, laying 
 aside the prejudice of caste, was worthy to mate 
 with a hero; but he did not do it, and the romance 
 was sadly marred." 
 
 Diclc. — "For that matter, there was ever so thrill- 
 ing a tragedy spoiled on that memorable occasion. 
 If, as you surmise, this lovely Ariadne of the west- 
 ern wilds was so frantically enamored of our hero, 
 why in the name of Melpomene did she not jump 
 in the river and drown herself, when she saw it 
 was a hopeless case?" 
 
 The sprightly cavalier was nonplussed by this 
 unexpected turn of the subject. 
 
 "I cry quits, Dick," said he. ''And now, sir, 
 explain, where were your manners that you did not 
 introduce me to the Bonhill beauty this evening ? " 
 
 "That's the crow you have to pick with me, is 
 it?" replied Dick. "A pretty question, indeed. I 
 might as well ask, where was your gallantry that 
 you did not pay due homage to the lady in ques- 
 
96 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 tion? You told me your business with Mr. Graeme 
 would not take up a minute's time, and there 
 you were closeted together, like a couple of sage 
 privy cotincillors, for two mortal hours. After the 
 interyiew, you sent me word that you were ready 
 to go, and I obeyed your wishes. You did not 
 once mention the lady's name." 
 
 Harry. — ^-All right, old fellow; the fact is, I 
 preferred making my first bow en grand tenue 
 to-morrow night, and as I found Mr. Graeme to be 
 most excellent company — " ('-And his wine did not 
 smack of creosote," interjected Dick.) "And you 
 were not at ail averse from having Miss Lucy all 
 to yourself in the garden, there is — " 
 
 Dick. — "Xothing more to be said on the subject." 
 
 Harry. — "Xo — yes, Dick; about this Frenchman, 
 now, I am consttmedly puzzled — " 
 
 Dic'k.—''^o am I." 
 
 Harry. — ^- How so ? " 
 
 Did:. — "Just to know what the pesky, outlandish 
 jack-a-dandy is to you, that you should be taking 
 so much trouble en vourself about him and his 
 affairs." 
 
 Harry. — "Exactly wliat your good Scotch neigh- 
 bor remarked, booby, only he was not so emphat- 
 ically polite in his manner of putting the qtiestion." 
 
 Diclc. — "Mr. Graeme? what the deuce does he 
 know about the Frenchman?" 
 
 Harry. — "Xothing, further than that he is the 
 gtiest of Col. Littleton, who picked him up in 
 Maryland when he went to fetch his daughter home. 
 Still, there was no call that I could see for the 
 remark he made — that he did not deem it incum- 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 97 
 
 bent on liim to be 'speering after ilka sorner in 
 the hale country side.' The topic was evidently 
 distasteful, and he dismissed it Avith little ceremony. 
 AVhat possible grudge can he have against this Mr. 
 Conrad ? '' 
 
 Dicl\ — 'Olr. Graeme is the last man in the world 
 to form unfavorable opinions of people -without just 
 cause. I'll be bound he has a good reason for his 
 apparent incivility." 
 
 Harry. — "There's the rub— that same ^good rea- 
 son'; but now I think of it, let's have that little 
 romance you spoke of; I'm just in the mood for 
 listening.'' 
 
 Diclc. — "The mischief you are; well, anything to 
 keep your everlasting tongue quiet for a brief space.*' 
 
 So saying, he went to the table, and unlocking 
 a drawer, produced a folio as large as a merchant's 
 ledger; then having drawn the table nearer the 
 fire, placed on it the light from the mantlepiece, 
 and opened the book at the proper page. 
 
 "' There, voracious quidnunc," said he, " the feast 
 is prepared; come and satisfy your curious soul." 
 
 "Thanks, my very kind host," retorted Carleton; 
 "I mucli prefer getting satisfaction through the 
 medium of my ears, first and foremost, because I 
 am not inclined to change my pleasant berth; and, 
 secondly, and chiefly, because it would take away 
 the relish from the repast for me to have to spell 
 my way through such *a d — d cramped piece of 
 penmanship,' so take yotir seat and begin, there's 
 a good boy." 
 
 "A plague on his impudence," muttered Alloway, 
 mechanically dropping into the chair. "Call that a 
 
 9 
 
98 
 
 WOODBOUEisE. 
 
 bad hand; why, I can read it like a book.*' With 
 which boastful assertion, he snuffed the candles, 
 cleared his throat, and launched ore rotundo into 
 "My uncle's story." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 iMjt^'^ ^^^® xVntumn of 17—/' said uncle, "I set 
 ■"^ li^ Q^^ fi^Qni Geneva, ^vliere I Avas sojourn- 
 ing, for a ramble on foot through the 
 northern provinces of Italy. Traveling at 
 leisure, I took no definite route, but wandered from 
 place to place as momentary fancy or inclination 
 dictated. In this -^ay, I found myself in the midst 
 of a wild and picturesque region among the moun- 
 tains of Tyrol. Loitering incautiously to view the 
 numberless sights of natural interest which met my 
 gaze at every step, darkness overtook me some iniles 
 from the ancient city of Meran, where I expected 
 to spend the night. I was on the top of a moun- 
 tain, the road was rugged and dangerous, and to 
 make the situation worse, an ugly storm was rap- 
 idly approaching. In this strait, I looked around 
 for the nearest place of shelter, and seeing a thin 
 column of smoke curling up from the depths of a 
 gorge apparently but a short distance off, I turned 
 my steps in that direction. Clambering down the 
 mountain-side with much difficulty, when near the 
 bottom, my course was arrested by a bold rivulet, 
 which went dashing and foaming over its rocky 
 bed, making an insuperable barrier to my further 
 
 (93) 
 
100 WOODBOURI>E. 
 
 progress. It was too late to turn back; I was 
 fearful of losing my way, and thinking it safest to 
 follow the course of the stream, I groped along 
 through the thick copse in search of a crossing. 
 I had gone but a little way, when a treacherous 
 stone sli2:)ping under my foot, I lost my balance 
 and fell over the bank into the torrent. I remem- 
 ber feeling one pang of excruciating pain, and then 
 all Avas dark. When I awoke to consciousness, 
 I was lying on n couch in a dimly lighted room. 
 Two j)erson3 were standing by the bedside — a man 
 and a woman. *Holy Virgin I be praised,' I heard 
 the man say in a whisper, and in the Italian 
 tongue, 'he lives; the tea, Joanna.' He placed a 
 chalice to my lips, and I swallowed the contents, 
 ■which were not ungrateful to the taste, at a draught. 
 What the decoction was, I know not; but its efiect 
 was magical. In a twinkling I was so much revived 
 as to ask where I was and how I came there. I 
 was told that I was at the manse of the cure of 
 a neighboring hamlet; that luckily the noise I made 
 in falling into the Avater caught the ear of a dog 
 at a chalet close by, whose baying brought some 
 shepherds to my rescue. By them I was extricated 
 and conveyed to the manse in a senseless condition. 
 I was nearly droAATied, but otherwise my injuries 
 were not serious — a sprained ankle and several pain- 
 ful bruises made up the catalogue. My good i)h3'si- 
 sian, the cure, assured me that I would be well 
 taken care of, and bade me be quiet for the rest 
 of the night, Avhich injunction he reinforced by 
 giving me a composing elixir of some kind. Xext 
 morning I was well enough to leave my bed, 
 
WOODBOUEiTE. 101 
 
 although disabled from walking by the injury to 
 my foot. There vras nothing to do but to wait 
 patiently for it to heal before pursuing my journey, 
 and to this lot I was easily reconciled on finding 
 in my host not only a kind and skillful leach, but 
 a most agi-eeable and interesting companion. The 
 spot itself was very attractive, and the window of 
 my room looked out on a romantic scene. A short 
 distance from the house the rivulet widened into 
 a lake some miles in extent, which was completely 
 engirdled by mountains. On the opposite side, 
 perched upon a lofty crag, was a half-ruined castle, 
 a relic of the feudal times. This is so common an 
 object in that country, that it soon ceases to attract 
 the attention of the tourist. Each has its store of 
 dark and dismal legends, which the cicerone recounts 
 with hideous sameness of circumstance and detail. 
 Of course the castle across the lake was no excep- 
 tion; but having supped full Avith supernatural hor- 
 rors, I felt little inclination to learn its history. 
 For that reason, I was not prepared to hear that 
 it had recently been the scene of a tragedy of the 
 most harrowing description. 
 
 '•It was the morning of the day I had fixed upon 
 for my departure. I was sitting on a bench in the 
 garden reading, when the cure came to me. I saw 
 from his countenance that he had something of 
 more than ordinary interest to impart, and putting 
 aside my book, turned toward him inquiringly, as 
 he seated himself by my side. 'Doubtless,' he 
 began, 'you think it was what short-sighted mor- 
 tals call an accident that turned your steps hither; 
 am I not right?' The question took me by sur- 
 
102 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 prise. I replied, that while I believed that all our 
 acts were directed by an oyer-ruling Providence, yet, 
 not having the gift of prophecy, I was nnable to 
 discern Avhat there was of special significance in 
 the event to which he referred. *You are wise, 
 my son,' said he, ^to cast from you the Atheist's 
 doctrine of blind chance; every w^ord and deed of 
 men, casual and light as they may seem, have an 
 everlasting import for good or evil; are entered up 
 on pne side or the other of the dread account 
 book of eternity. It was the hand of God that 
 guided you to this place, for a purpose which I 
 will presently explain. One night last March, while 
 a snow storm was raging, the shepherds at the 
 chalet on yonder mountain were aroused by the 
 loud baying of a dog, and going to see what was 
 the matter, found a man in a helpless condition 
 not a stone's throw from the spot of your misad- 
 venture. In obedience to my standing injunction, 
 they brought him at once to the manse. He was 
 the veriest wretch my eyes ever beheld, the merest 
 shadow of a human being in the last stage of misery. 
 I did all in my power to restore him, but my 
 efforts were fruitless. After lingering a fortnight, 
 he died of simple inanition. Before breiithing his 
 last, he confessed, himself of a crime which made my 
 blood run cold ; he was the victim of remorse. I had 
 great difficulty in understanding his broken and, at 
 times, incoherent narrative; but this was the sub- 
 stance of it. The man was a Keapolitan, a ser- 
 vant of Don Jacapo Torella, whose family is one 
 of the most wealthy and powerful in that kingdom. 
 This man, the master, was such a villain as only 
 
-^VOODBOURXE. 103 
 
 can be found in that land where Satan holds undis- 
 puted dominion. He had an uncle, Don Lelio 
 Torella, a virtuous, good man, whQse dwelling there 
 was as solitary as Lofs in Sodom. He was of a 
 somewhat eccentric disposition; had been liberally 
 educated; was fond of letters and the company of 
 learned men, and led a retired life at his yilla 
 near the city. By his tact and abilities he had 
 contrived for a long time to keep clear of political 
 broils, and to maintain a strict neutrality in the 
 struggles of contending factions. . He was a bache- 
 lor ; with him lived his niece, the only child of 
 a sister, whose husband, Eustace Conrad, was 
 killed in the affair of Yilletri, fighting on the side 
 of Germany. He was of Saubian origin, as his 
 name implied, and was of royal descent. The policy 
 of Charles the Bourbon, then King of Xaples, was 
 to conciliate all classes of the old nobility and 
 higher orders, and he so far succeeded in this as 
 to draw even the inveterate Don Lelio from his 
 retirement, and persuade him to take office at the 
 court. Here his caustic wit and haughty bearing 
 kept him in hot water with the prime minister, 
 who was a man of narrow views, of plebian origin, 
 and head of the third estate— then beginning to 
 exert a controlling influence in public affairs. There 
 was at that time a young officer attached to the 
 garrison of Castle Xuovo, who was a special favor- 
 ite of the king; he was known as Don Henri 
 Campabello. He was of English parentage, and had 
 entered the service of Xaples as an adventurer, or 
 soldier of fortune. He was described as a man of 
 extraordinary personal graces, strangely contrasting 
 
104: ^yooDBOunxE. 
 
 Avitli tlioso of liis own rank by whom lie was sur- 
 roundeil. 
 
 "^Tlie King was an ardent sportsman, and in his 
 hnnting excursions Campabello was his inseparable 
 companion. As was to be expected, this marked 
 preference of the sovereign for the society of a 
 foreigner was very distasteful to the native chivalry, 
 with all of y.'hom, except his comrades-in-arms, 
 lie was in constant danger of open rupture. There 
 was another person in whose eyes the young officer 
 found particular favor; this was Constance Conrad, 
 the beautiful niece of Don Lelio, and it was soon 
 apparent that the old nobleman, too, regarded him 
 with far more esteem than he did any other of 
 her numerous suitors. 
 
 "'In course of time, Don Lelio fell into trouble 
 at court, having quarreled violently with Tanucci, 
 the premier, and in a fit of displeasure retired to 
 his villa. Campabello's rivals, chief of whom was 
 Don Jacapo Torella, now redoubled their efforts to 
 degrade him in the king's estimation, and with the 
 aid of the all-powerful minister, so far succeeded 
 as to prevail with Charles to order him away to 
 a distant garrison on the plausible pretext of its 
 being a more honorable station. But before the 
 king's command was made known to Campabello, 
 it was discovered that he had been secretly married 
 to Constance at the instance of Don Lelio, who 
 was resolved to disappoint the schemes of his rela- 
 tives, wdiom he detested, while at the same time he 
 dreaded their enmity. The discovery was the signal 
 of the terriljle troubles which followed in rapid suc- 
 cession. On some frivolous accusation, easily invented 
 
WOODBOUKXE. * 105 
 
 in that country of diabolical plots, Don Lelio was 
 rudely seized and thrown into the dungeons of 
 the Vicaria, and shortly afterwards Campabello and 
 his wife, with their infant child, disappeared from 
 the scene of tliickening dangers. Aware of the im- 
 placable nature of their enemies, they took every 
 precaution to conceal their retreat. Whither they 
 fled was known only to one trusty servant, who 
 insisted upon sharing their lot. Alas! that this 
 poor, devoted friend should have been the innocent 
 cause of the mischief which afterwards ensued. 
 
 "'Campabello and his wife were naturally much 
 concerned about the fate of Don Lelio. After the 
 lapse of two months, no longer able to restrain 
 their anxiety, they despatched their attendant, Guil- 
 lame, on a secret mission to Kaples for news. The 
 messenger returned in safety, but he brought with 
 him the worst tidings their fears foreboded. The 
 old nobleman did not long survive the brutal out- 
 rage to Avhich he had been subjected, and Don Jacapo 
 had fallen heir to his possessions. Time rolled on. 
 The child, a boy, was now a year old; it is said 
 that he closely resembled his mother, and was 
 exceeding beautiful. He was watched over with 
 jealous vigilance by his parents; and, though they 
 had implicit confidence in his nurse, she was sel- 
 dom permitted to take him out of doors. One day 
 she went to w*alk with the child and never more 
 returned. Tor days search was made for them 
 without avail. At last the body of the woman was 
 discovered floating in the water a sliort distance 
 from the castle.' 
 
 " ' The castle I ' I involuntarily exclaimed. 
 
106 "WOODBOUEisE. 
 
 "^xit the foot of the high rock you see there on 
 the right of that ohi ruin is "v\'here they found her, 
 but there was no trace of the chikl. His loss was 
 a fatal blow to Lady Carapabello, and soon after 
 her death the castle was deserted. This much of the 
 story was current among the yillagers when I came 
 here to reside. There Y\-a3 no talk aniDng them of 
 foul play. It was generally believed that the body 
 of the child was at the bottom of the deep lake, into 
 whicli the nurse had, as they surmised, accidentally 
 fallen. Imagine, then, my horror, when this poor 
 wretch, in accents scarcely audible, told how he had 
 penetrated Guillame's disguise, and thus discovered 
 the retreat of the fugitives; how he had been hired 
 for a large price to avenge his master by slaying 
 his hated rival; how, foiled in that, he thought he 
 could appease his master's WTath by stealing the 
 child, and how, in carrying out that fell design, 
 he had hurled the poor woman headlong over the 
 precipice into the lake before she could cry out 
 and give the alarm. He carried the boy to Naples; 
 but instead of the reward he expected, he was 
 loaded with curses, and scourged from his master's 
 presence. 
 
 "'What shall he do in this extremity? It is a 
 desperate alternative; yet he is resolved to make 
 one more effort to regain his master's favor. He 
 makes his way back to the neighborhood of the 
 castle, taking the child with him. He fmds it 
 deserted; he learns the lady's fate; sudden and 
 swift the awful retribution comes; terror and 
 remorse have seized upon him. Vile and desperate 
 as he was, he had no thouglit of liarming the 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 107 
 
 cliild; indeed, a strange reyulsion of feeling now 
 possessed him — he could have no peace of mind 
 until he had found the father, and restored the 
 child to him. Where to look for him? While he 
 was lurking around the castle, he, one night, caught 
 frao'ments of a conversation between the young offi- 
 cer and his wife, in which he spoke of going to 
 France, to some place near Grenoble. Going thither, 
 he could learn nothing of the object of his pur- 
 suit, lie left the child in the care of a peasant 
 woman, living near an old chateau, and went on 
 to Paris. Here his evil genius iuTolved him in a 
 serious affray, in consequence of which he was con- 
 demned to imprisonment for life. 
 
 "^After three years of confinement, he made his 
 escape. His first thought, on regaining liberty, was 
 of the child. He hastened back to the place 
 where he had left it; it was gone; the woman 
 was dead, and all he could learn of the child was 
 that it had been carried away by a stranger— a 
 priest— no one could tell whither. Then he gave 
 up to despair. He became a vagabond upon the 
 earth, and wandering distractedly hither and thither, 
 at last is dravrn by some mysterious impulse back 
 to the scene of his inexpiable crime. Ere he reaches. 
 it, the blinding tempest rushes dovrn upon him and 
 smites him senseless to the earth. How he was 
 found has been tokl. He had barely finished his 
 terrible story, when he fell back on his couch and 
 expired. I had listened to many a tale of human 
 suffering and crime, but nothing in all my expe- 
 rience affected me as did the confession of this 
 miserable man. It was ever in my mind, and I 
 
108 WOODBOrPxXE. 
 
 lived from day to day in the hope of lieariiig what 
 had become of the father and ehihl. The mother's 
 grave is in the vilLage churchyard; I had frequently 
 visited it before, but now it was invested with 
 peculiar sanctity. I went there two and three times 
 every week, always expecting that somebody inter- 
 ested in the unhappy pair would come to inquire 
 for them. Time passed. T had begun to feel that 
 my hope was vain, when one morning,, towards the 
 end of June, on repairing, as usual, to the ceme- 
 tery, I was startled by the sight of a man stand- 
 ing beside the grave of Constance. He leant heavily 
 upon his staff, and his bare head was bent down in 
 prayer. His garments were threadbare and travel- 
 stained, and he carried a knapsack strapped to his 
 shoulders. He was old, and, when in a little while, 
 he turned to go away, I saw that, although his 
 carriage was erect, his step was slow and feeble. 
 I spoke to him. He stopped, and seeing who I 
 was, saluted me respectfully. It was Guillame. I 
 took him home with me, and when he was rested 
 and refreshed, made him tell his story. Brieflv, it 
 was this: The morning after Lady Constance was 
 consigned to the tomb, Campabello said to him, 
 ''VCe must part, Guillame; I am going away." 
 Throwing himself at his feet, the faithful creature 
 implored his master, Avitli tears, not to dismiss him. 
 Campabello vras deeply touched. "So be it," he said. 
 "In an hour we start for St. Petersburg." Here let 
 me explain what was the secret of Guillame's 
 attachment to the young Englishman. He had been 
 a soldier in the company which Campabello com- 
 manded. On one occasion, a subaltern struck him 
 
-^'oodbouPlXe. 100 
 
 with hi3 sword for some fiincied dereliction of duty. 
 Incensed by the wanton outrage, he gave the offi- 
 cer a blow in return with the butt of his musket, 
 which killed him outright. For this offence, he 
 was condemned to die, and the sentence would have 
 been executed but for the intercession of Cam- 
 pabello, who obtained a pardon for him from the 
 king. 
 
 *' 'Arrived at their destination, the young officer 
 was kindly received by the Czar, and readily given 
 a commission in the Imperial army. His stay at 
 the capital was as short as ceremony permitted. 
 Desiring to be at once actively employed, he was 
 ordered to the frontier. Here, in time, he won rep- 
 utation and honors in abundance. Ambitious of 
 distinction, and ardently devoted to the profession 
 of arms, he was in the full tide of a brilliant 
 career, when, on a sudden, his health sncctimbed 
 to the rigors of that inhospitable climate. His 
 death severed the last tie which botind Guillame 
 to earthly objects. He felt that his own end was 
 not far off, and yearning to look once more on his 
 native sky before closing his eyes forever, he had, 
 with toil and pain, plodded his way back to this 
 spot. His prayer had been granted, and novr he 
 was ready to die, and wished to be buried at the 
 feet of his mistress. I told him the valet's story; 
 he was amazed and shocked beyond description. 
 Xext morning he came to me cqnipped for a jour- 
 ney — his knapsack on his back and staff in hand; 
 said he was going in search of the child. His dear 
 mistress had appeared to him in a dream in lier 
 angelic robes, telling him that little Edward was 
 
 10 
 
110 WOODBOUEKE. 
 
 alive, and commanding him to go without dehay. It 
 was an idle fantasy, but I knew it was useless to 
 oppose his determination. He went, I fear, never to 
 return. You came, or rather, you were brought here 
 more dead than alive. Hearing you speak, I recog- 
 nized your country in your voice. You were come, I 
 thought, in search of the lost ones. I was mis- 
 tiiken ; yet you were directed hither by the Divine 
 Pov\Tr as the means of bringing it all to light. 
 Is that not plain?' 
 
 "Father ^Manso's narrative made a deep impression 
 on me. The more I reflected on it, the more 
 earnest became the desire to discover the fate of 
 the poor orphan. Yet it seemed to my view an 
 almost hopeless undertaking, and I so expressed 
 myself concerning it to the good man, whose zeal 
 in the matter awakened my warmest sympathy. I 
 had no idea, I said, who the English nobleman 
 was. There were ever so many of my countrymen 
 (I did not think it worth Avhile to undeceive him 
 as to my nativity), abroad in Europe, especially in 
 Erance. I had inet one or more of them at every 
 stage of my travels ; but of this one, I had not 
 the least inkling. 'Stay,' said the priest; 'I had 
 nearly forgotten it; look at this.' He drew from his 
 bosom a gold watch, and opening the case handed 
 it to me. I read the engraving, "'To Henry Mark- 
 ham, from his uncle Edward." 'That watch,' con- 
 tinued the euro, ' v.'as entrusted to me by Guil- 
 lame before ho Avent away; it was given to him 
 by his master on his death bed. Xow, at least, you 
 know what was the officer's name.' 'Yes,' said I, 
 repeating the inscription aloud; 'but it afTords no 
 
WOODBOUEiNE. Ill 
 
 clue to the missing child; if it did, I should spare 
 no pains or sacrifice in folloAving it up. As it 
 Tvas, ^\e "were groping in total darkness. I could 
 only engage to do the best I could under the cir- 
 cumstances.' 'Go, then, my son,' said he, 'and 
 God's blessing attend you.' 
 
 '•That evening I set out to return to Geneva. 
 Thence, in a few days, I started for France, trav- 
 eling through Savoy. On the way I fell ill. I 
 managed, with difficulty, to reach the mionastery of 
 Grande Chartreuse, which I had visited once before. 
 There I was tenderly cared for through the severest 
 illness I have ever experienced. AVhen the fever 
 left me, I became the prey of the worst dread 
 which can possess the wanderer in a strange land, 
 and as soon as I was strong enough to travel, I 
 turned my face homeward. Yet I did not wholly 
 forget my promise to Father Manso. As it lay 
 near my route, I went to the place where the 
 miscreant had left the child. The information I 
 obtained only went to confirm his account. The 
 chateau was ruinous and desolate enough. Xobody 
 had lived there, I vras told, since the old lord, 
 one Count de Villieures, died, in vrhat year my 
 informant did not remember." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 EAD on, Dick," said Carleton, as Alloway 
 paused. 
 
 "'That's all there is/' said 
 
 lie. 
 
 Uncle 
 
 liad great repugnance to speak of liis own 
 sufferings. He had, indeed, been sick well nigh 
 nnto death, and liis frame was so shattered by it, 
 that he was fearful he would not be able to reach 
 home. He told mother how intensely anxious he 
 was, and how fervently he prayed that he might 
 be suffered to lay his weary burden doAvn on the 
 spot where his pilgrimage begun." 
 
 **It is that thought which has ever embittered 
 the last hour of the poor exile," replied Carleton, 
 with feeling. '^Diilce moricns reminiscitcr Argos.'' 
 
 Both were silent for several minutes. At length 
 Dick said: 
 
 "You have heard the story, Hurrv, wliat do vou 
 think of it?" 
 
 Harry — '• Oh, its well enough as far as it goes ; 
 indeed, could not be better for a story, as you 
 say; but it is not much to the point. Campabellol 
 that's Italian for Campbell. Mrs. Graeme was a 
 Campbell, was she not?" 
 
 i)/c^\— " Yes ; the clan is legion." 
 
 (112) 
 
WOODBOURXE. 113 
 
 Harry. — "But you told me Mrs. Graeme did not 
 talk like a Scotchwoman. 
 
 Dich. — "She was educated in England, I believe. 
 The fact is, I know just nothing at all about her 
 early history; yet I'll be sworn that she has no 
 more to do with that Mr. Conrad and his affairs 
 than the man in the moon." 
 
 Harry. — "'It may be so; but how do you account 
 for her husband's strange speech?*' 
 
 Alloway made no reply. 
 
 Harry. — "More mystery, Dickon, my boy; the plot 
 thickens, and I am more bent than ever on get- 
 ting to the bottom of it. Aye,'"' he exclaimed, 
 sj)ringing from the sofii, and glaring in true stage 
 fashion at an imaginary apparition, "I'll follow 
 thee, thou ghost or goblin damned, though thou 
 leadest me to the Stygian caves forlorn, 'mid sights 
 and sounds and shrieks unholy ! '' 
 
 Alloway laughed heartily. 
 
 "AVhat a muddle you are making of Milton and 
 Shakespeare ! Psha, Harry, let the parlez-vousing — " 
 
 "Buccaneer,"' suggested his friend, seeing him 
 pause for a word. 
 
 "Anything you like, so you send him packing 
 about his business, and proceed to tell me more of 
 your grand military project. Bravo I that's the look 
 — every inch a soldier — in a dressing-gown! See 
 how his bosom glows, and how he pants for the 
 glorious fray; how he smelleth the battle afar off; 
 the thunder of the captains and the shouting. 
 Vincere est vivere ! that's the motto for a true 
 hero." 
 
 A remarkable change had indeed come over the 
 
 10* 
 
114 WOODBOUKXE. 
 
 volatile spirits of the youthful cavalier. His hand- 
 some face was lighted up with strange animation ; 
 the languid air and light, bantering tone were gone, 
 and he was pacing the floor with quick and nerv- 
 ous steps. 
 
 "Yqu misjudge me greatly, my dear friend," he 
 instantly replied, in a somewhat excited and im- 
 passioned tone of voice, "if you think I am ambi- 
 tious of military renown, and long for the fame 
 which is to be gathered in the dreadful field of 
 revolution. Believe me, I do not aspire after the 
 trophies which are won only at the frightful cost 
 of human blood shed in deadly conflict. In my 
 ears the sound of the trumpet is a summons to 
 the carnival of death, rousing in every bo.?om the 
 * spirit of the first-born Cain.' "U'ar, unless it is 
 waged in defence of our country, our altars and 
 household gods, is cool, deliberate, organized, whole- 
 sale murder. In the dark ages, the soldier's trad^ 
 was the one honorable profession. The sword was 
 the universal arbiter of disputes, the certain badge 
 of nobility, the true emblem of dignity and power ; 
 prowess in arms was the only guerdon worthy of 
 attainment. But feudalism was unmitigated bar- 
 barism, a scene of perpetual strife, rapine, anarchy; 
 a saturnalia of blood, a horrible orgy of crimes of 
 the darkest hue. The institution of knighthood was 
 the only partial gleam of humanity athwart the black 
 sky; a feeble, glimmering ray of light rendering 
 the darkness more profound. You seem to be look- 
 ing into an immense, murky cavern of embattled 
 fiends, realizing Milton's description of the abode 
 of the damned. The necessity for an extra judicial 
 
WOODBOrEXE. 115 
 
 mode of repressing cruelty and redressing wrongs is 
 the strongest proof of the degeneracy of the race. 
 By the hxws of their order, these martial custo- 
 dians of society and vindicators of the sacred claims 
 of honor and chastity vrere bound themselves to 
 respect the obligations whose violation they so rig- 
 orously punished in others; but although they miti- 
 gated, in some degree, the ferocity of men, they did 
 not succeed in redeeming the world from the 
 dominion of brute violence. lN"ay, the ensigns armo- 
 rial of this boasted chivalry are crimson dyed with 
 the gore of innocent victims of fanatical zeal and 
 romantic enthusiasm — euphumisms for licentious pas- 
 sion and ungovernable rage — sanctified lust, canonized 
 murder. Tantum religio potuil saudere malorum! 
 Godfrey of Bouillon led his band of consecrated 
 assassins on to pillage and massacre in sight of 
 Calvary, and years afterwards, on the same holy 
 ground, Eichard the Lion-hearted learned his first 
 lessons in the quality of that mercy *which becometh 
 the throned monarch better than his crown' from 
 the noble example of a Moslem prince."' 
 
 "Shade of La Mancha! what shall be done with 
 this profane iconoclast?" cried Alloway, as Carleton 
 paused in his flight to rest the wings of his elo- 
 quence. " Oh, that I Avere such an orator as Bru- 
 tus is!" 
 
 "Orator? God forbid!" said Carleton. "One 
 trum.peter of the name will do; it is high time 
 some of us were signalizing our zeal in acts, and 
 I glory in being the first to set the example. There 
 is no lack of splendid talkers among us; they are 
 as plentiful as lawyers of old in Xaples. AVhat- 
 
116 VrOODBOURXE. 
 
 ever you do, my friend, I entreat you will not 
 write me down among the homines inertissimi, quo- 
 rum omnis vis virtusqite in lingua sita est.''' 
 
 BicTc. — '' Orator or not, you ' bae sae saft a yoice 
 and slid a tongue,' that you can say three words 
 to my one. But I have yonder an authority yill 
 confound your awful invective. Eead what Dr. 
 Robertson says in commendation of mediaeval chivalry 
 in his last great work — the ' History of the lieign 
 of Charles V.'" 
 
 Harry. — ^'I have read carefully every word of 
 the book. History has been my chief study of late; 
 especially everything relating to the abominations 
 of feudal despotism. Robertson's laudation of this 
 creature of military genius for its lasting beneficial 
 influence on the manners and customs of a bar- 
 barous age, is all leather and prunella. Think of 
 his saying that the germ of modern as distinguished 
 from ancient civilization is contained in the bond 
 of knight-erranty. Why, sir, civilization owes more 
 to the humble mechanic of Mentz than to all the 
 mitres, sceptres and swords of Christendom. The 
 Prixtixg Press was the mighty engine which bat- 
 tered down the walls of arbitrary power and freed 
 the soul from the bondage of ignorance, error and 
 superstition. To this art of arts are due the amelio- 
 rations of human society — all those grand reforma- 
 tions which are now in process of fulfillment; in 
 the institutions of policy; in the canons of religious 
 doctrine and belief; in the essential principles of 
 jurisprudence and the enlightened precepts of gov- 
 ernment, no less than in the countless appliances 
 of industry and wealth — in everything that human- 
 izes, elevates, refines and adorns human character." 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 117 
 
 "Well for you,"' said Dick, taking advantage of 
 a pause in Carleton's oration to edge in a vrord, 
 "that YOU did not live in the days of old Sir 
 William Berkeley; lie vrould have hung you higher 
 than Haman for that audacious speech.'' 
 
 "Hold your tongue, Dick," rejoined his compan- 
 ion. "As I "vvas going to remark, I am free to 
 admit that originally the word chivalry was meant 
 to denote the acme of manly virtue, the supreme 
 ideal of private vrorth, public zeal and religious 
 devotion. But soon the honor of knighthood became 
 a purely arbitrary distinction; a conventional char- 
 ter of exclusive per.?onal privileges; a merely fac- 
 titious order of so-called nobility. It was no more 
 prized as the reward of true merit, of courage 
 tempered with gentleness and Christian courtesy; 
 no longer was it the sure evidence of substantial 
 claims to spotless renown. Xo, it now became the 
 paltry, unprized gift of princely favor; a thing of 
 accident, a toy, a bauble; its lustre dimmed by 
 brutal excesses, and its guerdons the insignia of 
 tyrannical power."' 
 
 Here AUoway made a desperate effort to rally to 
 the defence of the abused paladins, but he was 
 borne down by the sweeping torrent of Carleton's 
 harangue. 
 
 "As for the protection afforded the weaker sex, 
 the refinements of gallantry and all that sort of 
 Sydnean rhodomontade, the charter of knighthood 
 was not the first recognition of the righful province 
 of woman, nor admission of the benignant influence 
 of her gentle sway in curbing the headstrong pas- 
 sions and softening the rugged asperities of savage 
 
lis WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 man. This uncouth gallantry was a sentimental, 
 spasmodical worship of the impersonations of phren- 
 zied fancy, not the natural spontaneous feeling of 
 devotion, love and deference for creatures endowed 
 with charms and graces which make them the living 
 fountains of the choicest blessings of society. Let 
 us give the old paladins credit for the best inten- 
 tions in their ungainly schemes of reformation; but 
 in the name of true manhood, let us at the same 
 time protest that it was not a marvellous display 
 of heroic virtue to shield helpless beauty from 
 insult and violence, and to render that homage no 
 generous heart could refuse to la belle scxe. And then 
 their immaculate tribunal of justice, their sublime 
 code of honor, their amazing discovery tliat truth 
 was a Phrygian puzzle which only the sword could 
 unravel. It ought to be enough among Christian 
 23eople to know that duelling is condennied by the 
 word of God. But examine it on merely human 
 grounds. It is claimed to be the only honorable 
 method of disposing of mortal quarrels between 
 man and man. A combat to be honorable must be 
 fair and equal, and everybody knows that it is 
 practically impossible to put the belligerents on such 
 terms that the advantage will not be greatly in 
 favor of one or the other of them. The challenged 
 party, Avho is generally most in the wrong, is allowed 
 the choice of weapons, and, unless he be wholly 
 indifferent to the issue, is sure to select the death- 
 dealing instrument with which he is most familiar. 
 But what moral right have you to require the 
 injured or aggrieved party to forego any superi- 
 ority lie may possess? "What rule of justice demands 
 that you should take 3'our adversary's weapons, or 
 
WOODCOURXE. 119 
 
 eren advise him with what sort of artillery you pur- 
 pose to fight? Think of David's sending Goliah word 
 that he was coming forth to battle armed with a 
 sling and five smooth stones out of the brook, and 
 thereby giving the ugly giant a chance to collect 
 a magazine of boulders and bombard him to death 
 at long range. If men will resort to this san- 
 guinary mode of accommodating disputes, if only 
 blood can wash out the stains of atfronted dignity, 
 then assuredly a decent respect for social obliga- 
 tions plainly dictates that the combatants should 
 end the matter with as little ado as possible, and 
 whatever may be the result of the fight, the least 
 said about honor the better. Honor can never be 
 vindicated by bloody reprisals, any more than the 
 blazonry of chivalrous deeds can ennoble the per- 
 petrators of cruel injustice. At the best, what 
 merit is there in being accounted a skillful or a 
 fortunate duellist? It is not Harry Monmouth 
 exulting over the fallen Percy, stooping to pluck 
 the budding honors from that noble crest to make 
 a garland for his crwn, who appears grandly heroic, 
 but Harry the King, as he is pictured by the 
 divine artist on the night before Agincourt — 
 
 '"I'pon his royal face there is no note 
 
 How dread an army hath surrounded him, 
 Xor doth he dedicate one jot of color 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night ; 
 But freshly looks and overbears attaint 
 AYith cheerful semblance and sweet majest)', 
 That every MTetch, pining and pale before, 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks— 
 A largess universal like the sun, 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 Thawins: cold fear.' ' 
 
120 VrOODBOURXE. 
 
 Having rendereil this magnificent quotation in a 
 way that Garrick or John Kemble could not have 
 excelled, Carleton subsided into his former recum- 
 bency 'with the lackadaisical and insouciant air of 
 one to Avhom such oratorical fiourishes Avere — 
 
 '• Xo more difficile 
 Than for pig to squenl er blackbird to whistle." 
 
 *•' Jupiter Tonans I " exclaimed Alloway, " what a 
 Vesuvius' of eloquence. And all this tirade because 
 I happened to say that you had the bearing of a 
 soldier, longing to flesh his maiden sword. I recant, 
 Harry. After all, fighting is a wretched trade, and 
 for one, I am willing to forego my share of its 
 gory and grinning honors. Excuse me for quoting 
 Shakespeare, but it is my highest aspiration — 
 
 '"To live the lease of nature and pay my breath 
 To time and mortal custom.' 
 
 "Whatever your wise saws may say, death is an 
 ugly customer, come when and how he will; and none 
 the more welcome because he has a churlish habit 
 of coming unasked and undesired. Then, for the 
 glory of the thing, wliat is there to choose between 
 the laureled crown of the 'hook-nosed fellow of 
 Eome,' and the scalp-locks of various hues which 
 deck the robe of the mighty king of the "W'ampa- 
 noags ? And as for those great, bulky bullies of 
 the grand carousal, sheatlied all over in 'helm and 
 hauberk's twisted mail,' sword and lance proof, 
 what were their wrought-iron pastimes, their jousts 
 and tourneys, compared with the robust and plucky 
 rencontres of the old gladiators of the Coliseum, 
 who went at it, stripped to the buiT, and hacked 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 121 
 
 the flesh off each other until nothing was left of 
 them hut a hloody array of skeleton warriors rat- 
 tling cUfiance to death itself? But, sir, do you 
 wish to see my perfect model of a fighting animal? 
 Behold him in the wrathful, red fiend of the wil- 
 derness, accoutred for the war-path; the incarna- 
 tion of real chivalry in naked majesty. Talk of 
 Grecian, Roman, Saxon or Celtic courage and forti- 
 tude — 
 
 " ' Believe rae, prince, there is not an Indian 
 That traverses our vast American deserts 
 111 quest of prey and lives upon his bow, 
 But better practices these boasted virtues.' 
 
 "Pour vivre en sc-fait tucr, is the motto of the 
 killing trade the world over. Between the hero 
 and the brute it is but a toss-up, as you were say- 
 ing, Harry." 
 
 Carleton did not deign to notice this unseemly 
 badinage; so Dick picked his flint, and began blaz- 
 ing away at him again. 
 
 '' 0, for the genius of Moliere ! what a comedy 
 I would indite. Lg soldat malgre lui, worth an 
 army of your mock doctors; a veritable hero, whose 
 natal star was the serenest of the heavenly orbs. 
 For a surety, my Harry is not that famous ' Hot- 
 spur of the Xorth,' he that kills me some six or 
 seven dozen of Scots at a breakflist." 
 
 This time the shot told; Carleton was half angry. 
 
 "You certainly can make yourself supremely ridic- 
 ulous when you try, you great, hairy jack-pudding," 
 he exclaimed, snatching up tiie poker and making a 
 feint as if he were going to run Dick through the 
 body with it. "You know well enough that what I 
 11 
 
122 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 have said was not intended to decry tlie profession of 
 arms, nor to underrate the military art. Xobody 
 appreciates the character of a true soldier, higher 
 than I do. The nnsullied honors which are won 
 in the field of duty are above the price of rubies; 
 he does not deserve to be called a man who turns 
 his back on his country's foes. But the mercenary 
 wretch whose sword is np for hire; the blood- 
 thirsty creature v»'ho fights for the mere love of 
 fighting, vrho delights in war for war's sake, as 
 Xenophon says of Clearchus — " 
 
 "Are all a vile, murderous crew at the best," said 
 Dick; "'the moral of all your fine talk is, that wars, 
 like plagues and earthquakes, are unavoidable calam- 
 ities, and therefore the soldier's vocation will never 
 be out of fashion. Well, as Corporal Xym says, 
 ^things must be as they may.' Don't mind my chaf- 
 fing, Harry; I know you will act your part as 
 becomes a right valiant rebel, whether you like the 
 business or not. But, I say, v\-hen did the Carle- 
 tons get to be such a rebellious set ? the name once 
 stood for loyalty ^itself." 
 
 Harry. — '-Loyalty, forsooth I First tell me what 
 makes a rebel before you impugn my loyalty, as 
 you call it." 
 
 "AVhat makes a rebel?" slowly repeated Dick; 
 '•'strange that I never thought seriously of that 
 question before. To be a rebel one must have com- 
 mitted treason in some way. But what is treason? 
 It strikes me that Harrington made a palpable hit 
 in his famous couplet — 
 
 '"•Treason doth never prosper, vrliat's the reason, 
 For if it prosper, none dare call it treason." 
 
wooDcour.XE. 123 
 
 //.^rry.—" Precisely so; and hence loyalty is a 
 noun Proteus, wliicli no lexicographer has ever been 
 able to define." 
 
 Did'.— ''^Xait till old 'Taxation-no-Tyranny' pub- 
 lishes the second edition of his dictionary, and "^ve 
 shall have your Frotcus 'drained in a limbec to 
 his native form.' For example: Loyalhj—Vi term 
 employed to denote that overpo-^veriiig sensation of 
 awe and reverence which is inspired by the con- 
 templation of the divinity which doth hedge a 
 king. But we are going to succeed in this struggle, 
 and then we can have a vocabulary of our own, 
 which will put to shame the servile coiners of 
 words who would call a whale a weasel at the bid- 
 ding of any Eoyal Dane." 
 
 Carleton laughed. 
 
 "Glibly said, for orator Mum. Xow that he has 
 shaken the reefs out of his rhetorical sails, he has 
 completely taken the vdnd out of mine." 
 
 *-'And when the muss is over, and vre are a free, 
 independent, and supremely happy people," continued 
 Dick, with renewed volubility, '-'wliat are v>-e going 
 to do next? There's the rub. I should go for a 
 monarchy if I vrere sure of a dukedom for myself. 
 If it is to be a republic, then let us have the 
 strongest possible infusion of the aristocratical ele- 
 ment. I confess I am, for one, no admirer of pure 
 and unadulterated democracy, and regret to see that 
 some of our state ccoks arc for putting so much 
 of that sort of leaven in our political loaf." 
 
 Harry. — '-The current of opinion sets overwhelm- 
 ingly in favor of a reptiblic. I wish you could 
 see the letters my father has received from every 
 
124 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 quarter on this subject, especially tliose from Col. 
 George Mason and Mr. Samuel Adamc. There is 
 no disputing tlie fact that the republican form of 
 government is the choice of this generation of 
 Americans. If posterity don't like it, Avhy let pos- 
 terity make one to suit themselves." 
 
 Leaving these young rebels to their di.~h of pol- 
 itics, let us direct the reader's attention to some 
 of the other persons of our drama. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 ^^^^>^' Y a singular combination of circumstances, 
 it so hajopens that the anniversary of 
 Miss Lucy Graeme's nativity is one of 
 the days in our story's calendar most 
 crowded with stirring incidents. Despite the evil 
 prediction of the immemorial weather prophet, the 
 da"\vn we celebrate came not in heavy with clouds 
 and lovrering with gloomy forebodings, but was 
 robed in a dreamy mantle of heavenly radiance, 
 which made every object appear as though it dwelt 
 in a perpetual realm of drowsy-headed illusion. 
 Yet it was in reality no fairy-land of shadowy im- 
 ages, enchanting visions and " dreams that wave 
 before the half-shut eye"; on the contrary, it was a 
 breathing, throbbing part of that grand theatre whose 
 curtain was about to rise on the\ swelling scene of 
 the v»'orld's supremest hopes. 
 
 As we were saying, the eventful day was come, 
 and Bonhill resounded Avith the busy note of prep- 
 aration. It is the little lady-regent's first essay at 
 entertaining on so large a scale, and she duly 
 appreciates the weight of responsibility which rests 
 on her pretty shoulders. Trying as the situation 
 is, enough to tax the resources of the most expe- 
 
 11* (12o) 
 
126 WOODBOUKXE. 
 
 rienced adept in the occult science of liousekeep- 
 ing, we have no sort of misgiving that she will 
 not come off with flying colors from the field of 
 her unwonted labors. 
 
 Returning from his customary morning ride, Mr. 
 Graeme found the house, as he would say, turned 
 " heels-owre-gowdie " from attic to cellar. Every- 
 where the genius of distraction reigned supreme. 
 Even the paternal sanctum had not escaped the 
 invasion of the common enemy of peace and quiet; 
 it w^as undergoing a complete overhauling and set- 
 ting to rights, preparatory to being dedicated to a 
 variety of unheard of uses, and especially for the 
 behoof of those elderly persons Avho preferred a 
 rubber at whist or a game of vingt-un to the 
 boisterous attractions of fiddling and dancing. Only 
 his wife's chamber was sacred ground; but the 
 self-respect of the worthy gentleman revolted at the 
 notion of being held a prisoner in his own castle, 
 and calling after the boy who was leading his 
 horse to the stable, he determined to make his 
 exit from the scene of domestic din and disorder. 
 As he was leaving the hall with that view, he was 
 intercepted by his daughter, who came tripping up 
 to him with an ^pen letter in her hand, and in 
 the most aggravating manner actually carolling a 
 stave of one of his favorite songs. 
 
 "Nae luck about the house I'' he exclaimed, taking 
 the words from her mouth, and trying his best to 
 preserve an awkward assumption of outraged dignity. 
 "Is this yer manners, to drive a. body out o' doors 
 with your clatter and skirling eneugh to distrackit 
 auld ]S"ick; and he yer ain dear faither." 
 
^vooDBOUR^'E. 127 
 
 ''I am sure the poor, persecuted body could 
 make himself very comfortable up-stairs in mother's 
 room," Avas the provoking reply to his grievous 
 complaint 
 
 "In yer mither's room; a douce answer to a 
 ceevil question. Hech, sirs', a pretty pass, the head 
 o' the family maunna hae his aiii seat in his aiu 
 house. That gate belyve I shall be e'en begging 
 your leddyship'3 permission to wear my ain breecks. 
 "What are ye snirtling at, ye little imp o' the deil? 
 Let me catch ye grinning at me again, an' 1*11 
 gie ye that will gar ye laugh out o' the wrang 
 side o' your mouth." 
 
 The threat was aimed at the luckless urchin who 
 had brought the letter for Lucy from Clifton, and 
 who was detected in a broad grimace at what he 
 seemed to think was very rare fun, 
 
 "Alack, alack I " cried Lncy, catching him by the 
 lappel of his coat, and looking np at him in a 
 commiserating way, "how I do pity the poor head 
 of the family; if he is well nigh daft at the clat- 
 ter and skirling of the scrubbing-brush, what will 
 become of him when he hears the dinsome clamor 
 of the dancing and deray to-night? 
 
 '"The cushat croods, the corbie cries, 
 The cuckoo couks, the iirattlhig pies 
 
 To keck hir they begin; 
 The jargon o' the jangling jays, 
 The cniiking craws, the keekling kayes. 
 
 They deaved me with their din."* 
 
 An apt representation of the melodious discord 
 one hears in a room full of gay revellers, all laugh- 
 inn^ and talking in an undistinguishable jumble of 
 
128 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 hilarious sounds, and she recited it "^vith such 
 humorous efiect that Mr. Graeme's sides fairly shook 
 "with laughter in spite of his efforts to maintain 
 his graYity. Yet there ^'as a mischievous twinkle 
 in his eye as he chimed in Avith his daughter's 
 merry mood. 
 
 "Hout tout, lass," he exclaimed, as soon as he 
 had recovered his breath; ^'gang awa wi' your daf- 
 fiu. Ye dinna really suppose that I care a bodle 
 mysel for your noise and dirdum and a' that; I 
 Avas only just the moment thinking Tvhat the gude 
 minister Avill hae to say anent the matter; he'll 
 be sair mistrysted, I hae nae doubt, at sic a sight 
 o' wardly vanity." 
 
 Instantly the tables were turned; the mischief- 
 loving damsel was transformed as if by magic into 
 a ludicrous picture of mingled consternation and 
 chagrin. 
 
 "Goodness sake I papa, you don't mean to tell 
 me that Mr. Waddell is coming to-night?" she 
 faltered out. 
 
 The old gentleman made no reply in v\-ords, he 
 merely shook his head solemnly sideways and down- 
 ways, as the sly twinkle lurking in his eye grew 
 more and more intolerably wicked. To account for 
 this sudden revulsion of feeling on Miss Lucy's 
 part, it is necessary to remark that Mr. Waddell 
 was the famous "new-light" preacher, who, it had 
 been given out, would hold forth in the parish 
 church on the next Sunday, and who was expected 
 to make his quarters at Bonhill towards the close 
 of tlie week. Xow, there had never been a dissent- 
 ing minister in that immediate neighborhood within 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 129 
 
 the memory of tlie oldest inhabitant, and the preva- 
 lent opinion of such a character was far from flat- 
 tering, or expressed in very reverential or even 
 respectful terms. Ho was generally looked upon to 
 be sour, peevish, cross and splenetic, with an elon- 
 gated, kill-joy visage, a harsh, whining voice, which 
 *'entuned in the nose full swetely," and with a 
 garb to match these prepossessing endowments of 
 the most puritanical pattern. "With all her respect 
 for her father's pronounced religious predilections, 
 Lucy had been insensibly impressed by the obnox- 
 ious popular description of the itinerant preacher of 
 the period, and the idea of having one of the num- 
 ber in the house on a day which had been set 
 apart for festivity and jollification was anything but 
 pleasant to contemplate. Then she knew that Mr. 
 Graeme would be mortified beyond measure if his 
 visitor was not agreeably lodged and entertained 
 with the exemplary courtesy and respectful atten- 
 tion which was due to his sacred calling, and she 
 was naturally apprehensive concerning his reception 
 at the hands of the more thoughtless of the gay 
 company, who might be disposed to resent the 
 presence of a rigid presbyter as "an infusion of 
 myrrh into the festive goblet." Xo wonder, then, 
 that she was dismayed at the suggestion of Mr. 
 Waddell's intrusion on the scene of pleasure, and 
 looked as if she was ready to cry with vexation. 
 Mr. Graeme's heart melted at sight of her extreme 
 discomfiture. 
 
 "Dinna greet, lassie," said he, kissing her affec- 
 tionately; "'3'e maunna mind my daffin. The min- 
 ister will na come before to-morrow e'en, so Jamie 
 
130 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 Gordon writes. What liae ye got there?" he asked, 
 glancing at the letter in her hand. 
 
 "It's only a line from Mary Littleton," replied 
 Lucy, "to inquire when the Katrine will sail."' 
 
 Mr. Graeme pricked up his ears at this announce- 
 ment, but his countenance immediately fell as she 
 added : 
 
 "The information is particularly desired hy the 
 strange gentleman." 
 
 "'The strange gentleman?" he sneeringly repeated; 
 "'I dinna ken Avhy he's aye speerin' after the ves- 
 sel." "^ , ' 
 
 " That's Mr. Conrad's aiTair, my dear sir," retorted 
 Lucy, who had not yet forgiven him his cruel joke. 
 "AVhat answer shall I make to the polite request 
 of your huhUy-jocl', for snch he certainly appears 
 to be from the way you speak of him." 
 
 Again her father laughed heartily. The popular 
 anecdote of the half-witted gowk who had such a 
 mortal fear of the great, gobbling turkey-cock was 
 one of his jocular stand-bys. 
 
 "The unnatural bairn," he exclaimed, "'aye shootin' 
 at her auld foither wi' his ain gun. Ye mind the 
 story then ? But what gars ye think I am sair 
 hadden doun by the bubbly-jock?" 
 
 "'Because," was the unexpectedly round response, 
 "you give yourself more concern about him than 
 I can see any reason for." 
 
 Mr. Graeme's face reddened a little at his daugh- 
 ter's bluntness; but his displeasure, if he really 
 felt any, vanished the moment lie met her rallying 
 glance. 
 
 "'Weel, weel, lass," said he, "'ye are na fur wrang; 
 
WOODBOURXE. ^31 
 
 it's eiiifu' idling o' precious time, if it is naetliing 
 warse. Sae, ye maun, just tell the young leddie or 
 the — ." 
 
 "Bubbly-jock,'' said Lucy. 
 
 "Gentleman," continued her father, with reprov- 
 ing emphasis on the word; "vri' my respectful 
 compliments, that the Katrine will set sail on the 
 first fair wind after twal o'clock the night, and he 
 kens when that will be precisely as weel as mysel." 
 
 "That does not sound like a polite message, 
 papa." 
 
 "'It is een word for word as I got it frae your 
 cousin Ballantine at the store a while gone; but 
 say it to suit yoursel. And now I am minded to 
 ask, did you add the postscript io the letter to 
 Geordie?" 
 
 "'Yes, sir," replied Lucy, "every word as you 
 desired it — the message about the model of the new 
 steam engine, and the threshing machine, and all; 
 and I also requested him to send me the latest 
 collection of songs — the one just published in Edin- 
 burgh." 
 
 "A' right eneugh," said her father; "'yet how 
 you will get them is anither question. The Katrine, 
 I am afraid, is the last vessel we shall see frae 
 the auld countrce these mony lang and weary days. 
 It gars me grew to think on't. A waefu warld. 
 It's aye the vray o' it, thae folk wha, hae maist 
 cause to be freenly and Christianlike and forbear- 
 ing in a' their dealings with ain anither, are the 
 vera ones to fall out and gae to hacking ilk ithers 
 thrapples anent the right and the wrang o' this and 
 that metapheesical abstraictiou, so that there is 
 
132 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 never an end o' contention, and strife, and blood- 
 shed, and destruction. I hae nij ain gude opinion 
 on the subject; but wha's the use arguing Avi' a 
 Avheen het-headed callants wlia will na hearken to 
 rhyme or reason? I maun as weel, as the saying 
 is, keep my breath to cool my parritch. Ane ither 
 thing, you sent the invitations to the gentlemen 
 whase names I gave you?" 
 
 "I did, papa," said Lucy; "although I vras 
 doubtful of the propriety of asking Mr. Thompson 
 to the party; his politics, you know — " 
 
 " Politics ! " interrupted Mr. Graeme, with some 
 w^armth; "wha's fule eneugh to talk o' politics and 
 sic like clishmaclavers on a conveevial occasion. I 
 will hae Mr. Thompson and his wife in the bar- 
 gain; they have aye been gude neeborly bodies, as 
 far as I ken to the contrairy, and his politics is 
 his ain business. I dinna care a bodle for "Whig 
 or Tory; I"se warrant I hae them a' dancing the 
 reel o' Tullockgorum before the wee snia' hours the 
 night. And now I maun be ganging over to nee- 
 ber Alloway's, and hae a chat wi' that young Mr. 
 Carleton; he is a braw lad, and I hae taken a 
 prodigious fancy till him, not that I think ony 
 the less o' Maister Eichard." 
 
 This last qualifying clause was intended as a 
 salve for Miss Lucy's feelings, whom he more than 
 suspected of nursing a strong partiality for the 
 cantie Laird of AVoodbourne, and in whose ears his 
 praise of the captivating cavalier Carleton might 
 have an invidious bearing. But the conscious dam- 
 sel, lilting forth a merry chorus, frisked away 
 beyond earshot ere he completed the sentence, and 
 
W00D30URXE. 133 
 
 left tlie good gentleman to cliuckle over Lis thread- 
 bare joke as he ambled along the road to "Wood- 
 bourne. 
 
 As ^e have intimated, the expected advent of 
 Mr. ^\'addell ^as looked forvrard to as an event of 
 uncommon interest, inasmuch as his preaching there 
 would be the very first occasion that a minister 
 other than one of the Episcopal persuasion had 
 dispensed the bread of grace to perishing souls in 
 that vicinity. What gave it additional importance 
 was the fact that the rector of the parish, who 
 vras a model of piety and good sense, then rarely 
 to be found among the regular custodians of the 
 public conscience in Virginia, had given formal 
 notice from the pulpit the Sunday before that, God 
 willing, the Eev. James TVaddell, of the Hanover 
 Presbyterv, would hold services in that church on 
 next SablDath, and earnestly invoked the attendance 
 of the people on his brother's ministrations. The 
 announcement gave rise to considerable stir among 
 the more strait-laced members of the congregation, 
 cspeciallv when it was known that Parson Smith 
 had taken upon himself, without consulting the 
 wishes of the vestry, to tender the use of the 
 church to a person who had been denominated, in 
 the choice language of another clergyman, " a pick- 
 pocket, dark-lantern, moonlight preacher and enthusi- 
 ast," and ignominiously threatened with the whipping- 
 post if he persisted in his ministerial avocations. But 
 the general sentiment of the community vrarmly sup- 
 ported the liberal course of the minister in charge, 
 and there was no danger of Mr. AVaddelFs being sub- 
 
 12 
 
134 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 jected to the sliameful indignities he had met i^ith 
 a few years before in a neighboring parish. 
 
 Latterly, there has been considerable pother in 
 certain quarters over the religious disturbances in 
 Virginia during the colonial times. In the calm 
 light of historical truth, they appear to be utterly 
 insignificant, excepting in so far as they serye to 
 throw light upon the condition of the Established 
 Church, and upon the character and conduct of 
 its ministry. They were a contemptible afterpiece, 
 following tho terrible drama of persecution in 
 Europe. 
 
 There is no t:-liing, to be sure, to what extent 
 the mischief might have been carried had it not 
 been for the discretion and forbearance which usually 
 marked the deportment of the non-conforming min- 
 isters, and the wisdom and firmness of the meas- 
 ures which were taken by Governor Gooch to insure 
 the observance of tli^. Act of Toleration in its ti'ue 
 spirit and intention. The established clergy, for the 
 most part, clamorously asserted their claim to 
 exclusive jurisdiction in ecclesiastical affairs, and 
 strove in every way to nullify the operation of the 
 law. The pope, says Selden, is infallible as long as 
 he has the power to be obeyed. The parsons had no 
 trouble in supporting their dangerous pretensions as 
 long as they were aided and abetted by the civil 
 authorities; but when that prop gave way, as was 
 soon the case, the flimsy structure toppled to the 
 ground never to rise again in its pristine proportions. 
 Xo possible good can come of the attempt to revive 
 the discussion of these discreditable proceedings, 
 which have been made the handle cf so much 
 
WOODBOURXE. 135 
 
 unjust reproach and ungenerous criticism of the 
 Episcopal Church in Virginia. By common consent, 
 they are now ascribed by all fair-minded persons 
 to their real cause, which was found in the depravity 
 and weakness of many of those who wore the sacred 
 surplice, and who, in their daily walk and conver- 
 sation, were anything else than examples of what 
 they were sent to preach. Looking back upon the 
 events of that stirring period, this feeble effort of 
 a handful of unpopular ecclesiastics to stem the 
 tide of free in^piiry which v/as sweeping over the 
 land, excites in our breast only a passing emotion 
 of ridicule and contempt. 
 
CnAPTETv XII, 
 
 HAT is Clifton yon sec yonder," said Allo- 
 vray to liis friend, as they 'v\-ere riding over 
 tlie farm, and having reached an elevated 
 l^lateau near the river, had halted to enjoy 
 the wide and delightful prospect Avhich the spot 
 afforded. Only a portion of the front of the house 
 could be seen, but that was sufficient to give an 
 adequate conception of the stateliness of the massive, 
 reddish-brown edifice, which occupied the sum- 
 mit of the lofty promontory, formed by the conflu- 
 ence of the two main branches of the X river. 
 
 It is somewhat a fashion to speak of the bravest 
 of the old colonial residences in Virginia as baro- 
 nial — a term which is calculated by an obvious 
 association of ideas to convey the impression of an 
 imposing array of battlemented towers, frowning 
 buttresses, and like insignia of feudal pomp and 
 power. Assuredly the proud family seat of the 
 Littleton's was as richly deserving of aristocratic 
 designation as any quadrangular pile of imported 
 bricks in the colony, both by reason of its intrinsic 
 excellence, and of the dignity of its several owners. 
 Still Clifton was by no means baronial in the sense 
 in wliicli the expression is ordinarily understood, 
 
 (136) 
 
wooDBOun^'E. 137 
 
 having no sign nor token ^\ithin or Avithout of the 
 lordly majesty ^hich strikes terror to the soul of 
 the beholder. True, the magnificent Lombardy pop- 
 lars, ranged in a row and towering so straight and 
 tall that their heads pierced the blue vault above 
 them, might, to a romantic imagination, easily pass 
 for so many, faithful sentinels keeping watch and 
 ward over the grisly stronghold of some uncouth 
 giant ; but, as the prosy fact was, they simply served 
 the double purpose of decorating, with a tasteful 
 display of exotic ornamentation, the curtilage of a 
 substantial Virginian manor, and of furnishing a 
 noted landmark for the pilots of tlie various crafts 
 that plied up and down the Potomac. Its dimen- 
 sions alone excepted, Clifton diliered in nothing 
 from its less pretentious and unbaronial neighbor, 
 Bonhill, by which it was confronted from the oppo- 
 site bank of the river. 
 
 The Littletons are a very ancient and eminently 
 respectable family. Xo African explorer ever took 
 greater pains to find the true sources of the "watery 
 Xile" than we have done in trying to trace the 
 lineage of the Littletons to its fountain head. Their 
 antiquity has completely baffled our chronological 
 investigations, and the reader must perforce be con- 
 tent with the traditionary assurance that our Lit- 
 tletons are genuine scions of the race which came 
 out of one of the innumerable cells in the pro- 
 lific hive of nations at a period the memory of man 
 runneth not to the contrary, and that they became 
 illustrious in more ways than one in the ups and 
 downs, and ins and outs, of English history. This 
 much may, however, be set down with positive cer- 
 
 12* 
 
138 WOODBOURKE. 
 
 tainty as an episode which appi*opriately belongs to 
 our veracious chronicle. An ancestor of the Vir- 
 ginia Littletons was particularly distinguished for 
 his devotion to the royal cause in the great revo- 
 lution, and was claimed to have been the sole, 
 ingenious contriver of the wonderful machinations 
 which afterwards enabled the fugitive son of the 
 unhappy martyr to elude the vigilance of his im- 
 placable pursuers. This infatuated "loyalist" fell 
 into the hands of the stern Protector, who grimly 
 nodded, and off went his head. But on the resto- 
 ration of the monarchy, his son received the jios- 
 thumous recompense of 103'alty in the shape of a 
 huge slice of the virgin soil of the Old Dominion. 
 A cool way that Absolute Lord and Proprietary 
 Universal had of cutting "whangs out 0' itlier 
 folk's leather," as it no doubt appeared to the 
 untutored mind of Mr. Pope's poor Indian — 
 
 "Whose soul proud science never taught to strav 
 Far as the solar walk or milky Avaj^," 
 
 and who, for lack of astronomical knowledge, had for- 
 feited every right to terrestrial possessions. Possibly 
 he will be duly compensated in that "equal sky," 
 to which he has been condescendingly admitted by 
 the gracious Muse. In this case, the grateful ben- 
 eficiary of royal munificence entered at once into 
 his vast territorial domain, and we do not learn 
 that there was ever a joinder on the mise to test 
 the validity of old Eowly's letters-patent. 
 
 In the after troubles which put an everlasting 
 quietus on the unfortunate house of Stuart, the 
 Virginia Littletons remained at heart faithful to 
 
wooDBomxE. 139 
 
 the cause of tlieir benefactors, and being at a safe 
 distance from the theatre of strife, they were suf- 
 fered to Tent their loyal indignation without let or 
 hindrance, so long as they abstained from commit- 
 ting the overt act of treason against the reigning 
 dynasty. Iso friendly remonstrance was necessary, 
 it would seem, to keep them in the bounds of cau- 
 tious circumspection. The bloody fiite of their 
 unlucky ancestor was an efficient warning never 
 again to lose sight of the favorite Littleton maxim, 
 ^^ Nullum Numen aiest, si sU Prudent ia.'^ And 
 whilst their lips overflowed v.ith cheap professions 
 of unalterable attachment to their first and only 
 love, they took good care to withhold their contri- 
 bution of the material aid and comfort of purse 
 and sword, without which there was about as much 
 likelihood of the deposed Stuarts regaining their lost 
 crown as there is for any one of the present gen- 
 eration of American sovereigns to wield the sceptre 
 of the " coming empire.'' 
 
 This harmless zeal for a lost cause descended as 
 a muniment of title from father to son along with 
 the estate, and hence we find in the present pro- 
 prietor, Col. Eobert Littleton, an uproarious Jaco- 
 bite in politics, and in religion, what was next of 
 kin to a papist, an inveterate highflyer, the proto- 
 type of the latter-day ritualist. With him the Stuart 
 mania was a sort of hereditary disease, which colored 
 and shaped every portent of the political heavens. 
 He was perpetually flying kites "over the river to 
 Charley," and it was the most provoking thing in 
 the world to him that all his neighbors did not 
 religiously believe with him, that the restoration of 
 
140 WOODEOURiTE. 
 
 liis favorites ■\vonld prove a panacea for every con- 
 ceivable ill that could afflict the commonwealth of 
 mankind. And he is far from being the only 
 instance in history of such blind idolatry — such 
 insane worship of graven images. At last, however, 
 as we are credibly informed, he was entirely cured 
 of his innate disorder. After the victory of York- 
 town the conviction suddenly dawned upon him 
 that the declaration of the United Colonies meant 
 what it said — a plague on both your houses. Then 
 the cherished vision melted into thin air; he sub- 
 mitted graciously to the irreversible decree, aban- 
 doned the land of his forefathers to its ignomini- 
 ous fate, joined heartily in the universal "all hail" 
 to the rising star of the Western Hemisphere, and 
 became in the end a blatant disciple of the 
 most advanced school of progressive democracy. But 
 we anticipate. 
 
 Notwithstanding his objectionable politics. Col. 
 Kobert Littleton was generally esteemed among his 
 neighbors for possessing in a marked degree the 
 amiable traits, rough and ready manners, and really 
 hospitable disposition, which characterized his ideal 
 standard of excellence in an opulent country gen- 
 tleman, as he is portrayed to the life in Fielding's 
 inimitable page. There was one insuperable obstacle 
 m the way of Col. Littleton in his attempt to play 
 the part of his illustrious pattern and exemplar 
 with complete success. He had no foils to set off 
 to advantage the salient points of imaginary resem- 
 blance. The estimable schoolmaster, who had taken 
 his degrees at the L^niversity of Glasgow, and who 
 was a Presbyterian of the straitest sect, had his 
 
TVOODBOUEXE. 141 
 
 0"«'n orthodox notions concerning the unalterable 
 rule of right and the eternal fitness of things, and 
 the S3 he inculcated, with equal impartiality and due 
 regard for the scriptural injunction, on the deli- 
 cate sprigs of the house of Littleton and the 
 unkempt offspring of the commune pecus. And so 
 for from favoring the soi-disaiit squires' pretentions to 
 be considered the royal yice-gerent of the parish 
 in ecclesiastical matters, good Parson Smith never 
 once thought of consulting him in reference to the 
 text or duration of the hebdomadal discourse, nor 
 of inquiring into the nature of the dreams that 
 hovered above his cushioned dormitory in the 
 chancel. Yet he not only sent his sons regularly 
 every five days in the -week to the old-field school, 
 -which "v\-a3 presided orer by the heretical Orbilius, 
 btit maintained the most amicable relations with 
 the minister, paying his dues ptmctually in good 
 current tobacco, and quite satisfied with descanting 
 on the affiirs of the Chtirch at each stated vestry 
 meeting. Tor the rest, Squire Littleton, as he came 
 at last to be dubbed by the commonalty, dispensed 
 a generous hospitality in his own house, was no 
 laggard in partaking of the good cheer of his 
 neighbors, and bore his full share in every project 
 which was put forward to promote the general wel- 
 fiire of the community. 
 
 The master of Clifton is a widower, his wife 
 being dead years ago. His household is presided 
 over by Miss Theodora Littleton, who is so much 
 older than her brother that she may be said to 
 have reached the indefinable age at which the most 
 sanguine of superannuated maidens become reconciled 
 
142 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 to the liarsli allotment, T\-liicli condemns them to 
 wither on the virgin thorn in unpitied desolation. 
 Of this pattern of spinsters, we have only one other 
 remark to make before she drifts ont of sight like 
 a sobby log on the swift running stream of our 
 eventful story. She was, from all accounts, an 
 admirable housekeeper, considering that she never 
 had, a house of her own to keep, swayed the rod 
 of domestic empire with a firm and even hand, 
 and devoted the hours she had to spare from the 
 cares of office to the ungrateful task of endeavor- 
 ing to inspire her willful niece with an apprecia- 
 tion of the tastes and fashions which obtained a 
 quarter of a century before the young lady was 
 born. To Miss Mary Littleton, "queen-rose of the 
 rose-bud garden of girls," our devoirs will be paid 
 in due season. The only other inmate of the man- 
 sion at present is the stranger guest, whose arrival 
 seems to have created no little commotion in the 
 usually quiet neighborhood. Col. Littleton has 
 anotlier daughter, v>'ho is married, and lives in t^ie 
 vicinity of Doughoregan Manor, in the Province of 
 Maryland, and two sons, who are off somewhere at 
 school. 
 
 During tliis interesting digression, Carleton has 
 had ample leisure for an exhaustive survey of the 
 premises. From looking at the old hou.-e, his eye 
 roves pleasantly over the fascinations of the sur- 
 rounding scene. Presently he appears to be gazing 
 intently at some object on the water in front of 
 him. It was the veriest mite of a row-boat, which 
 a boy, with deft and graceful strokes, was making 
 to fly over the water with amazing rapidity. 
 
WOODBOURXE. 143 
 
 "Tliere goes your young sportsman, Dick," said he. 
 
 " Yes," replied Alloway, *'' that is Archie, with his 
 inseparable ritie; but I was looking at that fellow 
 yonder in the skiff — a sailor evidently. He must be« 
 one of the Katrine's crew; what can he want 
 here ? '' 
 
 The man's appearance was eccentric, not to say 
 suspicious. He was creeping cautiously along under 
 the shadow of the boughs which overhung the 
 stream, as if anxious to screen himself from obser- 
 vation, and was plainly watching the movements of 
 the other little craft. While AUoway was speaking, 
 the latter was headed for the landing at Clifton, 
 seeing which, tlie man ran the skiff ashore, and, 
 jumping out, disappeared in the wood. 
 
 " Deserted from his majesty's service afloat, is what 
 that means, Dick," said Carleton. 
 
 **'Very likely," replied Alloway. "Hallo, Harry, 
 there they are," pointing, as he spoke, in the direc- 
 tion of Clifton.; 
 
 A momentary glance revealed two figures on horse- 
 back — a lady and gentleman — as they dashed around 
 the great circle in front of the house and disap- 
 peared in the mouth of the splendid avenue of 
 native poplars and cedars, which conducted them 
 out by the main entrance on the highway. 
 
 "My fair cousin, I am pleased to see," continued 
 Mr. Eichard, in a tone which was intended 
 to convey the keenest irony and most superlative 
 contempt, "has at last succeeded in finding a con- 
 genial companion in her equestrian excursions. She 
 will not have a chance to decline the civility from 
 me in a. hurrv, will she Don ? " (patting the sym- 
 
IM WOODBOUENE. 
 
 pathizing sorrel caressingly on the neck). '' Come, 
 Harry, let iis go." 
 
 Eunning his eyes again hurriedly over the sur- 
 rounding scene, Carleton, gathering up the reins, 
 turned and followed his companion. 
 
 "It is a humiliating confession, Dickon, my boy,'' 
 said he, taking up the disagreeable topic. "The 
 Cheyalier Conrad has the insidt track of us coun- 
 try bumpkins. Of course they vrill be of the party 
 at Bonhill to-night?" 
 
 "Having been asked," replied Dick, mechanically, 
 "I know of no reason why they should not go." 
 
 "Then," said Carleton, "I mean to tax my wits 
 to the utmost but what I will learn all that is 
 to be known about this gay pri.nce Florize-1, who 
 comes masquerading here, to the dismay of the 
 native chivalry." 
 
 "Yon can do as you like," replied Dick; "for 
 my part, I wish Miss Littleton joy of her con- 
 quest, and hope she will have the good taste not 
 to gratify your impertinent curiosity." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, my pink of good manners," 
 said Carleton, acknowledging the civil speech with 
 his best bow. " Then I am to expect neither help 
 nor favor from you. N^imporfc; I'll wage the fight 
 single-handed and alone, and the honor of the victory 
 will be wholly mine. But why are you so ven- 
 omously spiteful towards your cousin Mary? Every- 
 body says she is very beautiful, and many sensible 
 people have told me it was next to impossible to 
 resist her fascinating ways." 
 
 Dick. — "Did you never see her?" 
 
 Harry. — "Yes; once when we were both mere 
 children I remember cfoinc: with mv motlier on a 
 
WOODBOURXE. 145 
 
 visit to CiiftoD ; she -^-as then a little brown, hazel- 
 eyed chit ill a pinafore and pantalettes, and, as I 
 thought, with a considerable touch of the tiger in 
 her composition. "We had a pitched battle over my 
 whip-top, and she used her claws to such good pur- 
 pose that my face and hands smart at the men- 
 tion of it to this day. From which early experience 
 of her mettle, I would hazard the opinion that 
 Miss Littleton is, at all events, a decidedly plucky 
 girl in addition to her personal charms." 
 
 Dich (frowning majestically). — "She certainly does 
 not lack for beauty, and is, morever, as they say, 
 very brilliant in conversation, manners, and all that; 
 nevertheless, I believe she is an artful, designing, 
 heartless coquette." 
 
 Harry. — "An artful, designing, heartless coquette! 
 You shock me beyond expression — 
 
 " ' With every pleasing, every prudent part, 
 
 Say, what does Cliloe want? Slie wants a heart I' 
 
 A sad want truly. Who reign's o'er hearts, should 
 surely have a heart, and a big one at that. This 
 is a terrible accusation vou brino^ asrainst the * famed 
 
 Belinda' of AV shire. Are yon prepared with 
 
 the proofs? "\Miere are the horrid witnesses of her 
 inhuman cruelty? 'Wliere the bleached bones of the 
 wretched victims whom this syren has lured to 
 their untimely doom? Come, I insist on your at 
 once producing the corpus delicti, as the lawyers 
 say, else the lady is acquitted, and you stand in 
 the pillory for rank perjury. "What, dumb as an 
 oyster? It is then even as I conjectured — you can't 
 show so much as the metacarpal of a milk-sop 
 who has been brained with my lady's fan." 
 
 13 
 
146 WOODBOUENE. 
 
 The whole of this humorous sally Avas lost on 
 Mr. Richard Alloway; he had, in the middle of it, 
 taken to whistling after his peculiarly dolorous 
 fashion, not indeed, like the love-lorn lout, for want 
 of thought, but as a running accompaniment to 
 certain unpleasant cogitations. 
 
 *' Since she is disposed of," he saiil, musingly, 
 "I wonder vrho of the lovely dears will next set 
 up for a reigning belle on the stock-in-trade of 
 her ladyship's lavings, to borrow Mike's expression. 
 Mike was one day giving me a graphic description 
 of the heartless exactions of some of the landed 
 gentry in Ireland. ' Och, ^Misther Dick,' said he, 
 'they be like the locusscs of Aigypt that Miss- 
 thress Murchieson (who is }.Iike's better half) was 
 radmg to me about out of the Good Book; they 
 ates up everything as clane as the deck of a man- 
 o'-war, and gives the lavings to the poor.' '' 
 
 Carleton laughed. 
 
 ''Pray, vrlio is this Mike I have heard you quote 
 so often?" he asked. 
 
 "Mike Burke," cried Alloway, seizing upon the 
 diverting theme with surprising avidity. "Is it pos- 
 sible I have never told you of my Milesian treas- 
 ure, the most waggishly humorous and irresistibly 
 droll of the blundering tribe of St. Patrick. Let 
 me see, hang me, if I know much more of Mike's 
 juvenile days than I do of — ," 
 
 "The black-eyed trotibador's," said Carleton smil- 
 ing, as he pointed over his shoulder in the direc- 
 tion of Clifton. 
 
 "The devil," quoth Dick. "However, its of no 
 consequenc?; ho vras sufficiently well accredited when 
 
"WOODBOUP.XE. 147 
 
 he came here, and has since given hostages for his 
 future good behavior. It was I who got him his 
 wife. Mike, you must know, is a sailor, a genuine 
 old, weather-beaten son of Xeptune, with a hand of 
 iron, and a heart — I was about to say of oak, but 
 I know it to be as soft as a woman's. There is 
 no place from China to Peru he has not visited; 
 he was with Captain Byron in his last cruise, and 
 sailed with Captain Cook in his first voyage around 
 the world; and you should hear him tell of the 
 wonders he saw 'ayont the antipodes.' But don't 
 intimate a doubt of his veracity if you value his 
 friendship. "Well, he was picked up somewhere by 
 the skipper of the Katrine, with whom he made 
 one or two trips — I forget exactly how many — to 
 Virginia. In one of these flying visits he saw, 
 loved and cottrted in true sailor style, the buxom 
 widow Murchieson, whose late htisband had been a 
 tenant of Mr. Graeme, and may be his Scotch red- 
 cousin in the eleventh degree. The widow liked 
 Mike well enough to marry him, but unluckily 
 she, in a gush of sorrowful good nature, promised 
 her deceased spouse that she would not take that 
 perilous leap in the dark a second time without 
 having obtained the consent and benison of Mr. 
 Graeme, and, for what reason I could never rightly 
 comprehend, the old gentleman positively forbade 
 the banns, or what amounted to the same thing, 
 he refused to have anything to do with the mat- 
 ter. Mrs. Mtirchieson, he said, was old enough to 
 choose a husband for herself, and he knew nothing 
 whatever, good or bad, of this wandering Jew of 
 an Irishman." 
 
lis AVOODBOUEXE. 
 
 '•'I am sure that was reason a plenty for his 
 refusal,'"' suggested Carleton. 
 
 '•'For Mr. Graeme, res; but it did not satisfy 
 me. I hud conceived a strong passion for Mike, 
 and he "^as so bent on giving over his nomadic, 
 sea-faring life, and spending the rest of his days 
 in peace and quiet under the "R-idow's tempting 
 vine and fig tree, that I got liis captain to go 
 -with me to see Mr. Graeme and intercede in his 
 behalf. After considerable j^ersuasion on our part, 
 and an earnest appeal from Miss Lucy, he at length 
 relented and signed the paper I had prejxared, say- 
 ing, as he did so, in his cautious manner: 'AVeel, 
 "weel, lads, Dame Murchieson maun gang her ain 
 gate, that is, Y>i' my permission, and gin she finds 
 to her dool slie has forgathered v:i a beggar, she 
 maun mak* the maist o' a bad bargain; she kens the 
 proverb v.ell enough.' Mike was happy, so was tlie 
 widow, an -I from that day we have been fast friends. 
 But I have never been able to correct one bad 
 habit in Mike. He will persist in calling Mr. 
 Graeme -yer riverence.' Doubtless he intends thereby 
 the highest possible respect; but the worthy gen- 
 tleman does not like the idea of being taken for 
 a papist priest, although he has not the holy horror 
 of popery that some people profess." 
 
 Harry. — **'IIow has your interesting old sea-dog 
 fared ashore ? '"' 
 
 Dick. — '-'Oh. he is a very model of hen-pecked 
 Benedicts. Like a good many others who have 
 weathered that Cape of Good Hope, he found the 
 land he had reached was far from being the 'cloud- 
 less Olympus' of a lover's fancy. Mrs. Murchieson, 
 
WOODBOURXE. 149 
 
 as he still calls liis wife, has her little pilfering 
 tempers, and when thoroughly roused, her wrath, 
 says Mike, is tenfold worse than the raging sea. 
 But he has his boat, and the friendly river runs 
 close by their cabin, and as soon as a speck of 
 cloud rises on the domestic horizon, he rushes 
 headlong for the beach and puts to sea, no matter 
 for the weather, until the storm ashore has sub- 
 sided. He informed me once, as a great secret, 
 that he never stood in so much awe of but one other 
 being, which was the ^Admiral,' as he calls Captain 
 Cook, and surely if rank and merit went always 
 hand in hand, no man in his majesty's navy better 
 deserves the title. It mattered not how hard the 
 wind blew, if the captain was in a fret, the cross- 
 trees, said Mike, was a more comtortable berth 
 than the quarter-deck. The piping of old Boreas 
 in his most frantic mood was delightful music in 
 comparison with the terrible clangor of the speaking 
 trumpet in the hands of this born ruler of the 
 roughest of his race. But it is impossible for me 
 to do justice to Mike's hero. Have you read the 
 account of his marvellous voyage?" 
 
 Harry.— '' On\y such snatches of it as have ap- 
 peared in the public prints." 
 
 DicL—^Theii I have a rare entertainment in 
 store for you. What say you to a sail in Mike's 
 fishing smack, and a thrilling chapter or so from 
 his inexhaustible log-book?" 
 
 Harry,— ''I should like it of all things, next to 
 a cruise with the great 'Admiral' himself. I agi'ee 
 with you in your estimate of Cook's abilities. He 
 has not only proved himself to be the most daring 
 
 13* 
 
150 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 and skillful navigator of the day, but lie has also 
 evinced the highest qualities of a great naval com- 
 mander. I Avish ^ve had a dozen like him in com- 
 mand of as many good, stont ships of war, we 
 would soon teach the insolent, self-styled mistress 
 of the seas that she has no charter to ravage and 
 despoil at will, merely to make good the prophetic 
 anthem of her guardian angels, * Britons shall 
 never be made slaves!' For was it not so written 
 in the book of destiny, says or sings the mighty 
 bard — 
 
 "'When Britain first at heaven's connnanl, 
 Arose from out the azure main?' 
 
 And this gasconading twaddle was actually rewarded 
 with the guerdon of a sycophant's ambition, .a sin- 
 ecure office under government! Slaves, did he say? 
 AVhat has he done with the angelic creatures, who 
 were auctioned off at Eome to the highest bidder?" 
 
 "Those were unfortunate captives, Harry," said 
 Dick, vainly trying to rescue the "free-born Bri- 
 tons" from a merciless belaboring. "Part of the 
 sjwiia opima of the Eoman conqtieror." 
 
 "Ko such thing," continued Carleton, giving the 
 reins to his hobby-horse. "Either history is a 
 colossal lie, or these same thrasonical braggarts were 
 little better than a nation of slaves from the dav 
 that Ca?sar planted his standard on their sacred 
 soil to that on which the Xorman despot's iron heel 
 stampdl out the last lingering spark of liberty, and 
 they remained for centuries the pusillanimous serfs 
 and yiliains of feudal tyranny. Besides, they have 
 meekly endured every phase of anarchy and revo- 
 lution, passed through the flames of religious per- 
 
WOODBOURXE. 151 
 
 secution, and suffered all the calamities of huvless 
 usurpation and grinding oppression. And even now 
 they are the obedient, submissive vassals of the 
 vile tyrant, who seeks to bind us with galling 
 chains." 
 
 ''Breathe awhile, Hurry,"' said Dick, "and at 
 'em again. Your invective is superb. AVhat does 
 Addison say? Oh, I have it: 
 
 " ' 'Tis liberty tliat crowns Brittania's isle. 
 
 And makes her barren rocks and her bleak nuun- 
 tains smile.' 
 
 Was I ranting in good earnest, Dick?"' inquired 
 his companion, with an innocent look. *• Oh, how 
 I do detest the trumpery fustian stuff called elo- 
 quence — all sound and fury, signifying nothing. It 
 was Cortez, I believe, who said that some things 
 should be done before they were thought upon — a 
 proper maxim for a foolhardy, hair-brained adven- 
 turer. Yet certain it is, that over-much talking 
 about a matter of life and death importance is apt 
 to beget irresolution and fatal delay in its execution. 
 Many a flighty purpose has gone careering to the 
 limbo of vanity on the furious gale of windy 
 declamation. Has not Patrick Henry said all that 
 can be said on the subject? Then why do not 
 our conscript Fathers declare at once for indepen- 
 dence, and cease to talk about it?" 
 
 "It will require a legion of light-horse to back 
 tlie declaration, brave captain," said Dick. 
 
 "Yes," replied the impetuous Carleton; "and 
 they can be had at a minute's warning. Every 
 man in Virginia will leap to arms at the first 
 note of th.it inspiring tocsin." 
 
152 WOODBOURKE. 
 
 There was nothing in this eager outburst incon- 
 sistent with his previous utterances. He saw that 
 the conflict was inevitable; he anticipated the final 
 result, and his soul was filled with the sublime 
 thought of a young nation liberated from colonial 
 bondage, and starting upon its career of imperish- 
 able glory. 
 
 At this stage of the conversation, our cavaliers 
 were interrupted by a messenger, who came to say 
 that Mr. Graeme awaited their presence at the 
 house, and glad to escape from their dangerous 
 society, we will invite the reader to continue his 
 round of ninketting in more agreeable company. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I r^^l HE kJy and gentleman whose appearance 
 W3\ K.d gave rise to the foregoing animadversions 
 liJ W!\ of Mr. Pilchard Allowav, in a little while 
 
 have returned from their morning jaunt 
 on horseback. But it is all too charming— the luxu- 
 rious effulgence of the glorious autumnal sky— to 
 be imprisoned within doors, and they have barely 
 entered the house before they come forth again, 
 this time equipped for a v/alk. After a turn or 
 two on the spacious terrace, and around the grand 
 circle, and down the broad avenue, they are finally 
 discovered idly wandering through the groves and 
 glades of the deerless park which skirts the lawn 
 on the side nearest to the river. A gigantic oak 
 has been blown down in a furious gale last sum- 
 mer. It is clinging desperately to life by one frail 
 root, and its proud head, now a shapeless mass of 
 ruin, hangs helplessly over a dismal hollow. To 
 the moralist it presented the familiar symbol of 
 dethroned majesty — of the sure fate that overtakes 
 alike the loftiest and lowliest of mortal men. Other- 
 wise rugged and forlorn, to say nothing of its 
 proximity to the deep and dark ravine, the spot 
 
 (153) 
 
151 WOODBOURNE. 
 
 had none of the attractive features of the poetical 
 trysting-place of "Love's young dream." Yet here 
 the ramblers pause; the gentleman assists the lady 
 to a seat on the gnarled trunk of the prostrate 
 giant, and himself leans gracefully against a shat- 
 tered limb. 
 
 In one respect, Mr. liichard Alloway's portrait 
 of his fair cousin has not exceeded the bounds of 
 truthful delineation. It is the most bewitchingly 
 beautiful face in the world that is looking up at 
 its companion out of a wondrous glory of cluster- 
 ing brown curls, and it is moreover apparent to a 
 connoisseur in such matters that the deep, earnest, 
 adoring expression of those eloquent eyes could not 
 possibly be counterfeited by the most consummately 
 wicked of coquettes. There is no denying the soft 
 impeachment — 
 
 Love in her sunny eyes cloth basking play, 
 Love wallvs the j^leasant mazes of her hair, 
 
 Love does on both her lips forever stray, 
 And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there. 
 
 And in her case, these outward and visible tokens 
 of an inward and spiritual grace plainly denoted 
 that love had gone within, and nestled like a dove 
 in the warmest corner of her heart. 
 
 But, out upon the "rude Carinthian boor" of a 
 limner, who has done the handsome and houseless 
 stranger such unmannerly despite. True, his 
 abundant and flowing tresses, worn in (fontemjot of 
 the prevailing mode, are the hue of the raven's 
 wing, but they shade a brow and features that 
 are strikingly noble, intelligent and attractive, and 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 155 
 
 SO far from Tvearing a ferocious or even austere 
 aspect, the full, black orbs have quenched their 
 fiery darts in a flood of tenderest lustre, and repay 
 the lady her loving gaze ^vith usury. He is speak- 
 ing, and although his language is English, pure 
 and fluent, he makes no attempt to disguise the 
 marked accent "«-hich betrays his foreign nativity. 
 
 "There is no longer room for a reasonable doubt 
 on the subject," said he, pursuing a theme in 
 which he was intensely interested. "Your late 
 cousin, Mr. Eichard Austin, answers perfectly to 
 the description of our incognito. Xo wonder the 
 Abbe's usual penetration failed him here — he had 
 no earthly ground to suspect that the object of 
 his search was all that time hiding from his most 
 intimate friends. It was his nephew, you tell me, 
 with whom I had the pleasant encounter of the 
 fox hunt? I should not have divined the relation- 
 ship from any external resemblance to the original 
 of the picture, as drawn by the master of the 
 Grande Chartreuse — the one a frail, delicate, pale- 
 eyed, silver-toned and morbidly sensitive student; 
 the other, a stout, hirsute, bold and devil-may-care 
 sportsman, with the brawn of a Milo, and the lungs 
 of a Stentor.'' 
 
 The lady smiled. 
 
 '*It would, indeed, bo diiflcult/' she replied, "to 
 find two near kinsmen more utterly dissimilar in 
 personal appearance. But you wrong my cousin 
 Eichard if you imagine he is only the stature, 
 bulk, and big assemblance of a man. He is a 
 noble-hearted, brave and generous fellow, if he has 
 of late taken up a most unaccountable dislike of 
 me.*' 
 
156 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 ^'Ancl thereby established his claim to my regard," 
 said Conrad, hT-ughingly. "I readily forgive him 
 his making merry over my ridiculous misadventure; 
 it served me right for coming in at the fag end 
 of the chase to try to rob him of his T^^ell-earned 
 laurels. But his behavior in the other case — " 
 
 "Xay," cried Miss Littleton, in the same ban- 
 tering tone, "I reject your championship. Leave 
 me to fight my own battles T^'ith this great giant, 
 and you will, in no time, behold a bloodless tri- 
 umph, no love lost, and no bones broken. After 
 all, it was a trifling matter to quarrel about, and 
 if he is as heartily ashamed of it as I am, there 
 ■\^ill be no trouble in bringing about a speedy res- 
 toration of our former amicable relations. On due 
 reflection, I am convinced that I was the party 
 most at fault. There can be no excuse for the 
 rude and scornful manner in which I repudiated 
 his well-meant intercession in a dear friend's behalf. 
 A woman is apt to exaggerate offences when she 
 is conscious of imprudence in giving occasion for 
 invidious criticism. I remember being exceedingly 
 indignant with him at the time, and I did not 
 scruple to berate him soundly for having been the 
 cause of a painful misunderstanding with the 
 Graemes, to vrhom I was really attached." 
 
 ''Did he accuse you flatly of having jiltel Mr. 
 George Graeme?" asked Conrad. 
 
 ''Yes," replied Mary, "or at least his language 
 implied as much, and besides, he called me a lit- 
 tle fury, and, I verily believe, he wished I had 
 been a man, that he might take me to personal 
 account. To be sure, he apologized for his angry 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 157 
 
 conduct, but I was so mucli incensed at the thought 
 of a rupture with my friends at Bonhill, the result 
 of his awkward intermeddling, that I repulsed his 
 overtures, and thus the matter stands open between 
 us at present. Unfortunately for me, the reputed 
 victim of my artful wiles was gone away to Scot- 
 land, and so Dame Gossip had everything her own 
 way. But worst affliction, I had to endure my 
 good aunt's interminable lectures ; for, strange to 
 say, she obstinately refused to listen to one word 
 of explanation from me, and charged my delin- 
 quencies, as she was pleased to call them, to the 
 account of setting at naught her wholesome admo- 
 nitions. In such a desperate strait, there was no 
 recourse left me but to fiy for shelter to my sister 
 in Maryland." 
 
 •*ln which hegira from persecution, you have 
 furnished another striking illustration of the pro- 
 verb which has been so often exemplified in my 
 humble career, ^L'Homiiie 2^ropose ct Dicu dispose,^ ^^ 
 exclaimed the passionate lover. 
 
 *• Take care how you bless your stars on the 
 event," replied the wayward damsel, with a saucy 
 glance, ^'for, if report be true, you have this time 
 experienced the truth of a different adage alto- 
 gether, and only caught a Tartar for your pains. 
 There, let go my hand and behave like a rational 
 being. And, since you are in the sentimental vein, 
 tell me a pretty love story out of your book of 
 romantic chronicles, and, in return, I will impro- 
 vise you an Indian legend." 
 
 "Another time, under favor, my gracious queen," 
 said Conrad. "You forget I have an appointment 
 
 14 
 
158 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 with the Abbe, which I must on no account fail 
 to keep." 
 
 " It had indeed escaped me," replied Mary, look- 
 ing gi-ave. '*Are you compelled to go this after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 Conrad. — '-I am; the business between us admits 
 of no delay." 
 
 Mary, — ''How very provoking. I had set my 
 heart on your going to Bonhill to-night, and being 
 introduced to the company by your proper name 
 and title." 
 
 Conrad. — '-'I fear you will be deprived of that 
 gratification. "\\^hat is the distance to Yeocomico, 
 the place at which I am to meet the Abbe ? " 
 
 Mary. — ''Scarcely an hour's ride. What is that 
 noise ? " 
 
 There was a strange rustling sound among the 
 leaves of the fallen oak, although there was not a 
 breath of T>-ind astir. 
 
 "Only a bird," said Conrad, replying to her 
 look of alarm. 
 
 The explanation was plausible, but it did not 
 allay Miss Littleton's suspicions. As the conversa- 
 tion proceeded, she was repeatedly observed to cast 
 uneasy glances in the direction whence the sound 
 proceeded. 
 
 "Suppose now," she went on to say, "that I 
 were to insist upon your deferring this visit until 
 to morrow morning ? " 
 
 "Fardo7inez-moi, ma delle arnie/' replied her com- 
 panion ; " but it is not a supposable matter. You 
 are avrare that the ship is ready to put to sea 
 with the first favorable c'alc after midnidit, and I 
 
WOODBOURXE. 159 
 
 am no more a Prospero than you are a Lapland 
 witch or other kmcl of contraband dealer in con- 
 trary winds. Besides, the excellent father makes 
 free nse of the imperative mood in his missive, 
 and we have a great many things to talk over. 
 Of course I shall be required to answer for my 
 dealings vritli a certain incorrigible little heretic, 
 and what have I to urge in my defence? Abso- 
 lutely nothing. Only a miracle of grace can save 
 me from the awful expiation of an aiito-da-f'c. The 
 Abbe is a master of the art of persuasion, but 
 even his eloquence would be lost on such an ob- 
 stinate rebel. Convert her! lie may as well go 
 with good St. Anthony and preach salvation to 
 the fishes." 
 
 At this audacious speech the young lady bridled 
 up with the best imitation of offended dignity she 
 could muster on so short a notice. There was one 
 subject on which these lovers had very prudently 
 resolved mutually to exercise the largest amount of 
 the liberty of liberties — videlicet — the liberty of dis- 
 agreeing. In the archest manner imaginable, and 
 with the aptest exhibition of ironical humor, she 
 held up a taper finger, on which glittered a ring 
 begemmed with costly jewels. 
 
 "Since it is to the confessional you are going, 
 my poor penitent," said she with mock compas- 
 sion, "be sure you carry the sin-offering with 
 you;" then suddenly pouting and affecting the air 
 and tone of injured beauty, which has a right to 
 be absurdly jealous and outrageously exacting, she 
 added lachrymosely, " I believe you love Father 
 Soule better than you do anybody else in the 
 world." 
 
160 WOODBOrKXE. 
 
 "Xot exactly," said Conrad, earnestly. ''But it 
 is quite probable I should have been unworthy of 
 the love of one body in the world had it not been 
 my good fortune to have for a mentor, at once 
 the best, the gentlest and the wisest of men. You 
 should have heard Avhat Mr. Carroll said of him 
 if you deem my encomium extravagant. * Father 
 Soule,' he said to me one da}', in his deliberate 
 manner, ^approaches, in my estimation, as near to 
 being a pure and perfect intelligence as it is pos- 
 sible to conceive of in a Unite and fallible mortal.' 
 His learning is only excelled by his piety, and 
 both are unfathomable. He is a philosopher with- 
 out scepticism, a polemic without acerbity, a priest 
 without bigotry. The most subtle and profound of 
 thinkers, the most captivating of reasoners, the 
 most erudite of scholars, the humblest of believers, 
 he is what Socrates might have been had he too 
 been a Christian." 
 
 "A wonderful character, truly, for a Jesuit priest," 
 exclaimed the persistent heretic, "for such I un- 
 derstand is your incomparable guide, philosopher 
 and friend." 
 
 Conrad was now constrained to take up the cud- 
 gels for his tutor in downright earnest. "Yes," 
 said he, "' I do not blush to proclaim it in spite 
 of the late extraordinary decree of Eome. He does 
 belong to that illustrious society vrhich has been 
 so grievously scandalized by the conduct of un- 
 worthy members, and his life has been a shining 
 example of its sublime motto — All things for the 
 greater glory of God." 
 
 "And pray tell me," retorted the fair disputant, 
 
^VOODBOUEXE. IGl 
 
 "whence came the prerogative of your magnificent 
 order to that pious posy? To my thinking, it is 
 of the essence of religion the worhl over to ascribe 
 all honor, praise and glory to Him from whom 
 cometh every good and perfect gift. It is certainly 
 so tauglit in my Bible and Prayer Book. All 
 things for the greaier glory of God? Why it is 
 the soul of Christian worship, the burden of every 
 sacred missal, the universal doxology of devotional 
 piety, and you would appropriate it to adorn the 
 phylactery of an effete monkish institution. That 
 will do, not another syllable, as you are a gallant 
 gentleman; I claim the privilege of my sex, the 
 last word. You began the dispute without warning. 
 I will put an end to it with equal abruptness. 
 You have neglected to say whether or not my 
 poor cousin's death necessitates an alteration in 
 your plans.'' 
 
 "That will be as the good father will decide," 
 replied Conrad, now all meek submission. 
 
 "And has not the good father's dutiful son any 
 opinion of his own on so vital a subject?'' 
 
 ^'He-Men! It is really my poor opinion to which 
 your ladyship attaches so great value." Then grow- 
 ing suddenly serious, he proceeded. "The plan of 
 procedure shall not be changed in a single par- 
 ticular with my consent. The proofs, to be sure, 
 are not sufficient in law; there is one link missing 
 in the chain of evidence which only Mr. Austin 
 could have supplied. But I am not a suppliant of 
 British justice. I expect no redress at the hands 
 of my father's malignant enemies ; my lot in that 
 regard is now irrevocably fixed; henceforth, for 
 
1G2 WOODBOUKXE. 
 
 weal or woe, I mn an American. My private score 
 with a s\vorn and implacable foe shall not turn ]rie 
 from the line of duty; he may procrastinate the 
 day of settlement, but as a jnst God reigneth, he 
 will live to see the conseqnences of his nnnatnral 
 guilt. To-morrow yo-ur father sliall know my whole 
 history, from which time I shall assume my riglit- 
 ful name, rank and station." 
 
 "Why not allow me the privilege of telling it 
 all to my friends this very night ? " eagerly in- 
 quired Mary Littleton. 
 
 "So be it," replied Conrad, after a moment's re- 
 flection. " Provided, of course, that I get back in 
 time to bear you company. Still it is proper for 
 me to inform Colonel Littleton who I am, and to 
 learn' vvdiat he has to say about the after intro- 
 duction. You must remember, too, there is another 
 important matter about which he is to be con- 
 sulted." 
 
 The lady looked up inquiringly, but there was no 
 need of explanation ; the rosy flush which suffused 
 her cheek showed how truly she interpreted his 
 meaning glance. 
 
 "Does Father Soule approve your sending this 
 letter to the person they call Sir "William Mark- 
 ham?" she asked, covering her momentary con- 
 fusion by recurrence to the previous engrossing 
 topic. 
 
 "More than that," replied Conrad; "the letter 
 was originally written at his dictation two months 
 ago. I could not trust myself to phrase it after 
 what had occurred between us." His thin lips 
 grew tremulous with suppressed passion, and a 
 
VrOODBOUEXE. 1G3 
 
 sadden gleam like liglitning from a passing sum- 
 mer cloud shot from the speaker's brilliant eyes. 
 '•' The bloody reckoning was not of my seeking ; 
 my mission to England Tvas for peace and recon- 
 ciliation, to heal the gaping Tvounds which civil 
 broils had made in our unhappy house, and I was 
 ready to make every sacrifice but cue to secure 
 that consummation. Even now, my terms are fair, 
 honorable and just. If Su* William Markham again 
 rejects them, on his head shall rest the guilt of 
 keeping open wouiuls that mav rankle to the 
 death." 
 
 The vehemence of his manner, and his loftv 
 mien, elate and instinct with conscious power to 
 will and to do, brought a bright glow of admira- 
 tion to the lovely features of his companion; but 
 before she could frame a reply, the limbs of the 
 great oak were violently shaken, which startling 
 phenomenon was immediately followed bv a dull 
 thud and the crackling sound of breaking twigs, 
 as though some heavy body had fallen to the 
 ground and rolled down the side of the ravine. 
 Conrad ran to the edge and peered over. Then, 
 with a loud shout, he bounded down tlie bank in 
 pursuit, as fast as the dense thicket of undergrowth 
 permitted. Presently he came panting back, with 
 a small sporting rifle in his hand. 
 
 '*' The scamp was too fleet for me,'' he said ; " but 
 he has lost his gun.'' 
 
 '•It is Archie's," replied Mary, ''and here he is. 
 "What is the matter child? The gentleman will 
 not harm you." 
 
 The question did not imply alarm; for barring a 
 
164 TTOODBOUEXE. 
 
 scratch on the cheek, the lad was not hurt, and 
 his buckskin hunting suit was briar and bramble 
 proof; but his face showed signs of deep vexation 
 and shame. 
 
 "I'm not afraid of him,'' he said, his color 
 deepening as he shot a fiery glance at Conrad, 
 who was regarding him with a half amused, half- 
 admiring look. ''Indeed, Miss Mary, it was an 
 accident my being here. I saw you coming, and 
 hid in the tvree for fan."' 
 
 "Queer notion of fun, you little eavesdropper," 
 said Conrad. 
 
 Again the boy's face grew crimson with indigna- 
 tion, and his eyes flashed defiance at his accuser. 
 "It is false," he cried. "Miss Mary, you — ," 
 "'Do not believe you capable of such an act, 
 Archie," replied the lady, hastening to his relief; 
 "'nor shall this gentleman do you such injustice 
 in his thoughts, if I can help it. Mr. Conrad, 
 this is the little friend of whom you have heard 
 me speak." 
 
 "And whose acquaintance I have so much de- 
 sired to make," said Conrad, with winning cour- 
 tesy ; "' I recall the offensive expression ; there, my 
 little fellow, take your pretty gun, and with it my 
 hand, and thus, there is an end of it. Xow, hie 
 away after that Mjunny'' that's chattering dov\-n 
 there in the ravine, and leave Miss Littleton and 
 me to finish our conversation." 
 
 "'Stay, Archie," exclaimed Mary, as the boy 
 turned to go; "who is that man?" 
 
 Conrad and the boy looked quickly in the direc- 
 tion she pointed, and saw a man dressed in the garb 
 
■WOODBOURXE. 165 
 
 of a sailor, some fifty paces distant, walking hnr- 
 riedly through the Park towards the river. Another 
 moment he was out of siglit. 
 
 *'It isn't Mike,'-' said Archie; '•' I'll run after him 
 and see — ," 
 
 '•Xo, no," said Mary, hastily; '-it does not mat- 
 ter. Go on to the house and tell aunt Mr Conrad 
 is going away before dinner, and don't go home 
 until I see you again; I have something to send 
 your mother. That's a good boy; there's a kiss 
 for you.*' 
 
 Archie bltished in acknowledgment of the favor, 
 and, bowing gracefully to Conrad, scampered off as 
 she reqtiested. 
 
 " Your page is very obedient, but why so thought- 
 ful, lady mine?" sidd Conrad, observing that the 
 capricious damsel was following the boy Avith a 
 serious gaze. Mary started, blushing slightly. 
 
 "It is nothing," she said, "only a foolish fimcy;" 
 but seeing that he still regarded her with a ques- 
 tioning look, she proceeded: "You remember as we 
 were riding home this morning through the wood, 
 we heard the report of a gun. It caused me to 
 turn my head, and, fast as we were going, I caught 
 sight of that same man skulking among the bushes 
 near the road. He was looking straight at me, and 
 a more forbidding face, though I saw it for an 
 instant only, I never looked on. "When I discov- 
 ered him just now he was peering at Archie from 
 behind that tree in a stealthy manner. At once a 
 suspicion took hold of me that he was dogging 
 the boy's steps for some evil purpose. Quite ab- 
 surd, wasn't it?" 
 
166 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 "By no means," said Conrad; "the suspicion 
 was natural enough. What a spitfire the lad is; 
 it is well for me he was disarmed. I like his 
 spirit." 
 
 Mar I/. — "And if he were eavesdropping, it is pre- 
 cious little he got for his trouble." 
 
 Conrad. — "True; what a model pair of turtle 
 doves we are to be sure." 
 
 Lovers have an incomprehensible hinguage for 
 which there is neither lexicon nor grammar. Why 
 the other "dove" should spring from her perch 
 and dart like an arrow so quickly across the glade 
 at that innocent allusion, was to the uninitiated 
 observer an unaccountably strange proceeding. Away 
 she sped through the park, nor paused in her 
 flight until she reached the open lawn and cauglit 
 sight of Aunt Theodora's vigilant face looking out 
 at her chamber window. Then she turned upon 
 her baffled pursuer with a silvery peal of defiance, 
 to which the discomfited swain replied with the 
 baldest pretence of supreme nonchalance. 
 
 Passing the reviewing officer with the most pre- 
 cise decorum, the lovers entered the house. 
 
 "Xow," said Mary, "I must go and have a lunch 
 got ready for you while you are making prepara- 
 tions for your ride." 
 
 Conrad's rapturous gaze followed her graceful 
 form as she tripped away on her errand. "Be- 
 hold I" he exclaimed, in a transport of feeling, "the 
 first gift of my adopted land — a treasure I would 
 not barter for all the wealth and dignities that 
 kings can bestow. The Abbe must surely approve 
 my choice, unless he intends I shall never marry. 
 
WOODBOURXE. 167 
 
 How unlucky he should be called away so sud- 
 denly. At least ^YQ must contrive to detain tliis 
 vessel, if only for a day. lie will then have an 
 opportunity of seeing her before he goes on this 
 perilous voyage." So saying, he hastened to get 
 ready for his journey. 
 
CHAPTER XIY 
 
 
 |6 
 1 
 
 T 13 the niglit of the party. Bonhill is 
 ao-low with a blaze of dorv, and flames 
 afar like a cheering beacon from its hill 
 of pride. Cavalcade after cavalcade of 
 country beaux and belles are pouring in, and soon 
 the jocund sounds of revelry are floating gaily on 
 the palpitating air. Old Uncle Plnl, the black 
 fiddler, like another Timotheus, or ebony image of 
 the musical god himself, raised on high, rules the 
 monarch of a season over as goodly a company of 
 fair women and brave men as ever moved submis- 
 sive to the spell of enchantirig minstrelsy. Cliacun 
 a son gout. Let such as like, ^* dance after a Mon- 
 sieur's flagoolet,'"' or, if they prefer, ^-'have a set 
 of English viols to their concert;" but for the 
 kind of melody which puts life and mettle into 
 heel and toe, which ^-'aAvakes the pert and nimble 
 spirit of mirth and turns melancholy forth to 
 funerals," there is no instrument of music which 
 bears comparison with a tuneful fiddle under the 
 skillful manipulation of some sable Orpheus from 
 Old Yirfrinia's shore. 0, the wonderful works of 
 
 (108) 
 
WOODBOURXE. 169 
 
 nature! TVlio ^vould imagine that the soul of har- 
 mony resided in the entrails of a caterwauling 
 grimalkin? How the secret was first made known 
 is a question about which there is much diversity 
 of opinion among learned Thebans, so we will cut 
 the matter short by agreeing with the '-auld gabbit 
 poets/' that 
 
 Jove's nimble son and kckie snel 
 Mide the first fiddle of a shell, 
 
 On which Apollo, 
 With mickle pleasure, played himsel 
 
 Baith jig and solo. 
 
 It is the first time that Bonhill has witnessed 
 such a scene of merriment and glee; but not the 
 last by a countless number. Ofttimes have we be- 
 held the like display in those cheery old halls — little 
 or nothing changed, save in the names and costumes 
 of the actors; danced the same minuets and coun- 
 try dances, reels and rigadoons, and cut nameless 
 fantastic capers to the lively strains of the identi- 
 cal cremona bequeathed from sooty sire to son; 
 listened to the like merry din of inarticulate voices 
 and clatter of many twinkling feet ; the same glad- 
 some chimes of silvery laughter, rustling of silken 
 folds, and, crowning all, the deft prompter's gutteral 
 tones calling out the figures of the dance — every 
 charming feature as fresh and joyous as on that 
 first night when youth and pleasure here for- 
 gathered '- to chase the glowing hours with fiying 
 feet.-'' 
 
 There is no observance here of formal ceremony 
 and staid etiquette ; all things are conducted on 
 
 15 
 
170 WOODBOUKNE. 
 
 that indescribably free and easy plan and decorous 
 regard of unstudied politeness which was the ruling 
 trait of the social gatherings of the olden time in 
 Virginia. The guests are, for the most part, knovvn 
 to each other, and the unacquainted are soon re- 
 lieved of embarrassment by a general introduction. 
 The first dance is ended; some of the company 
 are promenading in couples, others enjoying a quiet 
 tete-a-tete in a cozy corner, and, here and there, a 
 little groujD appears to be draw^n together by the 
 magnetism of som.e acknowledged belle. In the 
 centre of one of these charmed circles shines re- 
 splendent the beautiful star of Clifton. Her com- 
 ing unattended by the strange gentleman was the 
 occasion of much surprise and some disappointment. 
 The explanation she Touchsafed of his absence only 
 served to enhance the general interest, and she was 
 made to run the gauntlet of inquisitive tongues. 
 Having borne the infliction for some time with 
 commendable suavity and good humor, she at length 
 seeks refuge from her tormxCntors by engaging in a 
 keen encounter of wit and raillery w^ith a sprightly 
 young gentleman, who has only the day before 
 arrived home from a long sojourn abroad. This is 
 Mr. Charles Copland, Jr., late student of law of 
 Grey's Inn, London, where he has joerformed the 
 customary gastronomical exercises with more than 
 ordinary credit. Though she sustains her part in 
 the conversation with considerable spirit and vivacity, 
 it is evident on narrower scrutiny that her thoughts 
 are far from being wholly engrossed thereby. Occa- 
 sionally her shafts fly at random, and once in a 
 while she is detected shooting a furtive glance 
 
WOODBOURXE. 171 
 
 across the room where Carleton is observed talking 
 to Lucy Graeme in a sedate and earnest manner, 
 which is strangely at variance with tlio prevailing 
 gaiety. 
 
 That arch diplomatist has lost no time in laying 
 his wily toils. Conscious of the delicacy of the 
 undertaking, he had set about it with an adroit- 
 ness which would have done credit to the genius 
 of a Temple or a Walsingham. While the dance 
 TViiS going on he found a ready pretext for broach- 
 ing the entertaining subject of his recent explora- 
 tions to his partner, and so managed that Miss 
 Littleton should hear such si£cnificant snatches of 
 the story as to awaken her suspicions and arouse 
 an eager desire to hear the whole of it. Xow, it 
 so happened that the object of his artful scheming 
 was at the same time revolving in her mind how 
 she could contrive to obtain certain information 
 from Mr. Eichard Alloway of the supposed mys- 
 terious adventures of his late uncle vrhile in Europe, 
 and the apparently casual remarks which reached 
 her ears in the rounds of the dance satisfied her 
 that Carleton was in possession of the matter she 
 sought to discover. 
 
 Our friend Dick, we blush to record, was so un- 
 gracious as to decline to meet his fair cousin's 
 advances towards reconciliation at the half-way house 
 of mutual concession; he was inflexibly oHish, stiff 
 and punctilious in his demeanor towards her. With 
 Lucy it was tout au contralre, not a word was 
 spoken of the disagreeable past; they glided at 
 once into their former intimate relations and were 
 the Rosalind and Celia of old, forgetful that a 
 
172 AVOODBOURXE. 
 
 single cloud had ever darkened tlie heaven of re- 
 ciprocal regard and congenial attachment. Presently, 
 Carleton joins the group "who are gathered around 
 Mary Littleton, and claims her hand for the next 
 dance. 
 
 "Would you believe it, Mr. Carleton,'^ she ex- 
 claimed, after acknowledging his demand, "'here is 
 a gentleman all the way from London by the last 
 packet who cannot, for his life, tell a body a word 
 about the latest vogues? His talk is of nothing 
 but the long-winded debates in Parliament, the 
 grand sights he saAV at my Lord Mayor's show, the 
 ghostly mementoes of Westminster Abbey, the monu- 
 mental mockeries of the hideous old Tower, and I 
 don't know how many other equally dull and stupid 
 things which we untraveled ignoramuses, of course, 
 never heard or read of before, and here I am 
 dying to learn if my aigrette is d-la-jnochy my hair 
 properly craped, my tucker such as ladies of quality 
 wear, whether, in a w^ord, I be poin'-devise in all 
 all my accoutrements." 
 
 "I am glad you have come to my rescue. Carle- 
 ton," meekly responded the crest-fallen limb of the 
 law. "You see now what a fellow gets for being 
 so deucedly patriotic. I heartily wish I had stayed 
 in London after what I have gone through since 
 my return.. What a dolt I was to entertain so 
 absurd a delusion. Just imagine my thinking all 
 this long while that my fair country-women were 
 ever so busy, like true Spartan maids and matrons, 
 setting the example of independence — clothing them- 
 selves in the products of their own industrious 
 looms and spindles, knitting stockings for General 
 
>YOODBOUKNE. 173 
 
 Washington's soldiers, and doing all manner of self- 
 sacrificing things, and just look at them, tricked 
 out in all their finery, chattering about the latest 
 fashions from London and Paris, and denying me 
 the welcome they would readily bestow on any 
 smuggling pedler of new-fimgled haberdashery. 
 Beauty when unadorned, adorned the most! Senti- 
 mental stuff! AVhy, what would a woman be with- 
 out the — ," 
 
 Carleton, eyer ready, comes to his assistance with 
 a handy tag of rhyme: 
 
 "The powder, patches, and the pins, 
 The ribbons, jewels and the rhigs, 
 The lace, the paint and warlike things 
 That make up all their magazines?" 
 
 "Thank you, Harry." 
 
 " Cowley, you mean ; the words are not mine," 
 replied the artful chevalier, with an apologetic bow 
 to the ladies. 
 
 " ISTever mind," retorted Copland, '• I am not afraid 
 to adopt the quotation, ii you are. Why, even Bella 
 yonder— bless her little heart, how she cried when 
 her big brother was sent away and there was no 
 one to play with her— even Bella, I say, now a 
 woman grown, wept bitter tears of anguish in secret 
 when she heard that I had not brought her a new 
 silk gown. ^Yell, there is nothing for me to do 
 but to swallow my mortification with the best grace 
 possible. At least there is a grain of consolation 
 in the loss of your kind favor, ladies, in the con- 
 sciousness of having duly respected the laws of my 
 country. My entire invoice of imported articles is 
 
 16* 
 
174: WOODBOURXE. 
 
 summed up in a new book of songs for Miss Lucy, 
 and Scotch high-dried enough to keep my respected 
 father sneezing through a year's siege." 
 
 "Pray, tell me, Mr. Censor," said Mar}-, in the 
 same bantering tone, "what is the harm of our 
 "wearing fine clothes, if we happen to have them ? 
 Then, sir, you forget that the prohibition is against* 
 English goods. You might have bought Bella's 
 gown in Paris, where, I dare say, you spent the 
 w^orth of a dozen frolicking and sight- seeing with 
 that rantipole cousin of mine, Frank Tunstall, as 
 you told us awhile ago." 
 
 "Frank Tunstall! Did he return with you?" 
 asked Carleton. 
 
 "Xo," said Copland; *•' when I parted from him 
 in Paris he was preparing to set out on the grand 
 tour. Frank is become to be very much a citizen 
 of the world." 
 
 "And a greater coxcomb than ever, I imagine?" 
 said Carleton. 
 
 "Well, yes," replied Copland; "he has cultivated 
 fashionable fopperies at a prodigious rate; yet, with 
 all his dandified airs and priggish notions, he is by 
 no means such a yapid creature as you think — at 
 least, he is not deficient in spirit. By the way, 
 Miss Mary, I did not tell you how we both came 
 to be in Paris. Well, as I said, Frank's ruling pas- 
 sion is to be a fine gentleman, and being hand- 
 some and rich, and well-bred and all that, he soon 
 got the entree of the leau monde, where he sported 
 like a gorgeous butterfly. Could you hear him 
 descant on their daily rounds, you would not won- 
 der that our dear cousins have no time to attend 
 
WOODBOURXE. 175 
 
 to the liumble petitions 'with which -vve, as in duty 
 bound, have been clamorously besieging the throne 
 of kingly grace; they are literally overwhelmed with 
 the gi'ievous cares of their unhappy state which con- 
 denms theui to oscillate eterually between the ex- 
 tremes of ennui and dissipation. Frank deemed this 
 exquisite mode of killing time to be the acme of 
 refined beatitude, and he was vras never a Sabbath 
 da}'s journey from his darling London, until an 
 unlucky contretemps fell out — ,'' 
 
 "A love scrape with a maid of honor ? " said 
 Mary Littleton. 
 
 *' Pinked a young sprig of nobility in a duel?" 
 said Carleton. 
 
 "Xeither," replied Copland; "though cpiite as bad 
 as the one or the other. Eeturning home one night 
 from the opera, he took it into his head to ven- 
 ture alone into "White's, that paradise of heaiix 
 garcons and Jiommes cle condition — anglice fashion- 
 able rakes and genteel sharpers — where, not con- 
 tent with the innocent diversion of being plucked 
 for a docile pigeon, he very foolishly suffered himself 
 to be inveigled into talking of politics. Of course, 
 in such a select assembly of lopl blades, the 
 rabble rout of American rebels were denounced, as 
 they should be, and the rash, intruding Virginian 
 was not long in finding himself an unwilling 
 auditor of all manner of scurrilous allusions, objur- 
 gations and sneers, poured out without stint or 
 measure on his countrymen. He managed to keep 
 his choler down and sustain the unequal combat 
 of billingsgate and bravado until one of his assail- 
 ants made some disparaging speech about General 
 
176 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 Washington, wlio, among other claims to distinction, 
 has the honor to be nearly related to Frank on 
 his mother's side. A knock down, a general scuffle 
 and nj^roar, and all is dark to our hero until he 
 awakes next morning with a dim and confused per- 
 ception of what had happened, and a humiliating 
 conviction that he was certainly demented to ven- 
 ture by himself in that den full of the British 
 lion's whelps. He was lucky to get off with only 
 a bruised lip and one eye in mourning; but such 
 w^as his mortification that I had no trouble in per- 
 suading him to pack his portmanteau and take the 
 first diligence for Dover. In a fortnight's time I 
 joined him in Paris, where I found him revelling 
 in the elysian delights of the gay metropolis and 
 railing in bad French at everything English in a 
 way that made the natives stare." 
 
 "And when is the splendid creature coming back 
 to the land of savages?" asked Mary. 
 
 "In the spring, he said," replied Copland. "I 
 shall promise him, when I write, a peifect ovation 
 from les ielles-sauvages ! " 
 
 The young lawyer was in rapid retreat when he 
 discharged this Parthian arrow. As soon as he was 
 gone the little coterie dispersed, and Carleton and 
 Miss Littleton fell into line with the promenaders. 
 
 The diplomatist begins: "Miss Graeme tells me 
 she expected a rare addition to her company this 
 evening. She seems much disappointed that he did 
 not come ; to be frank, so am I." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes; the gentleman to whom I allude is Mr. 
 Conrad." 
 
WOODEOUEXE. 177 
 
 " Oh, my father's guest. I have already endured 
 a siege of questiouiiig on account of his failure to 
 put in an appearance here to-night. Pray, Y>hy are 
 you so deeply concerned about it?" 
 
 "From a better niotive, I beg you -will believe, 
 than impertinent curiosity. I have an important 
 reason for desiring to make Mr. Conrad's acquaint- 
 ance. I am very much exercised over an investi- 
 gation of certain transactions of your late cousin, 
 Mr. Eichard Austin, T^'hile traveling in Europe 
 many years ago, and I have a notion that Mr. 
 Conrad can be of service to me in the matter." 
 
 Mary was visibly disconcerted by the grave and 
 business-like precision v.itli v/hicli he opened the 
 conversation. She regarded him -with a look of 
 puzzled surprise. 
 
 '• Is it a confidential secret, Mr. Carlcton ? *' she 
 ventured timidly to ask. '-'In your turn, you have 
 said enough to stimulate my curiosity, of 'which 
 eminently feminine weakness I profess to have my 
 full share.*' 
 
 A preliminary scraping of the fiddle interrupted 
 Carleton's reply. 
 
 '•'The music is about to begin,'' he said; "we 
 must take our places for the dance." 
 
 "Are you fond of dancing, Mr. Carleton ? *' asked 
 Mary. 
 
 "Y-es, with a pleasant partner; usually, though, 
 I more enjoy looking on at others." 
 
 " Then, suppose you play spectator this time, and 
 continue the conversation you have started." 
 
 "I am delighted you have made the proposition." 
 
 "Where are you going, Harry?" cried Dick Alio- 
 
178 WOODBOUIIXE. 
 
 way, as they moved aside to make room for the 
 dancers. "You are vranted here to make up the 
 set." 
 
 "Please, Cousm Kichard," entreated Mary, "find 
 another vis-a-vis; I ask to be excused this one 
 time." 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it," replied the self-con- 
 stituted master of ceremonies, bowing coldly. 
 
 " What a handsome couple ! " was the general 
 comment which ran in a whisper round the room 
 as they left. 
 
 "Harry is hovering on the brink, Dick," said 
 Copland; "if he fall in, good night." 
 
 "Caught in the toils," muttered Alloway to him- 
 self, "after the warning I gave him." 
 
 In the deserted drawing-room they found a secure 
 retreat from further interruption. Seating herself on 
 the sofa near one of the windows. Miss Littleton 
 artfully adjusted the folds of the thick damask cur- 
 tain ostensibly, as her glance indicated, to screen 
 the couple from prying eyes, but really so as to 
 throw a shadovv^ veil over her face and thus enable 
 her to defy penetration into the workings of her 
 mind. Thus ensconced, with a queenly inclina- 
 tion she motioned her companion to a place 
 beside her, and asked with startling abruptness: 
 
 "Xow, sir, what is it you would have of Mr. 
 Conrad?" 
 
 The question savored considerably of di.:d.unful 
 hauteur. 
 
 "She treats me like an overgrown school boy," 
 thought Carlcton, instinctively rubbing his callow 
 chin; and, it must be confessed, appearances were 
 
AVOODBOUEXE. 179 
 
 decidedly against our diplomatic neophyte's success- 
 ful performance of liis serious role. 
 
 ^'I cannot hope to inspire you ^-itli the same 
 degree of interest I feel in this afiiiir," said he; 
 "yet I may at least make bold to bespeak your 
 sympathy in behalf of an infatuated fellow-creature 
 Avho, following a whimsical humor of his own, is 
 at last caught floundering in a bog of troubles."' 
 
 "Say, rather, a stargazing philosopher dropped 
 into a well," replied the veiled beauty, in the same 
 half scornful tone. "' Poor fellow I he has my heart- 
 felt pity. ISTow for the cause of his sorrows?" 
 
 Thus conjured, Carleton rapidly and yividly por- 
 trayed the maze of difficulty in which he had be- 
 come entangled, bringing forward in sharp relief the 
 salient points which he considered most likely to 
 produce an eifect upon his fair listener. Xever was 
 eloquent raconteur rewarded with more flattering 
 attention. Impenetrably serene and still, she heard 
 him through from beginning to end. He could not 
 see her face distinctly, but the gentle heaving of 
 her bosom betrayed no symptom of quickened pul- 
 saton, and no unguarded gesture gave evidence of 
 unusual excitement. 
 
 "'Strange!" she said musingly, when he was done 
 speaking, with a depth of feeling she had not 
 before evinced. "lie never said a word to his 
 nephew of his correspondence with Mr. Buchanan." 
 
 "'So I conceived at first," said Carleton, adapting 
 his language to her altered mood; "'but, on after- 
 thought, his silence does not appear to me in the 
 least degree surprising. He was only solicitous to 
 learn whether his former letter had reached its des- 
 tination. AVarned of his approaching end, it may be 
 
ISO TVOODBOURXE. 
 
 of the suddenness of the summons Avhich awaited 
 him, he sought to divert liis mind wholly from 
 worldly distractions, and to draw the curtain of 
 obliyion on the painful past. His few remaining 
 years were S2')ent in preparing for the eternal scene; 
 death was the familiar companion of his daily 
 walks — the theme of his constant meditations. He 
 lived as if the present moment might be the last 
 of earth; and, although he was apparently free from 
 mental disquietude, his soul was all the time pay- 
 ing cruel rack-rent for its battered tenement, and 
 joyfully when the final notice came 
 
 'Left the warm precincts of the cheerful clay. 
 Xor cast one longhig, rmgering look behinl.''' 
 
 Tjie melting pathos with which he rendered his 
 brief tribute to the memory of her afflicted cousin 
 went straight to her heart and dissipated every 
 trace of cold reserve. Her manner was unaffectedly 
 cordial and frank as she emerged from the cur- 
 tained shadow and turned to him in the full-orbed 
 radiance of her glorious beauty, ^-'enough to make 
 a world to doat."' 
 
 ^Olany thanks, Mr. Carleton," she said, *•' for 
 your entertaining story. It has interested me more 
 than I have words to express. I sincerely wish you 
 may be successful in your further researches. By 
 all means I advise you to speak with Mr. Conrad. 
 But, see the dance is over, and Lucy has promised 
 to sing for us in the interlude." 
 
 So, after all, the diplomatist took nothing for 
 his pains, though he was more than ever convinced 
 that his fair listener was not a whit the wiser for 
 his revelations. 
 
WOODCOURXE. 181 
 
 ^* Who says a woman cannot keep a secret ? " lie 
 mentally ejaculated. *•' Dissemblers by instinct, clis- 
 guisers by habit, deceivers by intuition, they are 
 masked batteries of deceitful wiles and delusive 
 temptations; 'tis theirs to wheedle and cajole, to 
 lurk in ambush for unvrary man, and disarming 
 his suspicions by flattery and blandishments, to 
 shear him of his strength and deliver him over 
 bound with wythes to liis adversary. Delilahs all I 
 Bah I what gammon I Man, the tyrant and despot 
 of the sex, is alone responsible for the cajoleries, 
 deceits and crafty recourses of woman. These are 
 their only weapons of warfare, and whether their 
 conduct be censurable or not, depends on the end 
 to be gained." 
 
 "With these incoherent and contradictory ideas 
 chasiuGf each other throu2:h his discomfited brain, 
 he bowed his acknowledgments of her appreciative 
 speech with graceful courtesy, and, resigning their 
 seats to the tired dancers, they mingled with the 
 joyous throng who vrere flocking around the sweet 
 songstress already seated at the harpischord. She 
 was turning over the leaves of a large nevv' music 
 book — Mr. Copland's present — as the truants ap- 
 proached. 
 
 '•Come, Mary," she said, *•' choose a song for me." 
 
 But her father's cheery voice anticipated Mary's 
 selection; the vrhist party had adjourned to hear 
 her sing — " Eax me the beuk, bairn. There is a 
 sang for you. I'se warrant, nane o' them hae 
 heard it." 
 
 The enchantress obeyed his command, and pres- 
 ently the touching strains of "Auld Eobin Gray'' 
 
182 ^VOODBOUKXE. 
 
 fell upon the entranced ears of the comjxmy in a 
 shoTrer of melodious tears. Everybody was in ecsta- 
 cies. Even the flinty-hearted "Exciseman," between 
 the music and the punch-bowl, grew rapturously 
 lachrymose, and, forgetting his so-called official 
 dignity, kissed the fair performer on both her 
 blushing cheeks. Other songs were called for in 
 quick succession, and were rendered in a way that, 
 to our taste, was the perfection of music married 
 to immortal verse. 
 
 At length the obliging Lucy had to give over 
 from sheer exhaustion of fatigue, and, be it recorded 
 for an example vrorthy of imitation on like occa- 
 sions, no importunity could prevail Avith one of the 
 other less gifted daughters of song there assem- 
 bled to break the dulcet charm she had woven. 
 ATe cannot stay to dvrell on each delightful feature 
 of this festive scene. A sterner task imperatively 
 claims our attention. In diversions such as vre 
 feebly described, interlarded with a profusion of 
 creature comforts, tlie tide of enjoyment flowed on 
 in an unbroken stream to a late hour of the night. 
 Instead of his national TuUochgorum, Mr. Graeme 
 was well content to let young folks and old frisk 
 through the intricacies of the Virginia reel, and 
 when the merry guests took their leave, Lucy had 
 abundant cause for unalloyed satisfaction. Mr. T\'ad- 
 dell might come now and welcome. 
 
 '•'Dick," said Carleton, with a sleepy yawn, as 
 they were riding slowly home, '-'Mary Littleton is, 
 as you say, a beautiful enigma. I have lost the 
 wager." 
 
 "I am glad of it," was the consoling reply, and 
 the matter was droi)ned. 
 

 CHAPTER XA^ 
 
 5; 
 
 K^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 T Avas ^vell iiigli day-break ^vlieii the two 
 friends arrived home from the party at 
 Bonhill. Harry did not Avait to be in- 
 yited, but went straight to bed, and was 
 soon lost to the music of the cock's shrill clarion 
 and echoing horn. Kot so Mr. Richard Alloway; 
 he had other business on his hands. It was his 
 rule not to permit the pursuit of pleasure at any 
 time to interfere with the regular routine of his 
 domestic administration. Social indulgences were 
 never by him carried to an excess which nnfitted 
 him for the performance of his daily avocations 
 with scrupulous exactitude. So, donning his worky- 
 day clothes, he called np the servant, who was 
 sleeping by the fire in the hall, ordered a fresh 
 horse, and sallied forth on his accustomed round. 
 In addition to the ordinary tasks, there was a 
 stalled ox to be slain that morning, an operation 
 which he always superintended in proper person. 
 The first faint' streaks of the dawn were glim- 
 mering in the east, the air was crisp and frosty, 
 and a soft, feathery mist hovered above the earth, 
 
 (183) 
 
184 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 making the dark wood appear like an enchanted 
 island in the midst of a vapory sea. 
 
 "Silent vras then the forest bound, 
 Save the red breast's note and the riis'Jii:g sound 
 Of frost-nipped leaves that are dropping around, 
 Or the deep-mouthed cry of the distant hound 
 That opens on his game." 
 
 What a morning for a fox-hunt, Avas Alloway's 
 first thought; his next Avas for a ride, and turning 
 into the road which led through the wood, he gave 
 the rein to his horse, and went dashing along at 
 a pace which soon stirred the sluggish blood into 
 a warm glow. As he came in sight of the main 
 highway, the dim outline of a hum.an form whisked 
 rapidly across the open space in front of him. He 
 saw it only for a second; but there could be no 
 mistaking that burly frame and rolling gait. 
 
 *' Ship ahoy ! " shouted Dick, in a Yoice which 
 made the leaves rustle and quiver on the trees. 
 
 The figure halted suddenly, and Avas heard pant- 
 ing and blowing like a porpoise. 
 
 **miloa, ye bloody ould buccaneer, where the 
 divil are ye cruising to this time o' the morning?" 
 Avas Mr. Alloway's best essay at an Ii-ish saluta- 
 tion, as lie rode up to the old sailor. 
 
 ^''Och, Misther Dick,'' replied Mike, slowly re- 
 gaining his presence of mind; "and its only your- 
 self to be sure. Bad cess — I mane top o' the 
 mornin' and the blessin' o' St. Patrick to your 
 honor; but 3'on've knocked me down on my bame 
 ends intirely." 
 
 "Hulled you at the first shot, and made you 
 
wooDBOur.XE. 185 
 
 round to in a hurry; rather ticklish for a crazy 
 old ship under a full press of sail, eh? Well, you 
 are my prize, Mike, and I shall see you safe into 
 port. You are the yery man I was looking for. 
 So, vast heave; put your helm up or do^Yn, any 
 way you please, so you steer a bee-line for AVood- 
 bourne house." 
 
 While Dick was rattling on iu this comical vein, 
 the umquihile Jack-tar was holding fast to both 
 his sides and struggling hard to recover breath 
 sufficient to give utterance to the contending emo- 
 tions which convulsed his sturdy form and im- 
 parted to his countenance a fearful expression, 
 somewhat rueful and exceeding wroth. On the 
 ground at his feet lay a rusty old Brown Bess of 
 a musket, which he eyed vengefully. Dick had not 
 observed him closely before, owing to the dimness 
 of the light. 
 
 *''Och, the murtherin', thievin' vaggabins, Misther 
 Dick," he at length blurted out, and paused for a 
 fresh start. 
 
 *-Who, Mike? Why, what on earth is the matter 
 with you ? " a,sked Dick, eagerly ; he had never seen 
 the old sailor in such a passion before. 
 
 "Matther wid me? Ye may well ask that; an' 
 sure wouldn't it be matther enough if the moradin' 
 villains had run away with your honor's own beau- 
 tiful boat? By the bones uv my ancestors, it is 
 myself that will be afther purshuin' the dirty 
 blackguards to the ind o' the world, an' my name 
 is not Michael Burke." 
 
 "Xot afoot and overland, Mike?" said Dick, re- 
 pressing an inclination to laugh. " Come, tell me 
 
 IG* 
 
18G WOODBOUKXE. 
 
 -what has liajipened to put yon in sncli a terrible 
 stew.'' 
 
 Thus entreated, Mike, with many ejaculations of 
 rage and a free use of the choicest epitliets his 
 yocabulary of nautical maledictions afforded, related 
 his pitiful story. He could not tell precisely what 
 was the hour, but it was after midnight last gone, 
 that he was awaked by the furious barking of his 
 faithful house-dog, which told as plainly as if the 
 animal had spoken the words that there were 
 thieves about. Jumping out of bed, he ran to tlie 
 window in time to see a party of strange men 
 making off with his boat, which was kept moored 
 in a small cove at the foot of the garden. To 
 snatch up his gun and rush to the door, all un- 
 mindful of the plight he was in, was the work of 
 an instant; but, before he could raise the latch, 
 his wife awoke in a great fright, and, with a loud 
 screech, at one bound precipitated herself upon him 
 and immediately went into violent hysterics. She 
 had taken due advantage of Mike's helpless condi- 
 tion on retiring for the night to give him a piece 
 of her mind, and now she was convinced her long- 
 suffering spouse was meditating summary revenge; 
 so she clung to him like grim death, weeping and 
 praying, and howling and begging for mercy all in 
 a breath. It was a fortunate diversion for the 
 marauders ; as by the time Mike had succeeded in 
 assuring "swate Misthress Murchuson " that she 
 was not the object of his murderous thoughts, and 
 to make her understand what was the real cause 
 of alarm, the boat had cleared the moutli of the 
 cove and was safe from pursuit. But Mike had 
 
WOODBOURXE. 187 
 
 not been a bold sea-rover for nothing. He watched 
 the "bloody pirates*' until they were out of sight, 
 and the water being as smooth as glass and the 
 stars shining brightly, he had no trouble in seeing 
 them, when they had gotten an offing, lay their 
 course for the mouth of the Potomac river. His 
 plan was conceived and put in execution with a 
 celerity and vigor which would have reflected honor 
 on the bold and enterprising commander of the 
 Endeavor himself. Shouldering his trusty musket, 
 and giving Mrs. Murchuson a wide berth for fear 
 she might offer to interpose an obstacle to his 
 design, he scudded away under fall sail for the 
 neighboring port of entry, where lie was sure to 
 find the assistance he needed in carrying his 
 rapidly concocted plan into effect. 
 
 *''You can count on me for help, heart and hand, 
 old friend,'' exclaimed Alloway, when the sailor had 
 finished his tale. *' Hurry forward and have every- 
 thing in readiness; I will join you without deiay," 
 and, speeding Mike on his way, he hastened home- 
 ward. 
 
 At the lawn gate he met James, the butler, who 
 was looking for him with a note, which had just 
 that moment been brought by a servant from Clif- 
 ton. The bearer said his orders were to take it as 
 fjuickly as possible to Mr. Alloway, ' and not to 
 tarry for an answer. Dick glanced at the super- 
 scription; it was from Mary Littleton. With an 
 exclamation of surprise he hastily opened the letter, 
 and read the following alarming summons: 
 
188 "^VOODBOURXE. 
 
 "Dear CousI^^ Richard: 
 
 "Please come to me as speedily as you can. 
 Something dreadful has happened; I knoAV not what. 
 Don't delay; every moment is as precious as life. 
 
 " Your distressed cousin, 
 
 "^Iary Littleton.*' 
 
 "Good heavens I" thought Alloway, what can be to 
 pay at Clifton?" But there was no time for specu- 
 lation. His gallantry alone would have prompted 
 immediate obedience to his cousins command; but, 
 from his knowledge of her firm and courageous 
 temper, he was forced to conclude that this bewil- 
 dering missive was far from being the inspiration 
 of the ordinary pangs and fears which wars and 
 women are said to have in common. 
 
 "James," said he to the servant, "go tell your 
 Uncle AYilliam he need not wait for me, and see 
 that Mr. Carleton is not disturbed until I get 
 back. Stay — there is another thing I Avas near for- 
 getting. Get a horse, and ride as fast as you can 
 on the road to Yeocomico until you overtake Mr. 
 Burke. Tell him not to stop for me; he'll under- 
 stand. That's all I have to say," he added, seeing 
 the man was hesitating for further orders, and 
 plunging into a nigh jiath through the wood he 
 proceeded to obey Miss Littleton's mandate at the 
 top of his horse's speed. 
 
 The excitement of a night's frolicking is not con- 
 ducive of sound slumber. Such was Carleton's ex- 
 perience when he found himself wide awake after 
 
WOODBOULXE. 1S9 
 
 having slept an hour or two, little refreslied and 
 the prey of nervous restlessness. His senses ivere 
 not yet recovered from the giddy -whirl of intoxi- 
 cation, and the gay and merry scenes he had just 
 quitted danced before his eyes in a -wild phantas- 
 magoria of revelry. One object only was clearly 
 discernible in the ever-shifting maze of fancv, a 
 picture never to be erased from memory — -which 
 '''seen became a part of sight" — that of the daz- 
 zling vision of v»omanly perfection, the queenly 
 creature who Iiad sat and listened so intently to 
 his strange story, her glorious eyes shining like 
 stars in the dusky twilight sky, and her head 
 resting on one fair hand which pressed back the 
 luxuriant mass of hair she suffered with careless 
 art to float in rich undulations over her neck and 
 shoulders. Beyond the lingering sense of sore 
 chagrin at the failure of his deep-laid scheme to 
 surprise her heart's secret, he did not try to 
 analyze the sensations, very near akin to love, with 
 which she had inspired him. He was convinced by 
 that one interview^ that the interesting stranger was 
 master of the situation, and he was not the man 
 ''to build a fair house on another man's ground.'' 
 Finding it utterly vain trying to woo the drowsy 
 god back again, he arose, dressed in haste, and de- 
 scended to the halL Seeing nobody stirring about 
 the house, he concluded his host vras still a-bed, 
 and that the best thing he could do to while 
 away the time until Alloway made his appearance, 
 was to take another leisurely survey of that charm- 
 ing pleasure ground— the library. This time it is 
 the books which attract his particular regard. Of 
 
190 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 these there are a great variety — principally standard 
 ^vorks in every department of letters, and many of 
 them 'exceedingly rare and curious specimens. Mr. 
 John Austin was something of a bibliophile, and, 
 although he did not exactly regard everything as 
 fish "which came to his net, he was far from in- 
 dulging the "hide-bound humor" of a severely 
 censorious judgment in gathering his supplies of 
 mental pabulum. Evidently he thought, with his 
 favorite author, that he could not more safely and 
 with less danger scout into the regions of sin and 
 fiilsity than by reading all manner of disquisitions, 
 and hearing all manner of reason. The valuable 
 collection was mainly the result of his liberal dis- 
 position and untmng industry, but his son had en- 
 riched it by the addition of the most recent Eng- 
 lish and Erench publications. 
 
 What were Carleton's sensations as he gazed vrist- 
 fully at this rich mine of treasured lore ? ^Yhile 
 at College he had frequently been heard to declare 
 that it vras the darling object of his ambition to 
 become a distinguished scholar — to erect an en- 
 during monument of his fame in that congenial 
 field of intellectual enterprise. But another career 
 was marked out for him by the hand of over- 
 ruling destiny. Erom blissful academic dreams, he 
 has been rudely awakened by the rush and roar of 
 angry, surging waters. In the vortex of a mighty 
 revolution he must plunge, and, Percy-like, drag up 
 drown'd honor by the locks. Young as he was, he 
 was well fitted to bear an active and shining part 
 in the stirring events of the period. The faculties 
 of some men are developed with amazing precocity. 
 
WOODBOURXE. 191 
 
 At an early age, before tliey have reached the arbi- 
 trary limit of parental pupilage, their matchless 
 powers seem to have attained the fullest stature, 
 and they need only the spur of opportunity to call 
 them into vigorous play. Experience is, indeed, in- 
 dispensable to the complete fruition of genius; it 
 corrects the judgment, informs the understanding, 
 enlarges the heart, and chastens the spirit, incul- 
 cating prudence and enforcing the necessity of vig- 
 ilant self-control. But while it points out the true 
 mark and gives steadiness to the aim, it adds 
 nothing to the strength of the arm that bends the 
 springing bow. That is the jealous boon of the 
 Almighty Giver bestowed for great purposes on the 
 chosen instruments of providential design. To this 
 favored class, the eagles of their kind, belonged 
 Henry Carle ton. To a joyous and sanguine tem- 
 perament, and a ready and sparkling wit, he united 
 a judgment sagacious, ripe and discerning beyond 
 his years, a daring and determined spirit, and a 
 soul which glowed with the vestal fire of sincerely 
 patriotic devotion. With such qualities, it is no 
 wonder that in after years he won the intimate 
 confidence and friendship of the most severely just 
 judge of the motives and conduct of his fellows — 
 "the man who was first in war, first in peace, 
 and first in the hearts of his countrymen.'' It is 
 true, he does not appear to be directly involved 
 with the train of circumstances which form the 
 ground work of the present narrative; yet we have 
 thought proper to accord him a passing tribute, 
 and to express the hope that his appearance in 
 ever so subordinate a part on our mimic stage may 
 
192 wooDBorp.XE. • 
 
 afford some forcsliadowing of the cliaractcr lie dis- 
 played in real action. 
 
 On this occasion our cavaiier seems to be greatly 
 puzzled to find such light diversion as accords Avith 
 the excited frame of his mind. At length he 
 selects at random a volume of the handsome new 
 edition of Pope, "U'hich is a portion of Mr. Eichard 
 Austin's latest contributions to the stock of mis- 
 cellaneous literature. It is all correspondence. There 
 is a folded page on which a passage has been 
 marked with a pencil. He reads it aloud : " Great 
 God I what an incongruous animal man is! How 
 unsettled in his best part, his soul, and how change- 
 able and variable in his frame of body; the con- 
 stancy of the one shook by every notion, the tem- 
 perament of the other affected by every blast of 
 wind. What is he altogether but one inconsistency? 
 Sickness and pain are the lot of one-half of him; 
 doubt and fear the portion of the other. AVhat a 
 bustle we make about passing our time, when all 
 our span is but a point. "What aims and ambi- 
 tions are crowded in this little instant of ^ur life 
 which is rounded with a sleep. Our whole extent 
 of being is no more in the eye of Him who gave 
 it than a scarce perceptible moment of duration. 
 Those animals whose circle of being is limited by 
 three or four hours, as the naturalists tell us, are 
 yet as long-lived and possess as wide a scene of 
 action as man, if we consider him with a view to 
 all space and all eternity. "Who knows what plots, 
 what achievements a mite may perform in his king- 
 dom of a grain of dust within his life of some 
 minutes, and of how much less consideration than 
 
WOODBOURXE. 193 
 
 this is the lifo of man in the sight of God, Avho 
 is from ever and forever ! AVho that thinks in this 
 train but must see the world and its contemptibla 
 grandeurs lessen before him at every thought. 'Tis 
 enough to make our brains stupefied in a poize 
 of inaction, void of all desires, of all delights, of 
 all friendships.'' 
 
 Carleton mused: "'Twcre a tv/inge indeed, thought 
 he, could extort such a lugubrious note as this 
 from the sweet swan of Twickenham. He must 
 have been woefully haunted with blue-devils. Could 
 it be imagined that the maudlin creature who vented 
 this nauseating rheum of splenetic humor was the 
 same author who wrote the '• Messiah" and the 
 '•'Essay on Man?"' A pitiable world it would be 
 if everybody in it moralized in so desponding and 
 distempered a train. It is a blessed thing that 
 man is an incongruous animal — many sided, many 
 handed, and many minded; if ho were not, what a 
 humdrum alfair would be the epic of human life? 
 For all the snarling of mangy cynics, he is a most 
 marvellous piece of mechanism, well deserving the 
 eulogy of the divinest of bards — "noble in reason, 
 infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how ex- 
 press and admirable, in action how like an angel, 
 in apprehension how like a god I" Such is the 
 light in which he should be taught to regard him- 
 self, and without the just pride which is the mani- 
 festation of the Divinity which stirs within him, 
 he would be more despicable than the tiniest midge 
 that disports its brief hour in the stmbeam." 
 
 "It is to be hoped," he continued, speaking 
 aloud, ''•that Mr. Eichard Austin was not prevailed 
 
10 i WOODBOURXE. 
 
 upon to swallow siicli empirical stuff as an anti- 
 dote for the bane of a miserable life. Dick's a 
 happy fellow; how I envy him his knack of taking 
 the world so easy. Had this peripatetic personage 
 been my uncle, I would not have had a day's 
 peace of mind until I had fully realized the folly 
 of that wisdom which is to be had by prying into 
 forbidden secrets. Call it what you Avill, childish 
 superstition, idle curiosity — but if this old house 
 belonged to me, it should be made to give up its 
 secret, or else I would blow it up with gun- 
 powder." 
 
 "Playing Guy Fawkcs, eh?" cried a voice behind 
 him. 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 w§ 
 
 T was AlioYv'ay who had come hurriedly 
 into the room unperceived. Carleton 
 started at the sudden apparition. "Why, 
 Dick," he excLaimed, '•'! thought you were 
 all this time fast asleep, and here you are looking 
 as if you had been riding a steeple-chase, and you 
 are as solemn as an owl and as mysterious as the 
 devih Hang it all I Don't stand there gaping like 
 a moon-calf in a dumb show, but out with it at 
 once. "U^hat in the world have you been doing?" 
 
 *'.Tn a moment, Harry." He went out, gave an 
 order to the servant and returned. "Xow," said 
 he, "sit down and let me have your undivided 
 attention. It is a real mystery this time; I sin- 
 cerely trust it may not lead to a tragical dis- 
 closure." 
 
 "He is evidently in earnest," thought Carleton, 
 seating himself in the nearest chair, arrectis aurihis. 
 
 "Eead that," said Dick, giving him Miss Little- 
 ton's note, by way of dramatic prologue. 
 
 On perusing it the last shade of incredulity van- 
 ished from his brow; he listened eagerly. Briefly 
 
 (195) 
 
196 "WOODBOULXE. 
 
 recounting tlie occurrences Tve liave narrated, Allo- 
 way -w-ent on to say: "When I arrived at Clifton 
 I found my cousin -^'aiting for nie in the parlor. 
 She Avas very pale, but perfectly composed and 
 self-possessed. It is surprising ^vhat wonderful com- 
 mand over their feelings some women have. After 
 thanking me in one earnest word for my prompt- 
 ness, she at once made known the reason of her 
 importunate message. Colonel Littleton and herself 
 were the last of the company to leave Bonhill, she 
 having lingered to speak with Mrs. Graeme. On 
 reaching home, she had barely gone to her room 
 before she heard the furious galloping of a horse, 
 and, as it stopped in front of the door, a voice, 
 which she instantly recognized as Mr. Thomi^son's, 
 bawled out: M^ittleton, Littleton!' Her father had 
 not quitted the hall, and going quickly to the 
 door exclaimed, as he opened it and caught sight 
 of the collector, Oly God, neighbor, what is the 
 matter with you ? ' Alarmed, she ran to the win- 
 dow and looked out. There sat old Jake on his 
 horse, a figure to look upon. He was in a state of 
 excitement bordering on phrensy; his features were 
 convulsed with rage, and he was talking and ges- 
 ticulating at a fearful rate. She could not make 
 out what he was saying, farther than that some- 
 thing was the matter with Archie, and now and 
 then she was convinced that she caught an un- 
 complimentary allusion to her father's guest. Pres- 
 ently, he wheeled his horse around, and, throwing a 
 parting word over his shoulder, went flying down 
 the avenue with break-neck speed. Hurrying down 
 stairs, she met her father. She had never seen him 
 more agitated and distressed. * This is a terribly 
 
•VN-OODBOrE^'E. 197 
 
 bad business, my daughter/ lie said. * Thompson's 
 little boy has been si^irited away— carried off in the 
 night; two of his hands are reported to be miss- 
 ing, and he himself is as mad as a March hare, 
 for he swears that Mr. Conrad is the cause of it 
 all/ Well nigh fainting willi apprehension and 
 alarm — any other woman would have swooned away 
 on the spot — she besought him to tell her how it 
 happened. He replied that he could not get a clear 
 or definite account from the Collector, he raved so 
 incoherently; but, at her earnest entreaty, he very 
 promptly ordered his horse and set out in pursuit 
 of his demented neighbor. "When he was gone, her 
 fears increased, and, in her extremity, she sent for 
 me. You remember that fellow we saw yesterday 
 on the riyer in a skiff?" 
 
 Carleton.—''Ti'iQ sailor? Yes, and the boy also." 
 
 AUov:ay.—''l.hQ yillain was following Archie, and 
 if any harm has befiillen the poor lad he is prob- 
 ably the author of it." Here he related the ad- 
 venture of the oak, with which the reader is familiar. 
 
 CarJeion. — "Xo doubt the rascal had a hand in 
 it—yery likely the principal; but he must have 
 had help in such a daring undertaking." 
 
 Dick.— " Precisely what the Collector said, only he 
 accuses Mr. Conrad of being the prime mover in 
 the scheme of villainy, and that was the greatest 
 source of trouble to my fair cousin, as much as 
 she felt on Archie's account. 'Xothing,' said she, 
 'could be more absolutely false, not to say prepos- 
 perous.' I do not know what possessed me, but I 
 started to say something about the suspected party 
 being a stranger, and immediately wished the words 
 1^* 
 
198 'V\'OODBOrRXE. 
 
 had clioked me. 'Stay/ slie cried— and you should 
 have seen how the blood rushed into her face and 
 then flowed back upon her heart, leaving her as 
 ■white as an alabaster figure, while her eyes sparkled 
 and flashed like two great diamonds— 'I know what 
 it is you would say. Stranger let him be; but, for 
 the sake of your own dear honor, breathe not a 
 syllable of the unjust suspicion which your looks 
 imply. It is no time for explanations. Still as I 
 have invited this conference in a matter of the 
 most delicate and distressing nature, you have a 
 right to expect my entire confidence shall be given 
 you. In due time you will be fully gratified. For 
 Ihe present it is enough for you to know that he 
 in whose behalf I bespeak your interest, is my 
 affianced husband, the peer of the best gentleman 
 in the land.' Jupiter, how splendidly she said that, 
 and how thoroughbred she looked I" 
 
 Seeing Carleton smile at this last characteristic 
 simile, he quickly continued, "It was impossible to 
 gainsay this candid declaration. The starch was 
 completely taken out of me. I felt an indescribable 
 thrill of sympathy and admiration, and hastened to 
 assure my lovely cousin that my poor service was 
 entirely at her command. And had she ordered me 
 to bring her the head of the Grand Turk, I should 
 have started, I rerily believe, post-haste for Con- 
 stantinople on horseback." 
 
 "0 Dea artel What a wonderful metamorphosis 
 the heartless coquette has undergone I" Carleton 
 could not resist the temptation of saying. 
 
 "I deserve your ill-timed sarcasm, Harry," said 
 the penitent Eichard, "but I beg you will not again 
 interrupt me. As I was saying, I asked her how I 
 
WOODBOUEyE. 199 
 
 could best aid licr in the matter. She replied that 
 Mr. C-oruad Tvas now at Yeocomico, whither he 
 went yesterday aft<?rnoon on business. He was ex- 
 pected back some time during the morning. Of 
 this her father knew nothing. She wished that I 
 would seek him as speedily as possible, and apprise 
 him of what has happened before that hot-headed 
 old blunderbuss of a tory brings the hue and cry 
 of the country about his ears — a result which would 
 exasperate the high-spirited gentleman beyond en- 
 durance, besides being to her mortifying in the 
 extreme. This I readily undertook to do, and seeing 
 that she had glanced repeatedly at the clock and 
 noted every swing of the pendulum, *one word 
 more,' said I; *may I take Mr. Carleton with 
 me?' 'As you please,' said she; and ofif I went 
 like a shot, and here I am, and breakfast is ready, 
 and our horses are at the door. You see, Harry," 
 added Dick, persuasively, ''it is a ticklish piece of 
 business, and I shall need your tact to help me 
 through with it." 
 
 '•Anything to oblige you, Dick,"' said Carleton ; 
 "but I must confess that the salt .has lost its 
 savor. Miss Littleton's affianced husband I I"m 
 sped; "tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide'^ 
 say, Dick, why not let the old tory and the French- 
 man fight it out a-la-mort V 
 
 "Come, Harry,'' replied his host with dignity; 
 "it is no time for pleasantry. I feel acutely for 
 Mr. Thompson, and do earnestly hope that nothing 
 evil has happened to poor little Archie." 
 
 "I stand reproved, Dickon," protested Carleton, 
 "so, en avant!'' 
 
CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 f^l ^l''""^"^ morning meal hurriedly prirtiikcn, Allo- 
 
 "^' *p)^ Avay and Carleton mounted their fleet 
 
 ^^ steeds, and in nowhile gained the snm- 
 
 ^ mit of the high hill within a mile of 
 
 the port of entry, from which was a full view of 
 the broad Potomac. The first object which greeted 
 their sight on its placid bosom was the gallant 
 bark Katrine, looming upon the horizon like some 
 "Jmge bird of heavenly plumage fair," every stitch 
 of her canvas being flung out to catch the light 
 breeze. At this stage, the intersection of two roads, 
 they were jojned by another horseman, who came 
 thundering along the highway known as the 
 "Neck" road, bloody Avith spurring, fiery-red with 
 speed. 
 
 "Jupiter!" exclaimed Alloway, "if it is not the 
 Collector." 
 
 It was indeed Mr. Jacob Thompson, still in a 
 towering rage and looking the incarnation of ven- 
 geance and destruction. His clothes, which had not 
 been changed since the party, were scarcely dis- 
 tmguishable in pattern for the mud with wliicli 
 
 (2CCJ 
 
^'OODBOUEXE. 201 
 
 he was covered from head to foot; his gaunt and 
 burly form trembled with passion, and he shook 
 his clenched hand at the ship, shouting as he did 
 so with the cry of a baffled tiger: 
 
 "Gone, by God! the infernal black i)irate." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Mr. Thompson," cried the 
 friends in a breath, "vrliat is the meaning of this 
 pother? ■' 
 
 '' 0, you marauding scoundrel ! " exclaimed the 
 irate old gentleman, taking no notice of the ques- 
 tion ; *' I'll be even with you yet. Ill live to see 
 you hanging like a dog at the yard-arm of your 
 own vessel." 
 
 **'AVho is it?" inquired Dick, eagerly; "surely 
 not Captain Dent ? " 
 
 "It is Dent, sir," roared the Collector, as if he 
 defied Dick to deny it; "Dent, the deceitful, pala- 
 vering, kidnapping villain." 
 
 Diclc. — "'Kidnapping! Have they carried Archie 
 off in the vessel?" 
 
 Collector. — "Archie is gone, sir; and, what U moro», 
 two of my best hands." 
 
 "Dunmore's proclamation," chimed in the mis- 
 chievous Carleton, by way of adding fuel to -the 
 flame of the old gentleman's wrath. 
 
 "D — n Dunmore!" he exclaimed; "'the black- 
 hearted, white-livered poltroon. He ran away at the 
 first gun, and left the like of me to the tender 
 mercies of rebels, thieves and murderers. He will 
 get his deserts when the King hears of these out- 
 rages. Haven't you brought the country to a pretty 
 pass among you? Xo law, no officers, no any- 
 thing — ^just a d — d den of savages and wild beasts. 
 
202 -T^'OODBOUEi^E. 
 
 You go and kick up a row because you want to 
 live without paying your taxes to the goyerument 
 you belong to; and this man they call a goyernor 
 gets scared and sneaks off, and then calls upon the 
 negroes to help him. A pretty way to put down 
 one rebellion by raising a vrorse; and he neyer once 
 asks leaye of their owners whether they be loyal 
 men or not. He shall be impeached as sure as 
 there is a Parliament sitting in London." 
 
 Seeing that the old gentleman was so beside him- 
 self with anger that nothing was to be gotten from 
 liini but an incoherent tirade of abuse of eyerybody 
 and eyerything, Alio way thought to diyert the tide 
 of his wrath by saying that Carleton and he were 
 out in search of Mr. Conrad. It was the signal of 
 another explosion. 
 
 "Looking for him, are you? Then you may as 
 well turn round and go back home. You'll not 
 see the rascal again in a hurry, I'll be bound. I 
 knew him for a d — d French spy as soon as I set 
 eyes on him; I said as much to Littleton. Eh I 
 Why, there he is noyr." 
 
 It was not Conrad as the friends naturally sur- 
 mised, but Colonel Littleton, a2:)proaching them from 
 the direction of Yeocomico. As he rode up his 
 greeting was constrained and embarrassed, and 
 althougli he tried hard to master his emotion, per- 
 plexity and chagrin vrere plainly yisible in his face. 
 
 "You are early abroad after the fi'olic last night, 
 young gentlemen," said he to Alloway and Carle- 
 ton, and then, as the former wasjabout to reply, 
 turning quickly to Mr. Thompson, he continued, 
 "Come, neighbor, it's no use tarrying here; I'll 
 see you home." 
 
WOODBOURXE. 203 
 
 The Collector gave a yengeful glance at the 
 Katrine. She had by this time rounded Smith's 
 Point, and was standing down the bay. Then, 
 without a word, he accepted Colonel Littleton's 
 proposal, and they rode away together. Eecoyering 
 from his surprise, Alloway called to Colonel Little- 
 ton to inquire whether he had seen or heard aught 
 of Mr. Conrad in his ride. 
 
 "He's gone!'"' replied the ''Squire, sharply and 
 without turning his head. 
 
 The young cayaliers sat regarding each other in 
 blank astonishment. 
 
 "'Well, Harry," said Dick, drawing in a deep 
 breath, and emitting it in a most musical, most 
 melancholy whistle, "'what's to be done now?" 
 
 Eyen the quick-witted Carleton was for once 
 dumbfounded. "Would it were bed-time and all 
 were well," he was in the act of saying, when he 
 was interrupted by a hoarse yoice calling: "0, Mr. 
 Kichard, I certainly am glad to see you," and at 
 the same moment an old man, dressed like a fisher- 
 man, shambled out of a thicket near the road and 
 stood before them. He stuck the paddle, which 
 he carried on his shoulder, in the ground, and 
 leant on it with both hands. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Bragg," said Dick; "'you 
 seem tired." 
 
 "'An' vrell I mought be,*' replied the fisherman ; 
 "I haye walked eyery blessed step of the way from 
 my house, as hard as I could put foot to the 
 ground, with this here letter for Mr. Graum, which 
 it was sent to him by a gentleman on board of 
 the ycssel, and he told me to be sure _he got it 
 
204 WOODBOUKNE. 
 
 betimes this morning. K'ot\^, Mr. Eichard, if you 
 be going s#on — ," 
 
 "I can save you the rest of the journey? Cer- 
 tainly," replied Allovray, taking the letter from the 
 old man's hand; "so you saw the Katrine off?" 
 
 Bragg. — "Yes, sir; I was 'long side of her when 
 she weighed anchor. You see, the Captain wanted 
 me to bring him some oysters." 
 
 Dich — "'Had she many passengers?" 
 
 Bragg. — "I can't speak for certain about that. 
 I didn't see nobody but the Scotch gentleman as 
 give me the letter. There was two niggers in a 
 big boat beggin' and entrcatin' of the Captain in 
 the pitifullest manner to take 'em on board; but 
 he told 'em to go back home and give his re- 
 specks to their master and tell him he wasn't in 
 the nigger kidnappin' business at this pertic^ler 
 time. While they was a chaffin, I seen another. big 
 boat come out of the creek. Soon as ever them 
 darkies got sight of her they 'peared to know ^gg- 
 zactly what was to pay, for they let go the painter 
 and shot for shore 'way up tlie river. Then come 
 the chase, — " 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Bragg, that's all I wish to 
 know," said Dick, preparing to go. 
 
 "Hold on one second, Mr. Eichard," said the 
 fisherman; "what is the matter with Mr. Thomp- 
 son ? He come straining by me like he wan't 
 caring if ho killed his horse or broke his own 
 neck." 
 
 "They were his negroes who were running away," 
 replied Alloway, and commending the loquacions 
 fisherman to a more appreciative audience, he and 
 
wooDLOUEXi:. 205 
 
 Carleton were off again on tlie wings of the wind. 
 They separated at the road leading to AVoodbourne, 
 Alloway proceeding directly to Bonhill. 
 
 The day was now far spent; 'Mr. Graeme was 
 not. long returned from his usual ride. Discarding 
 ceremony, the young man rushed into his presence 
 and, thrusting the letter into his hand, exclaimed: 
 "For Heaven's sake, Mr. Graeme, tell me quickly 
 what news is in it." 
 
 The good gentleman stared at his excited neigh- 
 bor as if he thought he had surely ^'fjane gyte;'^ but 
 he was so completely knocked off his balance as to 
 be incapable of resenting the indecorous proceeding. 
 Hastily breaking the seal, he ran his eye over the 
 letter in search of the explanation of this un- 
 gracious intrusion on his privacy. Suddenly his 
 manner changed; he became fearfully agitated, and 
 his countenance betrayed a variety of indescribable 
 emotions. Eecovering his habitual self-control by a 
 strong effort, he slowly and attentively reperused 
 the letter, and, having done so, remained some 
 minutes in deep thought. Then he rose from his 
 chair, and, turning to Alloway, said in a calm and 
 decided tone: ^'Bide here a time, Eichard, lad; 
 aiblins ye might wish to speak a word wi' Lucy; 
 but ye maunna be ganging hame before my return 
 frae Clifton;" and before his visitor could utter a 
 vrord in reply, he snatched up his hat and cane 
 and left the room. In the hall he met his daughter, 
 to whom he communicated something in a low, 
 earnest tone, and ere another hour elapses, he is 
 seen in close conference with Mary Littleton and 
 her father. 
 
 18 
 
CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 HOEOUGHLY yrorn down by the day's 
 rough ^YOl% Carleton as soon as lie reached 
 Y\'oodbonrne threw himself to rest on the 
 settle in the library. "Well," said he, 
 "this beats cock-fightiDg out of sight, as Bob Tem- 
 ple would say, and fox-hunting, too, from the way 
 my limbs aclie ; just enough of the flavor of vil- 
 lainy to give it relish. AVhat can that rascally 
 skipper be up to? Mary Littleton's fiancee has de- 
 camped, too; the old, sorrowful story; it's a sad 
 business; yet, what's the loss of one lover to a 
 girl who has a pack of them that will come at 
 her whistle? AVho knows that it may not yet be 
 my turn? Pshal I verily believe I am getting to 
 be as big a ninny as the rest of them. Amour tii 
 pcrdis Troie! A deep saying that of the divine 
 Pascal; there's indeed no guessing what would have 
 happened to the human family had Madam Cleo- 
 patra's nose been a little shorter. Heigh hoi This 
 is excellent sport for the piping times of peace; 
 but it is not the way to purge these English hence. 
 Shame upon the whole tribe of lusty 
 
 <20G) 
 
 young fel- 
 
wooDBOunXE. 207 
 
 lows, myself among the number, to be dancing 
 attendance here on a pair of black or blue eyes, or 
 else galloping over the country after hounds and 
 liorn, when they should be in the trenches at 
 Boston with muskets in their hands. But Rome 
 was not built in a day; neither can a cavalry 
 company be recruited and equipped for service in 
 the twinkling of an eye. I have gained one im- 
 portant point. Alloway has engaged to help me, 
 and he is a tower of strength. I have always en- 
 tertained a warm regard for Dick's amiable quali- 
 ties, but I had no conception before of the amount 
 of good, stern stuff that Avas in him. Bold, alert, 
 sharp-sighted and strong-limbed, he is a born stark 
 trooper. I wish I had a hundred just like him 
 enlisted for the war and determined to fight to the 
 bitter end.'' With which patriotic aspiration his 
 soliloquy ended, and another minute he was fast 
 locked in the embrace of the drowsy god. 
 
 He had been scarcely an hour asleep before he 
 was awakened by the entrance of a visitor. It was 
 the young lawyer. He, too, sliowed evident signs 
 of having been considerably jostled from his usual 
 placid and sedate demeanor. 
 
 **A11 alone, Harry?" he exclaimed, barely giving 
 Carleton time to say good morning. *' Where's Allo- 
 way? What's all the muss about? The whole 
 country is up in arms, but devil a soul can tell 
 what it means. Dick, they say, is in the secret; 
 where can I find him?" 
 
 Here James, v/ho had ushered in Mr. Copland, 
 explained the cause of his master's detention at 
 Bonhill. 
 
208 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 "But lie must have told you eveiTtbing, Harry; 
 that's the next best eTidence. Tell me, now, the 
 exact truth of the matter ; I haye had enough of 
 Temple's palaver." 
 
 "What I know is soon told," replied Carleton. 
 ''It seems that this Captain Dent, with what mo- 
 tive is beyond conjecture, has abducted old Mr. 
 Thompson's foster-son, and it is moreover surmised 
 by some people that a certain foreign adventurer, 
 in whom a lady acquaintance of ours is said to be 
 interested, h:id a hand in the nefarious transaction." 
 
 Co2)Ja?icl — "The Frenchman? Why, Bob Temple 
 just now informed me that he and Miss Littleton 
 were engaged to be married." 
 
 Harry. — " The tattling coxcomb I What does he 
 know about it?" 
 
 Cojjland, — "'Xext to nothing, I am well satisfied, 
 and therefore I shall have to call a more reliable 
 and better informed witness. Come to the book, 
 Harry. I must have the truth, the whole truth 
 and nothing but the truth concerning that little 
 tete-a-tete last night." 
 
 Evidently Carleton was not in a humor to relish 
 his friend's bantering tone. He had suddenly lapsed 
 into gravity. "Xo offence, Charley," he said, "but 
 I must insist on dropping the subject ; it sounds 
 so nnfeeling — our jesting — considering the turn 
 things have taken. What you have heard is very 
 true; they are betrothed. Dick Alloway had the 
 assurance from Miss Littleton's own lips -this morn- 
 ing. Why he went away on the vessel I cannot 
 divine; but of one thing I have no manner of 
 doubt — he is not implicated in the kidnapping 
 aS-iir." 
 
^VOODEOURNE. 20[) 
 
 Copland. — "It is a pretty case, Harry, and my 
 professional acumen is greatly piqued; but since 
 you wisli it, I will forego tlie examination for the 
 present. Gone, eh? taken French leave! What was 
 the tune we were dancing to last night ? * Mal- 
 brook has gone to the wars.' A thousand pardons, 
 Harry; what was you going to say?" 
 
 Harry. — "Having dismissed that disagreeable topic, 
 tell me what is the news abroad. I did not have 
 a chance to question you at the party last night." 
 
 Copland. — "My intelligence is summed up in one 
 vrord — war; they mean to lick us into terms if 
 they can. Such is the pronounced purpose of the 
 Ministry, and the body of the people applaud it. 
 During my three years' stay in London I was a 
 close observer, and read with care the real exposi- 
 tors of public sentiment. The secret of Lord 
 Chatham's popularity and influence lay in the unex- 
 ampled success of his war policy, conducted as it 
 was with such wonderful spirit and energy. The 
 results added immensely to the British possessions, 
 and placed the nation on the pinnacle of power 
 and greatness. The land resounded with the lo 
 Triomplie of the Great Commoner, the people's idol, 
 a very god, — and what was of more importance to 
 us, the sincere friend of America, inflexibly opposed 
 to every scheme tending to subject us to unright- 
 eous burthens. The jubilee over, the day for audit- 
 ing arrives — the remorseless piper presents his bill. 
 Lo, the budget foots up the enormous sum of 
 £U0,000,000— the whole of it spent by Lord Chat- 
 ham in his glorious campaigns. He is naturally 
 looked to for suggesting the way to pay it; but 
 
 18* 
 
210 WOODBOUENE. 
 
 he IS no financier; sncli driidgery is beneath the 
 notice of a great statesman; he turns the business 
 over to liis brother-in-Law, Granville. That minister 
 tries the okl-fashioned plan. 'New duties, imposts 
 and excises are the order of the day. The country 
 is in a ferment of indignation; the cities grow riot- 
 ous, and Ciderland, especially, is ready to raise the 
 standard of open rebellion. In despair, ministers 
 resort to the colonies for help. These, they say, 
 have been the sole gainers by the war, have been 
 saved from the tender mercies of tomahawk and 
 scalping-knife by British valor; they must foot the 
 bill. The colonies flare up, " and their attitude 
 creates alarm among the merchant princes of Lon- 
 don, Liverpool and Bristol. Granville points to the 
 war-budget of his predecessor, and demands to know 
 where he is to get money to meet the deficit in 
 the treasury. Pitt retorts with a humorous sally, 
 but the * Gentle Shepherd ' is not so easily laughed 
 out of court. lie reiterates the signiflcant question, 
 and sober business men realize its grave importance. 
 It is plain to them that every source of legitimate 
 revenue must be tapped or the credit of the nation 
 will be irretrievably damaged. Thus the question of 
 the right to tax the colonies became the one absorb- 
 ing theme of parliamentary debate and popular 
 agitation. In proportion to our earnestness in pro- 
 testing against the outrage, did public opinion in 
 England manifest itself in favor of the King's de- 
 termination to make the experiment, and now the 
 nation as a whole is, in my judgment, fully pre- 
 pared to support the most vigorous measures the 
 administration may devise for our subjugation. You 
 
WOODBOURXE. 211 
 
 can't imagine how contemptuously they speak of 
 lis. I was mad enough to fight a hundred times 
 before I left London, but managed to keep my 
 temper from getting the better of my discretion/' 
 
 Harry. — ''What you say corroborates Mr. Arthur 
 Lee's opinion in a recent letter to my father. 
 Well, I, for one, do not regret the course events 
 have taken. With my good old preceptor, Dr. 
 Witherspoon, I believe the people of America are 
 not only ripe for independence but rotting. It is 
 too late now for the government to retrace its steps. 
 Our terms have risen since the guns opened on 
 Boston. We can be satisfied with nothing less than 
 the unequivocal renunciation of the right to tax us 
 against our consent, and guaranteeing to us by 
 irrepealable grants local home government, involving 
 the retrenchment of the executive functions of vice- 
 regents, and an increase of legislative authority in 
 the provincial assemblies. In a word, we must 
 have all and singular the privileges, immunities 
 and franchises of English subjects. These they are 
 not likely to give, and the end is foreseen. To 
 your tents, Israel ! " 
 
 Copland. — ''Why, Harry, you are an improved 
 edition of Xat Bacon." 
 
 Harry (enthusiastically). — "You could not pay 
 me a dearer compliment. Bacon fired the first gun 
 for American liberty; may it be my glorious privi- 
 lege to shoot the last mother's son of its enemies." 
 
 Copland (professional caution could not stand be- 
 fore the fiery zeal of his companion). — '*You are a 
 trump, Harry," he warmly replied. "Still I cannot 
 h:dp wishing the crisis had been put off until I 
 
212 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 had finished the round of the inns of courts. 
 However, tliat's no great matter; this revohition, if 
 it succeeds, will make many sweeping changes in 
 the principles and practices of the common law, 
 and I may have to unlearn half I know at present. 
 But who have we here?" 
 
 It was another visitor come to learn the exact 
 particulars of that astounding outrage. Soon another 
 and another arrived in breathlesss haste. The 
 exciting news had flown far and wide over the 
 country; tlie untiring "postman" was in his ele- 
 ment, doing yeoman service and sending the intelli- 
 gence with lightning speed in every direction. 
 Gathering volume as it passed from mouth to 
 mouth, it at last swelled into the most extravagant 
 dimensions, past all whooping, and rumor after 
 rumor of the most absurd description glided swim- 
 mingly along on the top wave of popular credulity 
 to the remotest corner of the colony. 
 
 In no while Carleton found himself to be the 
 cynosure of quite an imposing assembly of indig- 
 nant young patriots, who were unanimously agreed 
 that it was high time to put a stop to such high- 
 handed and lawless proceedings. He improved the 
 occasion to harangue them on the abominations of 
 tyranny in general, and the grievous oppressions of 
 British rule in particular. The fruits of his glow- 
 ing phillippic were a round dozen able-bodied vol- 
 unteer recruits for the horse company. 
 
 It was aft^r candle-light when Alloway returned; 
 the company were all gone, and Carleton was again 
 alone. His host was whistling as he entered, a 
 signal which foreboded other strange developments. 
 
WOODBOUR^'E. 213 
 
 '' Here you are at last I '' cried Carleton, '• charged 
 to the muzzle Avith inscrutable wisdom, to judge 
 from your looks. Come, out "with it; I am heartily 
 disgusted Avitli this everlastiug game of blind-man's 
 buff." 
 
 *•' Blind-man's buff -with a yengeance I " replied 
 Dick, dropping into a chair and stretching his 
 limbs with an air of intense "weariness. "Throw 
 me the slippers there in the corner. What a re- 
 lief to get rid of these plaguey hard boots ; now I 
 am comfortable. "Well, Harry, we are at a dead 
 fault; the trail is as cold as a wedge — lost beyond 
 recovery;'' and, to give emphasis to the startling 
 announcement, he stared hard at his friend with a 
 visage that was comically blank and rueful. 
 
 Bewildered as he was, Carleton could not help 
 laughing. *•' Lost I " he repeated ; '' where ? in Mr. 
 Graeme's punch-bowl ? " 
 
 "In Chesapeake bay," replied Dick, with unmoved 
 countenance; "'the pirate has captured your mighty 
 hero, and away goes your little romance. If I was 
 not so sleepy, I would a tale unfold — •" 
 
 Harry. — "Xot a wink of sleep shall you have 
 until you tell me what you know;" and suiting 
 the action to the word, he locked the door of the 
 room and put the key in his pocket. 
 
 Dick. — "And shall I not take mine ease in mine 
 inn, Hal?" 
 
 Harry. — "' TVhen you have done with your pro- 
 voking tomfoolery, not before. Come, sir, the story, 
 the story!" 
 
 Diclc. — " Sheath your impatience, Hal. Will not a 
 song do as well? Captain Kidd, you know — 
 
 " 'And he sailed and he sailed—* " 
 
214 v\''00DB0UR]sri:. 
 
 Harry. — "I yerily believe you are tipsy in good 
 earnest. Your conduct is outrageous. Here I have 
 been the best part of the day — (Dick, sotto voce, 
 'As dry as a powder-horn,') — entertaining a score 
 or more of your friends and neighbors while you 
 have been — " 
 
 Dick. — " In better company. "Well, insatiable news- 
 monger, sit down and hearken to my tale, and 
 much may it enlighten you." 
 
 But highly as we respect Mr. Eichard Alloway's 
 powers of narration, we prefer to tell the story in 
 our own way, and in our ov/n good time. 
 
CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 His own. 
 
 i,^y?k,t X tlie Christian calendar, the Sabbath is 
 ^ the first day of the week. Of old, it 
 was the seventh and last day which the 
 Almighty Maker hallowed and blessed for 
 By the change it became doubly sancti- 
 fied, celebrating the victory over death and the 
 grave, and forever typical of the rest which is pre- 
 pared for the saints in heaven. 
 
 It cannot be denied that very loose notions at 
 this time prevailed in Virginia as to the due ob- 
 servance of the Lord's day, but with the exception 
 of that pliase of proiitnity more or less common 
 to every age and country since the Christian era 
 began, the people were duly regardful of every- 
 thing that pertained to the sanctity of religious 
 institutions. 
 
 It was Sunday, the last day of Carleton's proposed 
 sojourn at "W'oodbourne, and, judging from the signs 
 of the weather, it was the last, too, of that delightful 
 interlude of the seasons which, in this latitude, goes 
 by the name of the Indian Summer. The wind 
 was blowing great guns from the northwest; cloudy 
 
 (215) 
 
21G WOODBOURXE. 
 
 racks went skurrying across the welkin's foce, 
 darkening the sun and shooting cold lances through 
 shivering lights and livers, and the leaves of the 
 forest were falling thick and fast under the savage 
 flail of the tempest. Harry was sitting at the win- 
 dow watching the limbs of the great oak on the 
 lawn, as they swayed to and fro in the gale. 
 
 "I am thinking there will be a slim attendance 
 at church this blustering morning," said he, turn- 
 ing to Dick, who had just come in and was 
 toasting his shins by the fire. 
 
 "Xever you fear for that," replied his friend. 
 *' Between curiosity to hear the ^new-light' preacher, 
 and the desire to talk over yesterday's doings, they 
 won't mind the weather if the wind does blow. 
 Ugh! but it's a nipper nevertheless, right from the 
 Xorth Pole." 
 
 Harrij. — "It will be as great a treat to me as 
 to the rest of the benighted heathen hereabouts. I 
 haven't heard a good rousing sermon since I left 
 Xassau Hall. Mr. "Waddell is said to be a man of 
 extraordinary parts; he'll be sure to stir things up 
 from the bottom. You will catch it, you miserable 
 sinner." 
 
 'Dic'k.—''Fov what, more than the rest of you?" 
 
 Harry. — "Why, for your two notoriously beset- 
 ting sins — horse-racing and fox-hunting." 
 
 Dich—''li that's all, let it blow till it crack. I 
 do certainly love a line horse, and can boast of 
 tlie fastest to be found in the four counties. As 
 for fox-hunting, I freely confess that I am some- 
 what addicted to the good old gentlemanly pastime 
 which has come down to us from remotest an- 
 
WOODBOUR^-E. 217 
 
 tiqiiity, and which, by the bye, was especially hon- 
 ored by your mighty hero, Harry the Fifth of 
 England/' 
 
 Harry. — ^^I never heard before that he was so 
 passionately fond of the chase. "Where did you get 
 your information?" 
 
 Diclc. — "Xot from Shakespeare! Still it is a his- 
 torical fact. Why, did you never read the story 
 of his coming one day to see his darling Kate in 
 Paris with a fox-tail stuck in his helmet in place 
 of a plume ? What did that signify, I should like 
 to know?" 
 
 Harry. — "Eightly interpreted, it meant that he 
 had won the brush — that is to say, the wife and 
 her rich dowry of lands, chattels and heredita- 
 ments." 
 
 Biclx:. — "Anyhow, it was a royal recognition of 
 the glorious sport which has always been the pride 
 and delight of free-born Britons. The preachers 
 had as well be done canting about the cruelty 
 of it. "What were birds and beasts of prey — dogs 
 and men included — made for but to exterminate 
 pestiferous vermin and keep the world from being 
 overrun by vegetarians and herbivorists ? It is 
 ridiculous, past endurance to hear one of these 
 sleek parsons, whose paunch is with ^good, fat 
 capon lined,' and whose life is one happy dream 
 of green goose and chicken-pie, railing at the bar- 
 barous custom of destroying the poor innocent 
 foxes." 
 
 Harry (laughing). — "You are perfectly incorrigi- 
 ble, Dick. You wouldn't dare to make that speech 
 in Mr. Graeme's hearing." 
 
 19 
 
21S WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 Dick — ^''AYhy not? The old gentleman is as keen 
 a sportsman as any of us. You would be charmed 
 to hear him describe his famous badger-hunts when 
 he was a pranksome lad in Scotland. But it's 
 time we were getting ready for church.'' 
 
 In the midst of what was once a magnificent grove 
 of oaks and hickories, cedars and poplars, hard by 
 a spring of the purest and coolest water that ever 
 refreshed the thirst of man and beast, rises a ven- 
 erable pile dedicated long years ago by Christian 
 prayers to the worship of the living God. The 
 date is on the wall. It was built A. D. 1T06, of 
 bricks, they say, brought all the way from Eng- 
 land, hard enough when they came out of their 
 native kiln, but so much the harder for their sea- 
 change as to defy the ravages of old Edax Tem- 
 pus. It is in nnich better preservation than many 
 similar edifices in Virginia of much later date of 
 erection, and has undergone occasional repairs and 
 alterations from time to time. Some of these better- 
 ments had better been left off, in our opinion. A 
 new roof was indispensably necessary; but, alas, 
 the sacreligious genius of modern improvement has 
 gone inside and ransacked and disfigured at such 
 a tasteful rate that the original architect would 
 not be able to recognize his goodly handiwork. 
 Especially do we miss from its place the quaint 
 old-fashioned pulpit, with its overhanging sounding- 
 board, which, in the wantonness of juvenile fancy, 
 we expected to see come down like a well-fitting 
 lid and imprison the Eev. Thumb text in a living 
 tomb. Mayhap the dread of such a catastrophe led 
 to its removal. Outside everything speaks of ruin 
 
"\VOODBOURis"E. 219 
 
 and decay. Tlie wall, wlncli enclosed a space of 
 two acres, in the centre of which stands the 
 church, has crumbled to the earth in a dozen 
 places; the yestry-room is a dismantled wreck, 
 fragments of broken tombstones are strewn around, 
 and the frequent yawning hollows Avithin the pale 
 remind the passenger how soon he may be the 
 prey of dumb forgetfulness. The old church lias 
 seen strange sights in its day, and experienced a 
 variety of uses little dreamed of hj its pious 
 founders. In the war of 1812, as niciuy living wit- 
 nesses can testify, it furnished commodious quarters 
 for a squad of valorous militiamen, charged Avith 
 the duty of watching the enemy's war vessels, 
 which were constantly running in and out of the 
 river and sending tlieir barges ashore to set fire to 
 houses and hay-stacks. They performed their part 
 like veterans, if we are to believe the stories of 
 their prowess related by a surviving member; on 
 one occasion actually marching ten miles in a 
 single night, and reaching their destination in time 
 to cook their breakfast by the smoldering embers 
 of a once proud mansion, and to lire a volley — of 
 oaths— at the hindmost sloop-of-war now hull-down 
 on the horizon. Then it became by day a school- 
 house, where young ideas were trained to such ex- 
 pertness in throwing stones as not to leave a whole 
 pane of glass in the large mullioned windows; 
 and at night it served as a grateful couching-place 
 for beasts of the field, as well as a favorite roosting- 
 place for birds of evil omen. At another time, 
 within our memory, it was the debatable border land 
 of two fiercely contending religious clans, Avho well 
 
220 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 nigh came from words to blows in disputing their 
 mutual claims to rightful possession. And, lastly, 
 in the height of the late terrific contest between 
 the States it was again converted into a barracks 
 for the accommodation of a clioice band of self- 
 sacrificing heroes of the last ditch, who generously 
 forewent their share of the splendid laurels which 
 bloom on the perilous ridges of battle and beside 
 the paths of crimson glory, and were humbly con- 
 tent with the meaner sort that grew iu the neigh- 
 boring morass, iu which they found at once the 
 modest recompense of a soldier's reward and a 
 secure hiding-place from the insolent foe. Away 
 with mawkish whimpering and sentimental cant! 
 What is yonder ancient pile of brick and mortar 
 but the rude work of profane human hands, and as 
 for those mournful relics of the forgotten dead, 
 why, if every grave were covered with a stone the 
 surface of the earth would in no while become 
 one vast tessellated pavement of lying epitaphs. The 
 moral is plainly written: You must do something 
 more than "building churches," if you would not 
 have your name buried in the tomb of oblivion by 
 the next unvenerating generation. 
 
 Mr. Richard Alloway prognosticated rightly; there 
 was a large concourse of people of both sexes and 
 all sizes, and of difierent complexions of color and 
 creed, to hear the word expounded by that inter- 
 loping schismatic, as he was obstinately denounced 
 by the most bigoted churchmen. The i]l-natured 
 sneers at the Presbyterian preacher's expense only 
 the more inflamed the popular heart, which was 
 now thoroughly imbued with the sentiment of re- 
 
WOODBOURXE. 221 
 
 ligioiis toleration. The services bad not begun 
 wben our friends* arrived; it yet Licked some min- 
 utes of the appointed bour, and the minister bad 
 not made bis appearance. The greater part of tbe 
 male portion of tbe congregation, sheltered from 
 the blast under tbe lee of tbe church, were ex- 
 changing neighborly greetings and descanting upon 
 current news, prominently the exciting occurrences 
 of the previous day. Presently there is a -cautionary 
 whisper; tbe conversation ceases, and all e3'es are 
 turned upon tbe tall, spare, clerical-looking gentle- 
 man who, conducted by Lucy Graeme, walks quickly 
 across tbe yard to tbe side entrance of tbe church, 
 receiving, as be passed, the respectful salutations 
 of tbe assembly, which he acknowledged with gi-ace- 
 ful, dignified courtesy. A murnmr of approbation 
 betokened the favorable impression bis looks and 
 carriage bad produced, as follovring his example, 
 the crowd poured into tbe church until it was 
 filled to its utmost capacity. Xever before or since 
 was there such another gathering within those 
 sacred walls. Our description is taken from a letter 
 in the family archives, which says that the audi- 
 ence were '-'literally jammed, crammed and packed 
 like herrings in a barrel," — tbe writer, a bouncing 
 damsel of fifteen, having sat through the entire 
 services on her father's knee. Yet, despite tbe dis- 
 comfort, the most perfect quiet and decorum reigned, 
 and from beginning to end the preacher bad their 
 undivided attention. 
 
 Mr. AYaddelTs sermon vras appropriate to tbe 
 existing state of public affairs; bis text being the 
 tenth verse of the seventh Psalm of David. The 
 
 19* 
 
222 TTOODBOtJEXE. 
 
 one great leading proposition "was presented in a 
 compact, logical arrangement of convincing argu- 
 ments, and enforced by the breathed spell of genuine, 
 unaffected eloquence. The people of America had 
 invoked the help of the God of battles as their 
 only strength and rock of defence. On one condi- 
 tion only could they expect to obtain the deliver- 
 ance for ^vhich they prayed from Him ^vho "judgetli 
 the righteous and is angry with the wicked every 
 day." The discourse, so unlike in matter, style 
 and mode of delivery to any vhich had ever before 
 emanated from that pulpit, produced a profound 
 and lasting impression on the vast congregation, 
 and good Mr. John Graeme, overjoyed to see how 
 much his neighbors were affected by the "halesame 
 screed," could not have been more happy had the 
 sweet bells of Saint Mungo been chiming in his 
 ears. It was matter of becoming pride and grat- 
 ulation to his dying day, that memorable visitation 
 of grace, as he was wont to call it. The sermon 
 was such as might have been expected from the 
 wonderful preacher then in the vigorous prime of 
 manhood, who, long years afterwards, grown feeble 
 with age, palsied, sightless, yet all, more inwardly 
 illumined with celestial light, extorted a glowing 
 tribute from one who knew himself how to touch 
 with a master's hand the chords of human thought, 
 passion and feeling. The services were concluded 
 by a fervent appeal to the Lord of Hosts that He 
 would sustain and cheer the hearts and nerve the 
 arms of the people in the struggle which was before 
 them, and speedily guide them by the path of 
 victory to peace and freedom. The people went 
 
wooDBouEXE. 2:^23 
 
 fiway pondering deeply on -what they had heard, 
 and even 'Squire Littleton was constrained to ac- 
 knoTvledge that the "new-light'' doctrines were in 
 the main sound and scriptural, albeit there was no 
 good word spoken in behalf of his persecuted saints, 
 the blessed Stuarts. 
 
 It was observed that Mary Littleton did not come 
 to church. Lucy explained her absence in a whis- 
 l^QV to Dick Alloway; she had remained at Bonhill 
 to bear Mrs. Graeme company. As the congrega- 
 tion were dispersing Mr. Graeme drew his young 
 neighbor one side, and imparted to him a piece of 
 news which astonished him to an extraordinary de- 
 gree. He gave one prolonged whistle, and then 
 suddenly remembering where he was as he met 
 Lucy's surprised look, he blushed to the roots of 
 his hair, clumsily fastened the carriage door on the 
 skirt of the old gentleman's coat, and went to seek 
 his horse in utter bewilderment and confusion. 
 
 "Wonders will never cease, Harry," he exclaimed 
 when they were gotten clear of the crowd; "Mike 
 Burke has disappeared; gone in the night, the Lord 
 knows where." 
 
 "The mischief I" replied Harry, with an incred- 
 ulous stare. " How did you learn that ? " 
 
 "From Mr. Graeme, who had it directly from 
 the sailor's wife,'' said Dick. "He stole away in 
 his boat under the cover of darkness without a 
 word of Avarning, and left no clew to his inten- 
 tions save a piece of plank stuck endwise in the 
 sand, on which he had sketched with charcoal the 
 picture of a ship under full sail with a small boat 
 following in her wake." 
 
224 WOODBOUENE. 
 
 "Which means phiin enough that Mike has de- 
 serted to the enemy," said Harry. " He'll haye a 
 lively time cruising after the Katrine in this 
 weather. "Well, it can't he helped, and really I 
 don't see why yon should he so much troubled 
 about it in one way or the other. Your jolly old 
 sea-dog has as much right as anybody else to choose 
 sides in the fight; and having once served with 
 credit in his Majesty's navy, he has only gone hack 
 to his first love. That's my solution of the matter, 
 leaving out of view the probability of domestic 
 provocations too giievous to be borne." 
 
 '' He was well posted about the vessel's move- 
 ments," Dick went on to say. "She did not put 
 directly to sea as Ave supposed, but will run into 
 the Eappahannock to complete her cargo, touching 
 at Hobb's Hole and Merry Point; Mr. Osborn, on 
 winding up his afiairs here, having exchanged his 
 negroes with Col. James Gordon, of Lancaster, for 
 tobacco. The rascal could easily intercept her with 
 a fair wind. Conrad and Archie out of their 
 clutches, I wish they were at the bottom of the 
 ocean." 
 
 Harry made no reply to this wrathful explosion; 
 it was plain that Dick was in no mood for trifling. 
 He Avas both deeply mortified and sorely distressed. 
 Mike's shameful flight Avas the unkindest cut of 
 all ; it Avas the culmination of black ingratitude. 
 
 EXD OF PART I. 
 
I=»-A^IST II 
 
CHAPTER. 
 I, 
 
 III, 
 
 IV, 
 V, 
 VI, 
 
 vir, 
 
 VIII, 
 IX, 
 
 XI, 
 XII, 
 
 OOIsrTElsrTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 1 
 
 24 
 
 35 
 45 
 54 
 G3 
 74 
 SG 
 102 
 112 
 119 
 12S 
 
WOODBOURKE. 
 
 np.i^^'X' II. 
 
 CIIAPTErv I. 
 
 HE proi'ise tl:iy or year h not material to 
 remember, but it was within lialf a cen- 
 tury after the landing of Governor Cal- 
 vert's select company of immigrants at 
 
 St. Mary s, that the Manor House of D rose 
 
 majestic from its builder's hand amid the bound- 
 less expanse of dim primeval woods, whose sounding 
 aisles for the first time rung to the music of the 
 pioneer's axe. A bright pearl of civilization it was 
 set in the dusky brow of rugged barbarism. Soon 
 other sparkling gems appeared, clustering in daz- 
 zling array around that jewel of price, until the 
 lovely province was decorated with a diadem of 
 rarest beauty, and stood forth to the admiring gaze 
 of the world a very queen of unrivalled hospitality. 
 Many a changeful year has fled, and the stately 
 mansion still rears its head proudly aloft— a vener- 
 
2 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 able relic of a bygone age, rich in stori d memo- 
 ries, and eloquent of the prophetic vrarnings of the 
 philosophic sage whose wisdom was nurtured in the 
 bosom of its halcyon repose. Long may it continue 
 to resist the tooth of time and razure of oblivion. 
 
 On the eiening of the identical day our story 
 begins, tvro gentlemen were walking slowly backvrards 
 and forwards under the leafless elm trees on the great 
 lawn at D— — Manor. The one who is now speak- 
 ing we would ordinarily put down without hesita- 
 tion to be verging close on the meridian of life, 
 did we not happen to know that his years were 
 graciously prolonged a full score beyond the allotted 
 span of mortality. In stature he is tall, slim and 
 erect; his manner is remarkably grave and thought- 
 ful, yet free and unembarrassed; and his delicate 
 and refined countenance wears a habitual compression, 
 which is indicative of acute sensibility, nervous 
 energy and inflexible decision. He is plamly attired 
 in homespun habiliments, and altogether his dress 
 betrays the inimitable simplex munditiis of unmis- 
 takable gentility, being characterized by the scrupu- 
 lous neatness and faultless taste v.diich, whatever 
 the style or quality of the apparel, proclaims the 
 wearer to be a man of education and refinement. 
 His utterance is rapid and earnest, though he 
 never once gesticulates with his hands, which are 
 crossed behind his back, and keeps his eyes steadily 
 upon the ground, except when he gives an occa- 
 sional glance at his companion for approval of some 
 remark of unusual interest. 
 
 Although the other person is not arrayed in tlie 
 complete vestments of any particular clerical order. 
 
TTOODBOURXE. 3 
 
 his carriage as well as his garb sufficiently denotes 
 his priestly calling. His strong, square anxl mas- 
 sive frame, somev.hat disfigured by an awkward 
 stoop of the shoulders, is surmounted by a head 
 such as Eaphael or Leonardo di \ inci would hare 
 delighted to transfer to canva-^s ; age had touched 
 him with a kind and gentle hand; his lofty and 
 expansive brow was smooth and unwrinkled, and 
 there was about him a pervading atmosj)here of 
 mild dignity and cheerful benevolence. Him we 
 introduce as a personage whose eminent worth it 
 is our grateful privilege to celebrate — the pious 
 and learned Abbe Julian Soule, and the younger 
 gentleman to whom he is listening v/ith sucli def- 
 erential and pleased attention, is, as the intelligent 
 reader has rightly surmised, the munificent and 
 courtly ;^oprietor of that vast patrimonial demesne — 
 the illustrious Charles Carroll of Carrollton. As 
 they are engaged in discussing a subject in which 
 not only that generation but nati natorum et qui 
 nasccntur ab ////.*? are vitally interested, we take 
 the liberty of recording their conversation for the 
 benefit of whom it may concern. 
 
 "I have informed your reverence,'' said Mr. Car- 
 roll, '-'of the purport of Mr. Carleton's latest com- 
 munication. It fully confirms the views you have 
 expressed as the deliberate result of your own brief 
 but penetrating observation. You have discovered 
 the exact posture of affairs. Virginia is now fully 
 prepared to move in the matter, and the others, 
 rest assured, will not hesitate to follow her lead. 
 My friend Graves will soon see it was in no spirit 
 of bravado that I wrote him that the bayonet was 
 
4 WOOUBOUEXE. 
 
 the only solution of the difficulties between Great 
 Britain and her colonies, and that in appealing to 
 the dread arbiter, we were resolved, at whatever 
 cost of blood and treasure, to be a free and inde- 
 pendent people. And now conies the momentous 
 question, when our independence is assured, as it 
 undoubtedly vv^ill be, Avhat shall we do to preserve 
 and perpetuate its blessings? Already I feel the 
 strong undertow of popular feeling and sentiment 
 which is bearing ns irresistibly away from the 
 ancient landmarks, forms and precedents, which have 
 heretofore been in our eyes the guides and tests of 
 political orthodoxy. We shall soon be adrift on 
 the tempestuous sea of experiment, and who will 
 be our pilot in so great extremity of peril? I 
 have pondered the subject long and anxiously, and 
 have carefully compared opinions with the most 
 prominent and influential citizens of other States. 
 There is little variance among them concerning the 
 proposed new system of government; but a motley 
 multitude of discrepancies and incongruities appear 
 when they come to discuss essential matters of 
 detaih Some honest folks are possessed with such 
 extreme horrcr of tyranny that if they had their 
 way they would reduce government to the merest 
 shadow of authority, Avliile others are so infatuated 
 with liberty and equality that they seem recklessly 
 disposed to carry the majority rule to the excess 
 of folly and madness. In my judgment, property 
 should be, under all circumstances and at all times, 
 the main care of the law-giver. Life and liberty 
 are in little danger of molestation in a community 
 where every man is free to pursue his chosen path 
 
WOODBOURKE. 5 
 
 to happiness, and Y>-here all are alike amenable to 
 punitive justice. To protect the garners of industry 
 and the acquisitions of labor and skill, and to 
 guard the sacred domain of virtue and intelligence 
 from the rapacity and profimation of the many- 
 headed monster, as well as to prevent the concen- 
 tration of power in privileged hands, and the for- 
 mation of those insidious combinations of cupidity 
 and craft by which the few are aggrandized at the 
 expense of the many, should be the prime end and 
 aim of every well-ordered society. Theories of free 
 government are as plenty as blackberries, but im- 
 posing declarations of natural rights, formularies of 
 abstract principles, concatenations of self-e^-ident 
 propositions, sage aphorisms and pithy maxims culled 
 from Plato and Aristotle, from Sydney and Locke, 
 only serve for the themes of ephemeral essays and 
 sophomoric declamation, fit to exercise the various 
 talents of ingenuous youth at college. It is the 
 highest .visdom to know how to adjust the nice 
 balance of constitutional government, and to affix 
 the boundaries of each order and degree in the 
 social scale, and to ascertain what amount of indi- 
 vidual right is compatible with the sacredness of 
 property and the security of the commonwealth. 
 Equality before the law, we have been told since 
 Solon's time, is the corner-stone of the structure of 
 popular free government; certainly it is the golden 
 rule of even-handed justice. But from the exam- 
 ples we have already had of its practical enforce- 
 ment, we may well exclaim, SiJiil est tarn inequale 
 quam equalitas ipsa! Who shall ordain the law? 
 Who give it the awful sanction of omnipotent 
 1* 
 
6 WOODIiOURyE. 
 
 authority? "Who shall be responsible for its impar- 
 tial execution? The State — the body civil and pol- 
 itic, the social organism, of whom shall it be com- 
 posed? Of -what materials shall the fabric of reg- 
 ulated republican liberty be built, and on what 
 foundations shall it rest in order that it may not 
 only appear fair and comely iu all its proportions, 
 but be strong and durable, capable of resisting the 
 rudest shocks of domestic yiolence and foreign 
 aggression? Are we destined to behold the soul- 
 informed body and express image of the greatest 
 of temporal blessings, or is tlie darling object of 
 our desires, after all, but the philosopher's stone, 
 and we a miserable set of deluded alchemists? 
 These questions are not the idle babblings of 
 unprofitable speculation; they furnish food for anx- 
 ious rumination to the wisest and best men in our 
 land. On the solution of the problem, they sug- 
 gest hang the vast concerns of a nation's eter- 
 nal weal or woe. With the light of experience to 
 guide us, we may have no difficulty in finding 
 the pathway to national freedom and glory; the 
 trouble will be how to keep it, and this is the 
 point on which the history of the human race does 
 not throw the light of encouraging hope. After 
 all, the French philosopher may be in the right; 
 democracy may do well enough for U7i 2^^^^P^^ ^^^ 
 dieuxj it is too perfect for men. Pardon my tire- 
 some efi'usion, but I am speaking out of the abun- 
 dance of my heart, which is as full of the subject 
 as an ^^g is of meat." 
 
 "And I," replied Father Soule, ''have been weigh- 
 ing seriously every word you have spoken. It is, 
 
WOODBOUr.XE. 7 
 
 indeed, as yon say, my £on, a mighty theme, preg- 
 nant with momentous consequences to the whole 
 Imman race. In tliis movement, the great problem 
 which has exercised the talents and prompted the 
 prayers of good men in every age, is destined to 
 find a solution. My faith in the ultimate success 
 of your experiment is unbounded. The Jehovah 
 Himself wiil be your guide and shield in the dark 
 night on the stoi'my main; He, in His own good 
 time, will conduct you safely to the haven of peace 
 and joy. My whole life has been devoted to watch- 
 ing the tide of political events in the Old "World. 
 I have seen ami felt with poignant sorrow the 
 incurable wrongs, the unmixed evils, the appalling 
 calamities of despotic misrule. During the whole 
 of the last adulterous reign, the throne of France was 
 the seat of scorning and blasphemy. Atheism and 
 infidelity usurped every place of power, and poisoned 
 and polluted every well-spring of thought. The 
 people were taught to regard the religion of Christ 
 as a sacerdotal imposture, to revile its ministers, 
 and to scoff at the mention of death and the 
 judgment. Life was a merry-go-round of passion 
 and lust; eternity un grand 'pexd-etre. The conta- 
 gion spread from palace and court to hamlet and 
 hovel. The entire nation was a feculent mass of 
 moral putrefaction. AVar and famine had done their 
 work of desolation and impoverishment, and now pes- 
 tilence is there — the terrible spotted leprosy which 
 betokens speedy dissolution. But that wretched 
 kingdom is not alone in its sufferings. For centu- 
 ries all Europe has been the theatre of cruel and 
 devas.tating wars between despots. The deep-rooted 
 
8 WOODBOrRXE. 
 
 disease of society there can never be cured until the 
 seeds are extirpated by the sharp knife and burning 
 cautery of revolution — frightful alternative! The 
 struggle cannot be much longer delayed. The em- 
 battled hosts of legitimacy and popular rights con- 
 front each other in fierce array, awaiting the signal 
 of deadly combat. Your contest is only the begin- 
 ning of the end. But it is natural you should 
 confine your thoughts to the stirring scenes -vyhich 
 immediately surround you, and to the stern duties 
 which the crisis imposes upon you and your com- 
 patriots. It is for sagacious and temperate states- 
 men like yourself to define with accuracy the plan 
 of the grand structure of representative government; 
 for me, 1 devoutly pray that my days .may be 
 spared to behold the coveted boon of liberty wrested 
 from the grasp of the spoiler, and all Christendom 
 hailiug the glorious achievement with acclamations 
 of delight." 
 
 TJie good priest spoke in his native tongue, with 
 a voice which Massillon might have envied — at 
 once full, clear and mellifluous. Seeing his com- 
 paniou to be listening with evident satisfaction, he 
 resumed his discourse. 
 
 ''There is always danger of the intemperate zeal 
 for popular rights being carried to extravagant 
 lengths, and every eff'ort should be made in your 
 case to keep the wikl flood confined in proper 
 bounds. You should never for an instant lose sight 
 of the great fundamental precept on the observance 
 of which hangs the fate of all human institutions. 
 The wisest of the Pagan philosophers taught, as 
 the first truth of his moral system, that to act 
 
WOODBOUllXE. 9 
 
 justly and well was to act according to the will of 
 God in public and private matters. Indeed, it may 
 be said that however erroneous, extravagant or 
 absurd its religious creed may apj^ear to be, tlie 
 political system of every great nation of the ancient 
 world had its sanction in the recognition of mari's 
 accountability to an overruling divine authority. 
 Piety and fear, religion to the gods, was the cor- 
 ner-stone of all legislation, and public infamy and 
 execration was the doom of him who derided or 
 scoffed at the national belief. Cicero merely em- 
 bodied a common universal sentiment when he 
 made tlie origin of law and source of obligation 
 to be the consummate reason and will of the 
 Supreme Being — Quamolrem lex vera at quo princeps, 
 ratio est recti summi Jovis. The American people 
 are an integral part of Christendom, professing to 
 yield homage and obedience to the only true faith, 
 by whose primal ordinances their conduct is regu- 
 lated in all the affairs of life. Thus the living 
 stream of virtue is fed from the fountain of revealed 
 truth. Christianity is the great conservative prin- 
 ciple of popular government, and as long as it pre- 
 vails with power over the hearts and consciences 
 of men, the]*e can be no wild disorder, nor inso- 
 lent anarchy, nor baleful spirit of revenge and 
 desti'uction. A community which has been brought 
 under its pervading influence, which obeys its 
 teachings and accepts its guidance, can be safely 
 trusted with the momentous concerns of rational 
 existence— is in a condition for self-government in 
 the proper acceptation of the term. Let it be 
 remembered that absolute sovereignty is the attri- 
 
10 WOODBOrRXE. 
 
 bute of God alone. To rule jure cliuuio belongs not 
 to the one man, nor to the many; neither to the 
 king nor to the people. Vox populi, vox Dei is the 
 blasphemous rhodomontade of the demagogue, that 
 accursed bane of free States and arch enemy of 
 rational liberty. Human ordinances, to be pro- 
 ductive of good, must ever recognize the controlling 
 power and direction of the Supreme Law-giver. 
 Man, abstractly considered, has no rights whatso- 
 ever. In the state of nature, so-called, he is no 
 better than the beasts that perish. He was created 
 for society, and is subject to bo governed in all 
 things by the rules of that primordial relation. 
 The very condition of his social being imposes 
 upon him certain sacred duties and obligations, and 
 in the faithful performance of them he finds the 
 guaranty of his rights and privileges as a member 
 of the community. The fabric of government, vrhat- 
 ever its form, must be built on this foundation to 
 be strong and permanent, and make sure of the 
 blessings of peace and happiness. In this sense, 
 the powers that be arc ordained of God, and it is 
 the duty of man to obey them as long as they 
 execute judgment with righteousness, and until they 
 are displaced in a lavrful manner. The doctrine of 
 equality as taught by rabid atheistical philosophers 
 is a mischievous heresy, subversive alike of virtue 
 and religion. The society which attempts to carry 
 it into practice as an essential principle is doomed 
 to inevitable destruction. It is not hard to ordain 
 a government upon a just and rational basis, oj^er- 
 ating through the medium of equal and impartial 
 laws, which assure to every one protection in his 
 
AVOODEOUrvXE. 11 
 
 true rights of person and property. The chief 
 danger to republican institutions lies in the wicked 
 instigations of designing demagogues, who are always 
 on hand to persuade the people that they are not 
 as well governed as they ought to be, and in the 
 restless and turbulent spirit of mimkind, eager for 
 change, and ever willing to lend an ear to sedi- 
 tious harangues.'' 
 
 Mr, Carroll. — ""What you have said vrell accords 
 with my own sentiments, albeit wholly opposed to 
 the favorite axiom of certain voluble descanters on 
 the rights of man. Yet, while in my judgment 
 these doctrines are of paramount weight, I have 
 never been altogether able to reconcile them with 
 the theory of man's capacity for self-government." 
 
 Father Soule. — "Morally speaking, mankind are 
 not capable of governing themselves; they feel at 
 all times the urgent need of help from on High 
 to keep them in the right way, to illumine their 
 minds and purify their hearts, and enable them to 
 avoid the snares and pitfalls of error and depravity. 
 But this fact affords the strongest argument in 
 favor of republican institutions. The very conscious- 
 ness of our oft-iniirmities, of the liability of each 
 and every one of us to bo biased and warped by 
 the instigations of self-interest, passion or caprice, 
 furnishes the most powerful incentive for the enact- 
 ment of such uniformly sound and wholesome laws, 
 and for the rigid execution of such equal and exact 
 justice as will bring the combined force of public 
 sentiment to bear in countervailing individual aber- 
 rations from the line of probity and rectitude. 
 Thus, as Montesquieu pithily remarks, "Ze5 ho?nmes, 
 
12 WOODBOUPtXE. 
 
 frippoiu en detail, sont en gros cle ires honndes gens.'' 
 It would matter little to the substantial good of 
 the State whether the law was ordained by the 
 few or the many, provided all equally participated 
 in the benefits of government. People have enjoyed 
 the highest blessings of liberty under the reign of 
 despotic power. Tyrants have occasionally recog- 
 nized and acted upon the truth, that the whole art 
 of government was the art of being honest, of doing 
 to others as they would be done by; but such 
 exceptions are as bright spots of verdure amid the 
 burning sands of the desert. There is nothing stable, 
 nothing permanent, nothing uniform or constant in 
 influence and action, save in the application of the 
 fundamental doctrine that the people are the orig- 
 inal fountain and source of all political power. 
 This, then, in brief, is the rationale of free gov- 
 ernment; the conservation and diffusion of all ben- 
 eficial influences in social life; the encouragement 
 and protection of what is good and profitable for 
 the State, and one measure of justice to all of every 
 degree. In the race of life, some will assuredly out- 
 strip others; to rise is the ambition of every rea- 
 sonable creature, the dead level of equality, of com- 
 munistic fraternizatiou, is impossible from the first 
 laws of man's nature. Of republics especially is 
 the saying true that, in the observance of degree, 
 })riority and place stands 
 
 '"The \\vA':y aal married calm cf Slates.' 
 
 "The postulate of self-government, in the just 
 sense, does not imply that every member of the 
 community is of right entitled to a voice in mak- 
 
WOODBOURXE. 13 
 
 ing and administering the laws. As a sincere friend 
 of democratic institutions, I heartily reprobate the 
 doctrine of universal suffrage. Xo man has a natural 
 inherent right to vote, any more than he has a 
 natural inherent right to a suit of broadcloth or 
 a chaise and four. The ballot is purely a conven- 
 tional affair, a matter of civil contract and agree- 
 ment, to be ascertained and regulated with refer- 
 ence to the vast interests at stake in the organiza- 
 tion of society, and the great purposes it is designed 
 to subserve. The fact that it is impossible to 
 drav»^ the line of suffrage so as not to exclude some 
 good and to include much bad material, is no 
 argument in liivor of raising the floodgates and let- 
 ting in the whole seething stream of ignorance, 
 indigence and vice. As well talk of sealing up 
 the sewers and conduits of the great city of Paris 
 because, in spite of the utmost care, heaps of filth 
 will accumulate in out of the way-places, and once 
 in a while some article of value is washed into 
 the Seine." 
 
 Mr. a^rro:/.— ''•' That, after all, is the veritable 
 apple of discord in our case — the troublesome, ever- 
 recurring, never-ending suffrage question. Already 
 some mad zealots are running riot with tlie insane 
 dogma of equality, and presently it will be gravely 
 asserted that every son of Adam is born heir to 
 an equal share of the earth's fulness, and entitled 
 to have his say in ordering and directing every 
 department of human intelligence. Of the two evils, 
 which is preferable, the compendious plan of old 
 Xoll's canting crew of errant saints, who were 
 given to decide all questions by infallible artillery, 
 
14 WOODBOURKE. 
 
 or tlie monstrous project of allowing, in vital matters, 
 the motley mob of the nation's patriots to find or 
 make the truth with yotes? Universal suffrage is 
 the sure forerunner of anarchy, which again is 
 only one remove from despotism." 
 
 Father SouVe. — "But surely these enthusiasts wdll 
 
 no 
 
 be permitted to have their own w^ay in so 
 weighty a business. From my intercourse wdth the 
 leading spirits of the coming revolution, I am per- 
 suaded there is an ample fund of wisdom, prudence 
 and skill among them to mould and fashion the 
 breathing form of that genuine republican liberty 
 which is in perfect liarmony with the natural order 
 of things, and which, confined within proper con- 
 stitutional limitations, is entirely compatible v>'ith 
 the largest development of national prosperity, growth 
 and power; with the accumulation of WTalth, the 
 encouragement of art, and the fair influence and 
 rightful aira^randizement of individual talent and vir- 
 
 O Co 
 
 tue. At least, let there be another grand experi- 
 ment made before the popular principle is con- 
 demned for a vain Utopian dream. Here is the 
 golden opportunity. In the Old "World the young 
 Hercules would be strangled in his cradle by the 
 united strength of ihe reptiles of arbitrary power. 
 In America he will be fostered and nurtured with 
 loving, vigilant care, and grow^ up into a giant of 
 manly might and beauty. His home is a land 
 flowing with milk and honey, on Avhich a gracious 
 Providence has emptied the horn of abundance. It 
 will be his fault if he does not reap the rich har- 
 vest of blessings, which, with prudent husbandry, 
 a diligent hand and a thankful heart, may remain 
 
WOODBOUEXE. 15 
 
 the inheritance of him and his children for all 
 time. "Wliat are those fine lines I heard yon repeat 
 this morning? They sounded in niy ear like the 
 voice of prophecy." 
 
 Mr. Carroll. — '-Bishop Berkeley's beautiful apos- 
 trophe. "What an enthusiast he is, to be sure, 
 about America. It is to be hoped that his poetical 
 vaticinations may not turn out to be as visionary 
 as his metaphysical disquisitions." Saying which, 
 he recited, vrith becoming spirit, the famous lines: 
 
 "Westward tlic course of emph'c takes its waj-, 
 The first four acts already past, 
 The fifth shall close the drama ^vith the day ; 
 Time's noblest oflspring is the last."' 
 
 "It is truly refreshing," continued Mr. Carroll, 
 "to hear you speak so hopefully of our great 
 design. Still one cannot help feeling solicitous about 
 it, when he reflects upon the fate of the free 
 republics of the Old World. To reach the goal of 
 our hopes, we must pass through the fire of revo- 
 lution, must feel the blight and scourge of civil 
 war. Escaping from the fiings of oppression, we 
 may at last fall a prey to the ambition of some 
 military chieftain. Men are ever prone to make 
 heroes and demigods of successful warriors. Gener- 
 ally speaking, it is the idolatrous worship of mere 
 creatures of accident and fortune ; always it is the 
 apotheosis of a slavish sentiment, the last degrada- 
 tion of true manhood and independent spirit. It is 
 an evil day for any people when the sword is 
 master of the sacred scats. There is no surer mode 
 of destroying liberty than the cultivation of a purely 
 military spirit among the people. Look at Rome, 
 
16 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 whose motto was ^TJhi casira ihi rcsjJuUlca,^ She 
 sent forth from her democratic loms the most fero- 
 cious, remorseless and imphicable race in history, 
 pursuing an ahiiost uninterrupted career of rapine 
 and shiughter, until they succeeded in bringing all 
 nations under their iroii svray; a people, as a late 
 writer happily says, who, while they were poor, 
 Yobbed mankind, and as soon as they became rich 
 robbed one another. To tlie last moment of their 
 short-lived glory, they never lost their insatiable 
 appetite for blood. The gcindia ccrtaminis of the 
 battlefield were tame in comparison v/ith the gory 
 delights of the amphitheatre. Fearful was the retri- 
 bution which awaited them. So it has ever been 
 and ever will be with those whose feet are swift 
 to shed blood, and who have not known the way 
 of peace.'' 
 
 Father SouVt. — '^But you should consider that the 
 military genius of the Piomans was the effect of early 
 habits and training, a sort of hereditary idiosyncrasy. 
 They were a colony of exiles and homeless adven- 
 turers, who, having obtained a precarious foothold 
 on a hostile strand, were compelled to rely on 
 their valor and strength of arms to maintain the 
 death struggle for mastery. These were their only 
 resources. The path of safety led to the broad 
 avenue of greatness. Victory after victory over sur- 
 rounding tribes inflamed the martial ardor, and 
 engendered an ineradicable lust for dominion and 
 conquest. Thus they became a nation of warriors, 
 knights and nobles, ruling by the sv\'ord, and suf- 
 fering themselves, for a period, to be governed by 
 certain arbitrary principles of military precedence. 
 
WOODBOURXE. 17 
 
 The patrician elemont kept its ascendancy until the 
 enjoyment of exclusive privileges made them inso- 
 lent and overbearing, and drove the commonalty to 
 seek redress under the leadership of successful gen- 
 erals of their own class. The civil broils that 
 ensued only intensified the burning thirst for power 
 and glory, and their arms were never more terrible 
 than Avhen, their liberties lost, they passed under 
 the yoke of imperial despotism. In your case, 
 when your independence is gained, there can be 
 no occasion for constant strife to evoke the demo- 
 niac spirit of warlike prowess. With a mere hand- 
 ful of regular troops, you will be able to hold the 
 savages in subjection, and you liave nothing to do 
 but to increase and multiply and replenish the 
 Avilderness around you; to cultivate the arts of peace 
 and fraternal fellowship, and adorn and beautify this 
 goodly inheritance, which to my eyes, that have 
 seen a large portion of it, bears the palm of 
 excellence over every known re2:ion of the habitable 
 globe." 
 
 Mr. Carroll. — "Defend it as best we can from 
 foes within and without; be careful to mind our 
 own business, and leave European powers to settle 
 the balance of power any way they like, so that 
 they leave us out of the account. But there is 
 another light, my father, in which we are to exam- 
 ine the subject. How will the revolution in America 
 affect the cause of religion ? ''' 
 
 Father SouVe. — "Your inquiry has struck a chord 
 which vibrates to my inmost soul; but it would 
 require a volume to tell all that I feel and think 
 upon that overshadowing theme. The Church of 
 
 2* 
 
18 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 Christ cannot be an indifferent spectator of the 
 widespread scene of desolation and "woe which T have 
 feebly portrayed. It cannot look complacently on 
 at the intolerable iniquity of rulers, causing souls 
 to perish by the thousands under the crushing 
 weight of misery and despair. As faithful stewards 
 of the mysteries and ministers of the mercies of 
 God, it is our chief duty to study how things can 
 be rectified, and never to relax our efibrts to ame- 
 liorate the condition of suffering humanity. To 
 accomplish a thorough and lasting reformation has 
 been the absorbing topic of my prayerful thoughts, 
 the exclusive object of my most strenuous endeavors 
 The conclusion to which I have come has been 
 indicated in what I have before said. The . potent 
 rem.edy lies in the emancipation of society from 
 feudal thralldom, and the giving a new and hopeful 
 direction to the current of popular thought and 
 feeling." 
 
 Mr. Carroll — ''"What of the proposed declaration 
 of universal toleration, liberty of conscience, or, as 
 the self-styled reformers call it, right of private 
 judgment?" 
 
 Father SouVe. — " There is nothing in that to alarm 
 the fears of true Catholics. The mission of 
 Holy Church is to save a world of perishing sin- 
 ners. She is not concerned with purely human 
 institutions farther than to exhort men to practice 
 the virtues of peace and charity and good-fellow- 
 ship; to sow the seeds of brotherly love and kind- 
 ness, and to prescribe the infallible rule of life, 
 which only can procure enduring public and pri- 
 vate benefits. The capacity to think, as well as the 
 
WOODBOUPtXE. 19 
 
 power to act for himself, is presupposed in the 
 plau of man's redemption. One of your greatest 
 writers says truly, that 'out of the rind of one 
 apple tasted the knowledge of good and evil, like 
 two twins clinging together, leaped into the world/ 
 And man is endowed with the faculty of distin- 
 guishing between good and evil, error and truth, 
 right and wrong. Yet, at the peril of his immor- 
 tal soul, he cannot remain a free thinker or a free 
 agent. He must, with humhle niith, accept the 
 guidance of one appointed teacher, and learn that 
 all roads lead to perdition, save the narrow way 
 along which stream the cheering rays of a single 
 beacon-light. To this being, groping in thick dark- 
 ness and ready to faint with despair. Holy Church 
 presents the heavenly boon of hope and consolation, 
 which is nowhere to be found except it be within 
 the hallowed precincts of her awful pale. Of the 
 civil magistrate she asks nothing but the equal 
 privilege which he accords to others — to pursue her 
 calling without molestation, unconstrained by such 
 impious laws as at this time disgrace the Province 
 of Maryland, making it a crime for a bishop or a 
 priest to exercise his functions in public. She 
 derives no power from prince or potentate; she relies 
 not for help on the arm of Cresar; she is not stib- 
 ject to the edicts of man; her charter is derived 
 from the one Lavr-giver vrho is able to save and 
 to destroy. In this day of her greatness, she can 
 laugh to scorn the impotent hosts which are arrayed 
 a.fcainst her, relying solely on the strength of that 
 wisdom which is better than weapons of war. Her 
 early trials and triumphs were fu Hilled as had been 
 
20 WOODBOUR^s'E. 
 
 foretold. Her mightiest struggles are ended; no 
 longer will she be constrained to use those carnal 
 instrumentalities to maintain her supremacy, nor to 
 trail her bright robes in the mire of political 
 intrigue and secular commotion. Henceforth her 
 ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths 
 are peace. Of course, the cause of religion must 
 suffer to some extent in the approaching trouble. 
 All the power of the Church will be powerless to 
 prevent the evils which are certain to flow from 
 the cruel wounds of war. "When the hearts of men 
 are set on deadly courses, their ears are deaf to 
 the appeals of Christian love and sympathy. These 
 are the irremediable concomitants of bloody strife; 
 we must look to the general result, which will be 
 more liberty, and a firmer and broader foundation 
 for truth and justice, religion and piety. We shall, 
 without question, be gainers by the complete sepa- 
 ration of Church and State, or, as its advocates 
 denominate it, the establishment of a Free Church 
 in a free State. It will remove one serious obstacle 
 from our path in the destruction of Anglican prel- 
 acy, and by giving ample scope for tlie v^'ranglings 
 and bickerings of heretical sects, it will hasten 
 the final consummation — a dire confusion of tongues, 
 the dispersion of vain builders, and behold another 
 monument of presumptuous folly and wickedness, a 
 dismantled tower in the midst of an arid jDlain. 
 But you will find the whole matter fully set forth 
 in my * Tractate on Infidelity.'" 
 
 Mr. Carroll. — ""Wliich I am now perusing dili- 
 gently in order to meet our adversaries in discus- 
 sion. Beyond the borders of our province. Popery 
 
WOODEOURi^E. 21 
 
 is still the nnvhead and bloody- bones of vulgar 
 prejudice and superstition, and even here the pri- 
 vate chapel is the only lawful place of religious 
 devotion. I agree with you, that as Catholics we 
 are not interested in the form of government under 
 which we live, excepting in so far as it is expo- 
 nential of a general creed, and that it becomes us 
 to cry as loudly as the rest, * laisssz sa lihertie ! ' 
 But there comes the carriage, and I have not yet 
 given you the letter for Mr. Arthur Lee, nor the 
 commission for your pupil. "When may I look for 
 you back?" 
 
 Father Sotd'c — "I caimot name the time exactly, 
 but I shall return early in the spring, unless some 
 unforeseen contingency prevents. My own business 
 abroad is soon dispatched. But I have grave mis- 
 givings about bringing that other negotiation to a 
 successful issue. France, with an empty treasury, 
 a disorganized and disbanded army, and no navy 
 to speak of, is ill prepared to provoke the ire of 
 her ancient enemy by taking up arms in our 
 quarrel." 
 
 Mr. Cdrroll — "Yes, it looks to me at this mo- 
 ment like an unpromising embassy you have under- 
 taken in our behalf. Yet, if we can manage io 
 maintain the struggle unaided for a short period, 
 assistance is sure to come to us from that quarter. 
 Meantime, God speed 3'our mission, and restore you 
 in safety to your friends when it is ended. Have 
 you any commands for me ? " 
 
 Fatlier SouJ'e. — "' Only that in my absence you 
 will assume the part of mentor to that truant boy 
 of mine. If report be true, he needs to be care- 
 
22 wooDBO cnxE. 
 
 fully looked after just now. You rcmeniber the 
 lines : 
 
 "Amour, amour, quand tu nous tiens, 
 On peut bieii dire : Adieu Dnulence ! 
 
 Mr. Carroll laughed 
 
 ^*I cheerfully undertake the office," said he; "the 
 more so because, as you are aware, I so warmly 
 approve his choice of a wife." 
 
 Father SouVe. — "I am heartily glad the affair meets 
 your approbation. Edward wrote me a long letter 
 at Philadelphia, filled with the praises of his lady- 
 love, which was quite as interesting to me as a 
 whole volume of the silly minstrelsy of *Langue 
 d' Oc.^ I made him no reply, for the simple rea- 
 son that I did not know what to say. To be 
 frank," he added, with comical seriousness, '•'matri- 
 mony is a sort of merchandize I know nothing about; 
 only the initiated are privileged to speak of its 
 * rites mysterious,' and to give advice to the novices 
 wdio seek admittance within its holy pale. I shall 
 tell my pupil that in this especial matter I have 
 resisrned the trust to you." 
 
 Mr. Carroll. — "I accept it with pleasure, although 
 I suspect it will prove a sinecure. In my opinion, 
 the couple are admirably adapted for each other's 
 society. He is certainly in no danger of losing a 
 particle of his zeal for the good cause. The fair 
 Virginian is as fiery a rebel as Mr. Henry. I hope 
 ere long to see them happily embarked 'on the 
 smooth current of domestic joy,' as my favorite 
 poet says." 
 
 They entered tlie house as Mr. Carroll was speak- 
 ing. In a little while the priest reappeared equipped 
 
WOODBOUHXE. 23 
 
 for his journey, and entering the carriage, was 
 driven rapidly away for St. Inigo's, whence he 
 intended crossing over to Virginia. 
 
 The liberal sentiments we have attributed to 
 Father Soule were universally shared by the Eoman 
 Catholics of Maryland. Of the noble Proprietary 
 of the Province, it has been justly said by Ban- 
 croft, that he was the first ruler in the history of 
 the Christian world "to plan the establishment of 
 popular institutions with the enjoyment of liberty 
 of conscience; to advance the career of civilization 
 by recognizing the rightful equality of all religious 
 sects." As early as 1648 the legislature of the 
 colony, on behalf of the people, proclaimed the 
 broadest toleration in matters relating exclusively to 
 conscience and the favor of God, and manfully did 
 their descendants uphold and defend the declaration 
 with pen and sword, with life, fortune and sacred 
 honor. And among the most distinguished men of 
 the Eevolution, no one was more thoroughly im- 
 bued with the generous and enlightened spirit of 
 free institutions, or had a more sagacious percep- 
 tion of the dangers to which they are constantly 
 exposed, and of the safeguards which are necessary 
 for their protection, than Charles Carroll of Carroll- 
 ton, the conservative Catholic statesman of Maryland. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 XD novr, old fellow/' said Carleton to liis 
 host shortly after dinner on the Sunday 
 mentioned in the hist chapter of the 
 first Toliime, '-comes the sweet sorrow of 
 parting. I will trouble you to have my horse 
 gotten — *' 
 
 "No, no, Harry," responded his friend, pleadingly; 
 "you surely will not desert me at this pinch. 
 Your folks can sj^are you for a day or two longer, 
 and I really must insist on 3'our staying to cheer 
 me up;- this wretched business has put me con- 
 foundedly out of sorts, as you plainly see." 
 
 "You are wofully in the dumps, Dickon," re- 
 plied Carleton. "I do not remember ever to have 
 seen you as much so. Try as I might, I liave not 
 been able to get more than a monosyllable out of 
 you for the last three hours, and you scarcely 
 touched a morsel of food at dinner, which I take 
 to be a yery alarming symptom in so good a 
 trencher-man as you generally are." 
 
 Diclc. — " I know I am not company for a cat 
 just at present; but I'll rally by-and-bye — unless 
 
 (21) 
 
WOODBOURXE. 25 
 
 you go awav, wlien I shall be downright miserable, 
 and no mistake ; all alone by myself, like John 
 Ford in the play/' 
 
 Carleion. — '• There's no resisting such a piteous 
 appeal as that. A queer figure you would cut in 
 a regular fit of the blue devils. "Well, there is 
 nothing of special urgency that requires my imme- 
 diate presence at home, and you know 
 
 •••I am not that feather to shake off 
 My friend when he most needs me.' 
 
 Enough; 111 stay, on one condition.'^ 
 
 i)/Vyl-.— •• AVhat is that?" 
 
 Harry. — •• That you answer the question I asked 
 you an hour ago."' 
 
 Dick. — *• Repeat it.'' 
 
 Harry. — '' What I wish to know is, do you really 
 believe that cock-and-bull story about the fellow's 
 being the boy's father?'' 
 
 Bid:—'' I hardly know what to believe, Harry. 
 I remember well the woman in whose charge 
 Archie was left — the old harness-maker's widow; 
 she has been dead six years or more.'' 
 
 Harry. — "But why did the rascal wish to steal 
 his OAvn offspring? What was to prevent his going 
 straight to Mr. Thompson and claiming the boy, 
 if he had an honest right to him?" 
 
 Dick. — •• Because in that case the Collector would 
 have been certain to demand confirmations strong 
 as proofs of Holy "Writ, and I imagine the fellow 
 was not prepared to give them." 
 
 Harry. — '•' Your friend Dent, it seems, is as deeji 
 in the mud as 'tother chap is in the mire." 
 
 3 
 
26 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 Dich. — "My friend? Why, I have never ex- 
 changed £1 dozen words "with him, although I have 
 frequently seen him at Mr. Ballantine's, and once 
 or twice at Bonhill. He is the most taciturn and 
 impassive human being I ever beheld ; yet his 
 manners and bearing show him to be greatly 
 superior to his class. Mr. Graeme, I know, thinks 
 highly of him, from whom I learned that lie enjoys 
 the unlimited confidence of his employers. He has 
 had command of that fine ship ever since she was 
 launched, ten years ago last spring. It is probable 
 that he connived at Archie's abduction, believing 
 the man's story to be true; farther than that, I 
 am convinced he had no hand in the matter." 
 
 Harry. — "Yes; but how about Mr. Conrad? Who 
 but Dent is responsible for his forcible detention?'' 
 
 Dick (wincing smartly). — •• That does look bad I 
 must admit, Harry. What it means I cannot for 
 my life conjecture, and when I asked Mr. Graeme, 
 all he said was 'I dinna ken, I dinna ken;' but 
 between us two and the gate-post, I am very sure 
 he knows all abotit it. He, too, has gotten to be 
 most provokingly mysterious all of a sudden.'' 
 
 Harry. — "His daughter, then, is as much in the 
 dark as the rest of tis ? " 
 
 Dick shrugged his shoulders, elevated his eye- 
 brows, and was silent. 
 
 " There is nothing left for us, Dickon," resumed 
 his sympathizing friend and pitcher, '-'but 'patience 
 and shuflBe the cards.' Changing the subject, that 
 sermon to-day was a rouser, and, by the same 
 token, I am reminded that, when at home, it is 
 my custom of a Sabbath afternoon to read a 
 
"SVOODCOURXE. 27 
 
 homily of some sort. Since 3'ou are not in the 
 humor of talking, I'll see if I cannot find a more 
 agreeable companion. What have you in the library 
 suitable for Sunday reading?" 
 
 DicL—" Ohy there is a host of orthodox gi'ey- 
 beards, get one of them and read to me — Attcr- 
 bury, if congenial; he is my favorite of the lot; 
 at least, the easiest of digestion." 
 
 Carleton went for the book. On returning to the 
 dining-room he discovered that his host had dis- 
 posed himself, doubtless for the better convenience 
 of listening, astride a chair, with his head on his 
 arms and his back to the fire. 
 
 Selecting such a homily as suited his own taste. 
 or to be more literal, such an one the text of 
 which struck his fancy, the devout cavalier, having 
 drawn his chair nearer to the window, began to 
 read aloud to his very quiet and apparently deeply 
 interested auditor. Besides having a full, rich and 
 melodious voice, he was a practiced elocutionist, and 
 did ample justice to his subject, pausing once in a 
 while, as he proceeded, at the close of a particularly 
 striking passage, to let it have its due influence 
 on his appreciative friend. Thus our vicarious 
 preacher went on from point to point of his elo- 
 quent discourse, and was in the midst of a most 
 searching application to the heart and conscience 
 of his fellow-sinner, when, to his amazement and 
 chagrin, Dick sprang suddenly to his feet, crying 
 out, "Eureka! I have it— just the very thing,"— 
 
 "Well, my pattern of good manners," said Carle- 
 ton, "I am truly glad to learn that Doctor Atter- 
 bury's excellent sermon has inspired you with a 
 
28 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 happy idea; of course you liavo heard every word 
 of it ? " 
 
 '•'Ten thousand pardons, my dear hoy," replied 
 Dick; '-I meant no sort of disrespect to the good 
 Doctor or yourself. I could not help it for my 
 life; it's just an utter impossibility to keep my 
 mind from running on yesterday's doings." 
 
 "And -what new project has the retrospect dis- 
 closed to your inventive genius?" inquired Carleton, 
 with stately courtesy, trying to look as he imagined 
 became a grave divine who had been mortified to 
 find that the good seed he had been industriously 
 sowing had fallen on a hopelessly sterile spot. 
 
 "The wonder is," replied Dick, "that I had not 
 thought of it sooner. You remember the stranger 
 I pointed out to you in church this morning — 
 sitting in Mr. Ballantine's pew?" 
 
 ""Well, what of him?" 
 
 "Why, this: he came down from Alexandria in 
 the Endeavor last night, expecting to get a passage 
 for foreign parts, and I overheard Mr. Ballantine 
 telling Colonel Littleton that he would have to 
 send him around to the Eappahannock in the En- 
 cleavor to meet the Katrine. Dent, he said, had to 
 go first to Hobb's Hole for additional freight and 
 another passenger. Xow, my plan is for you and 
 me to go too; there is plenty of time, the weather 
 permitting, for us to make Merry Point several 
 hours in advance of the Katrine; then, we'll land, 
 get a warrant from Colonel Gordon, who is a 
 magistrate, summon a posse to aid us, and capture 
 the whole ship's crew." 
 
 Carleton was delimited. "'The device is excellent; 
 
WOODBOURXE. 29 
 
 I'm your man," he exclaimed, springing up with 
 alacrity; "that is one of them, for had we not 
 hest carry a sufficient force along Avith us?" 
 
 " Xo," replied Dick ; " there's no time for col- 
 lecting it. ^Ye will have to hurry to get aboard 
 before dark. Mr. Ballantine will be shy of trusting 
 his vessel on the bay ; some of Dunniore's cruisers 
 might be lying around, and they don't let a sail 
 l)as3 unchallenged. "We shall have to creep out in 
 the night-time. Besides, if we made a stir about 
 it, he would know at once what we were going 
 for, and might not be willing to risk his schooner 
 in such a dangerous enterprise." 
 
 " Well, then, you and I will about it ; ' the fewer 
 men, the greater share of honor,' — but, I say, Dick, 
 we must not let the servants have a hint of it. I 
 luive a fancy to take all our friends by surprise." 
 
 "How, if we should fail?*' 
 
 "We fail; but screw your courage to the sticking 
 place — " 
 
 "0 bother your Shakespeare," said Dick, ringing 
 the bell. "Mr. Carleton's horse and mine, James, 
 and one for yourself, and be quick about it. He 
 will have to go with tis to bring the horses back; 
 but I can manage him." 
 
 Their preparations vrere soon made. On the road 
 Carleton remarked: "There is one thing I don't 
 like in your programme, Dick. Why say a word 
 to Mr. Ballantine ? He will be sure to suspect 
 what our design is after the commotion here, and 
 fall to questioning us, and how are we going to 
 put him off?" 
 
 "' Easy enough," said Dick ; " I'll tell him — which 
 
 8* 
 
30 AVOODBOrRXE. 
 
 is true in a sense, yon know — that yon wish to 
 go to Lancaster on pressing business with Colonel 
 Gordon." 
 
 Carleton shook his head. '' That will not pass 
 current with him. ILj is my father's general factor 
 in business matters, and he knows, as well as you 
 do, that I have none of my own in that quarter. 
 Being a gentleman, he would not directly impugn 
 your yeracity ; but in all likelihood he would say 
 to us, *You are welcome to go, young gentlemen, 
 on one condition : it is probable you will fall in 
 with the Katrine; if so, you must give her a wide 
 berth ; ' the long and short of it is, that tlie long- 
 headed old merchant is too shrewd a bird to be 
 caught by our chaff; he will have our secret out 
 of us before you can say Jack Eobinson." 
 
 " Then," said Dick, reining back his horse with 
 a crest-fallen air, " we had as well turn back.'' 
 
 " By no means," replied Carleton, eagerly. " Come 
 ahead. "We'll just take the bull by the horns — that 
 is, board the Endeavor from the opposite side of 
 the creek without asking the owner's leave or 
 license. The skipper we both know for a good- 
 natured simpleton; he is not apt to be inquisitive, 
 and if he does ask questions, we need not answer 
 them." 
 
 Dick readily agreed to this alteration of his plan 
 of campaign. In a little while tlie friends stood 
 upon the deck of the schooner. Slie was preparing 
 to weigh anchor. The captain, a mild-mannered 
 man and — rara avis of the un feathered aquatic 
 tribe — not given to swearing, was taken all aback 
 by their sudden appearance. "I'll agree to die," he 
 began, with his favorite expletive. 
 
^VOODBOUKXE. 31 
 
 " Surprised to see u?, no doubt, Mr. Braun ? '' 
 interrupted Carleton. ^'Alloway and I have a busi- 
 ness appointment with a party in Lancaster. By 
 the gi-eatest good luck we happened to hear you 
 were going round in the vessel, and made all speed 
 to catch you ; we are in the nick of time." 
 
 "But, Master Harrv, and same to vou, Master 
 Richard,'' remonstrated the skipper, '*iny orders is 
 most pertickler." 
 
 *' Oh, I understand all that ; don't give yourself 
 the least trouble ; we'll make it right with Mr. 
 Ballantine when we get back. There's not a moment 
 to lose; the wind is falling, and you'll need every 
 capfull. Up with your anchor, and let's be off, or 
 this gentleman,*' bowing to the stranger, '-will lose 
 his passage."' But seeing the wary skipper still in- 
 clined to debate the point from his muttering about 
 it's being "contrairy to orders," Carleton tore a leaf 
 from his pocketbook, hurriedly wrote a few lines, 
 and throwing the paper to a negro who VN-as passing 
 in a boat, bade him give it Mr. Ballantine. 
 '' There, sir," said he, Avith assumed sternness, 
 "that takes the blame, if any, off your shoulders. 
 I have assumed the whole responsibility of your 
 deviating fi'om orders." 
 
 Seemingly satisfied, Mr. Braun got the vessel 
 under weigh, and, coming back, conducted the party 
 to the neat and commodious cabin of the Endeavor^ 
 which had been fitted up expressly for conveying 
 passengers from place to place on the Chesapeake 
 and its tributaries. The young adventurers found 
 their comjmgnon-du-voyage to be another of those 
 discreet tradesmen from the ''land o' cakes," who 
 
32 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 had thought best to keep out of harm's way by 
 returning to their native clime until the advent of 
 better times for people of inoffensive manners and 
 speculative talents. Carleton in vain tried to entrap 
 him into a discussion of the one overshadowing 
 topic, the war with England. He put it aside each 
 time it was mentioned with polite address, and 
 finally cut the disagreeable subject short by the 
 pointed speech, that '"'when a lad he was fule 
 enough to be out in tlie ^o, and if the gude 
 Lord had forgiven him for that, he deserved to be 
 hanged and quartered if he was ever caught in 
 another such scrape." Seeing that they could not 
 get up a scene with the " false Thane," as Carleton 
 dubbed him, the cavaliers soon followed the wortliy 
 Scotchman's good example, and turned in for the 
 night. 
 
 How long they had been sleeping they could not 
 tell, before they were rudely aroused by a sudden 
 violent shock and tremor of the vessel, which well 
 niirh threw them from their berths. At the same 
 time there was a great noise, rattling of cordage, 
 creaking of bolts and stamping of feet on deck. 
 " She has gone about in a jiify," exclaimed Dick. 
 "What can it mean?" and he hastened to see. At 
 the head of the companion-way he met the skipper; 
 he was as pale as a ghost and trembling in every 
 limb. 
 
 "AVhat's to pay, Mr. Braun?" But before the 
 latter could reply, Dick's question was answered by 
 a blinding flash of light, followed by the stunning 
 boom of a cannon, and a ball went whizzing high 
 over them, and fell in the water a quarter of a 
 mile aliead. 
 
wooDr.ouKXE. 33 
 
 "We are iosr, Master Richard; it's one of them 
 chaps from below,'' said Braun in a terrified whisper, 
 as if he were fearful lest tliev migiit hear him 
 speak. 
 
 Alloway was soon joined by liis companions, Avhom 
 he in a few words made to comprehend the state 
 of the matter. 
 
 "'It is useless to try our heels, Harry," said he, 
 aside, to Carleton; "Braun is scared out of his 
 wits, and he and the mate are our sole dependence 
 among the crew. AA'e are in for it — there she goes 
 again.'' As he spoke another shot, aimed as the 
 first, came screaming through the frosty night air. 
 
 "Dovrn with everything but the mainsail and jib^ 
 Mr. Braun, and heave to; the next time we shall 
 catch it if we don't heed the last admonition. 
 There she is." 
 
 The dark outline of a large vessel was plainly 
 visible a short distance to the sotithward. Allowav's 
 commands were promptly executed, and as the 
 Endeavor vrore rotmd, the stranger passed slowly by 
 on her starboard side, within pistol shot. She was 
 close-reefed alow and aloft, ready for any emergencv, 
 and eviden'tly on the qui vive for passing vessels. 
 In a twinkling more, she hove to and lowered a 
 boat, which pulled swiftly straight for the Endeavor. 
 The day was just beginning to dawn and there was 
 light enough for our party to see that they were 
 in the Rappahannock, and immediately off the mouth 
 of {he Curritoman. Xot a word was spoken as thev 
 stood intently gazing at the rapidly approaching 
 boat. It was soon alongside; a smart young fellow, 
 looking every inch a true Englisli sailor, catching 
 
34 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 hold of the shrouds, bounded on the deck of the 
 Endeavor, and called out in a tone of authority, 
 " Who commands here ? " Then, regarding the group 
 who confronted him with a look of astonishment, 
 " \^Qg pardon, gentlemen,'' he continued, saluting 
 them respectfully, ''to whom must I make known 
 Captain Markham's request ? " 
 
 ''To either one or to all three of us; it makes 
 little difference, I imagine,*' replied Dick, to wiiom 
 the officer last looked. 
 
 "Then, I am instructed to say that he will be 
 pleased to see you on board the Afalanta.'' 
 
 "Decidedly polite, Harry; there is no help for 
 it; we'll have to go. Markham, too; that's devilish 
 queer." 
 
 "Rather more fun than we bargained for, Dickon," 
 replired his friend in the same low tone; "'but it is 
 exciting, nevertheless; let's see what it leads to. 
 AYhat say you, Mr. Hunter," raising his voice, 
 "shall we go in a body." 
 
 "I am minded to gang mysel', young sirs," replied 
 the Scotchman. "Ye maun do as ye loicke." 
 
 "Crusty old hunk I but he shan't be spokesman," 
 and stepping forward, Carleton said to the officer 
 ill waiting, "AVe have all concluded to accept Cap- 
 tain Markham's gracious invitation, sir. Come, Dick, 
 lead the way; you are Captain of our little craft 
 for this occasion. The Atalanta ! a fleet-footed 
 damsel she looks to be; the Eagle would be better 
 still, a royal bird, that "prunes the immortal 
 wing and cloys his beak." 
 
 "'By Jupiter," said Dick, "she is a beauty." 
 
 AVliat the subject of these rapturous encomiiinis 
 was doing thei-e will in due time appear. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 n^-^1 anniliilate time and space at his v.ill 
 y<^. 1^^ and pleasure is the immemorial priyilege 
 I &! fe^ of tlie story '»vriter. The obseqitious genii 
 
 ^ ^ of fancy come at his beck and call, 
 
 and ■v\'hisk him through the boundless ether oi 
 dreamland to whatever spot there is most urgent 
 need of his presence. 
 
 Whether George Graeme's love of Mary Littleton 
 was the spur of his ambition, or whether he had 
 found in the '"'last infirmity of noble minds"' an 
 incentive 
 
 "To sCorn delights and live laborious dtns," 
 
 vre cannot undertake to decide. Yet it is our 
 privilege to record the gratifying fact that at this 
 time the report of Dean and Faculty spoke gold- 
 enly of the profit the young Virginian was reaping 
 in the arduous and unflagging pursuit of his chosen 
 studies. lie had taken chambers in the college, 
 and here on an evening in the month of October 
 in that year vre see him in his cosy and comfort- 
 able room in graceful dishabille of dressing-gown 
 
 (S5) 
 
3G WOODBOIRNE. 
 
 and slipi^ers, and dishevelled locks, cf a someAvliut 
 pale and emaciated, thougli not dyspeptic frame, 
 and wearing upon the whole the unconscious air 
 and attitude of an earnest and grateful delver in 
 the mine of knowledge. 
 
 On the table in front of him was a pretty model 
 of Xewcomen's steam-engine, which he had borrowed 
 from the Museum, and from a paper of notes and 
 drawings spread out before him he was intent on 
 investigating the principle and practical result of 
 Watt's great discovery. 
 
 It was nearly ten years since science revealed the 
 v/onder to her favorite son as he was walking on 
 the Green of Glasgow, "at the point of the road 
 half-way between the Herd's House and Arn's "Well.'' 
 Unlike the Syracusan worthy, he did not straight- 
 way fall into an ecstasy of deliglit, but quietly 
 turned the matter over in his mind, and set about 
 constructing a simple model to explain and illus- 
 trate his invention. He was doomed for a season 
 to feel the bitterness of hope deferred; scientific 
 experts gave out that his engine was not worth a 
 rush, and he hvA a liard struggle to bring it to 
 the crucial test of fair experiment. But at last his 
 triumph came, and with it came the mighty revolu- 
 tion which has shaken the material universe from 
 centre to circumference. The genius of iron 
 strength has yiehled tame obedience to the will 
 of man, and ]iow mountain and valley, and hill 
 and plain, the unfathomable recesses of earth and 
 ocean, reverberate the stunning din of his mocking 
 song, as he scoffs at the pride of fleshly power: 
 
WOODBOURXE. 37 
 
 "I blow the bellows, I forge the steel 
 In all the shops of trade ; 
 I hammer the ore and turn tlie wheel, 
 Where my arms of strength are made, 
 
 I manage the furunce, the mill, the mint, 
 
 I carry, I spin, I weave. 
 And all my doings I put in print 
 
 On every Saturdaj- eve I '' 
 
 On the evening to which we refer, our student 
 had not long been occupied with his absorbing 
 task before he was interrupted by the entrance of 
 a porter with a letter for him. A bright flush of 
 joy put to flight the pale cast of thought from his 
 brow, as he recognized his mother's hand-writing, 
 and, pushing aside his work, he was soon buried 
 in the interesting news from home; — interesting, as 
 it proved to be, beyond anything he had ever before 
 read; for it contained the story of that motlier's 
 singularly-eventful life, of which up to this moment 
 he had not had the remotest intimation. This docu- 
 ment is, unfortunately, missing from our collection. 
 AVe have no recourse but to supply the deficiency 
 with a narrative compiled from other sources of 
 information : 
 
 On that day, ever-memorable in British annals, 
 in which the Chevalier Charles Edward, like a true 
 hero of Old Eomance, set out from Eome with the 
 stout resolution to make or mar the cruel fates, 
 an adventure which has been described with seeming 
 justice as one of the most extraordinary, splendid, 
 and hopeless ever recorded in history, there lived in 
 hermetical seclusion amono^ tlie fastnesses of Cum- 
 
38 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 berlancl, in Englaud, one Sir Ed^'ard Markliam, 
 baronet, third 'in regular descent, from the devoted 
 liegeman v/lio fell by Falkland's side fighting for 
 the King at Newberry. Early in life the good 
 knight, now well stricken in years, had heedlessly 
 blundered into making an uncongenial matrimonial 
 alliance. The affinities, as the saying is nowadays, 
 were all awry at the start, and the consequences 
 were unending disquiet, vexation and misery to the 
 high contracting parties to what the world usually 
 styles a very brilliant match. Fortunately, the 
 marriage was unproductive of fruits ; there was no 
 innocent offspring to be made unhappy in count- 
 less ways by the conjugal contretemps. As is cus- 
 tomary in sucli cases of incompatible married life, 
 there vrere two sides to the question; public 
 opinion was at the time equally divided as to 
 which of the tv^'o, baron or feme, was to be 
 ascribed the largest share of the censure so ready 
 to be lavished on either or both ; but inasmuch as 
 the tough old knight outlived his gentle Xantippe 
 (for such she really v\'as) for many a long year, 
 and never afterwards evinced the least hankering 
 after the delicacies of vredlock, it is not unfair to 
 suppose that he had discovered a venomous spider, 
 of the species tarantula, in his first and only 
 hymenial dumpling. He barely had time to felici- 
 tate himself on having providentially gotten rid of 
 his terrible domestic plague when a post came 
 from India with the distressing news of the sudden 
 death of the one being whom he loved of all the 
 world — a brother next of age to himself. 
 
 Frederick Markham vras bred a soldier, had fought 
 
WOODBOURXE. 39 
 
 with marked distinction under Marlborough, and till 
 wiihin a short while after George the First ascended 
 the throne he had spent his dearest action in the 
 tented fieid. A brave, disinterested spirit, he fol- 
 lowed the great captain to assured victory, and 
 thought of nothing but the glory of England, while 
 the welkin resounded with hosannas of praise to 
 the conquering chieftain — a thunderbolt of war, yet 
 a reproach to his race. Sharing in the political 
 sentiments of his eldest brother, he espoused the 
 cause of the exiled family from a conviction of 
 duty, because he honestly believed them to be the 
 legitimate sovereigns of Britain. His devotion was 
 not the offspring of maudlin sentimentality, nor of 
 designing ambition, but the outgiving of simple 
 loyaltv, of sincere, earnest and single-hearted fidelity 
 to principle. He saw his idol, and straightway 
 there was a miracle of undeification. Yet he could 
 not abase himself before th.e uncouth image of 
 kingly imposture that had been brought over from 
 Zell to rule in a country the most illustrious in 
 arts and arms of any in the world. Disgusted and 
 heartsick, he sold out of his regiment, and taking 
 service with the East India Company, sailed for 
 Madras with the lovely and courageous young wife 
 of the Campbells of Glenorchy, to whom he had 
 been a year before united. Here his energies were 
 wholly enlisted in farthering his own fortunes. In 
 the course of time he managed to scrape together 
 as much money as he desired, and was looking 
 anxiously forward to the day he had fixed upon for 
 his return to England, when the stroke of an over- 
 whelming calamity laid plan and projector prone 
 
40 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 in the dust. A pestilential fever, incident to that 
 climate so deadly to Europeans, yisited the place 
 of his residence, and claimed for its yictims first 
 the father, then three of the children, and, lastly, 
 the noble Avoman who had insisted ujwn sharing 
 her husband's lot iu that remote and inhospitable 
 clime. Tv\'o children were left — one a delicate boy 
 cf five or six summers; the other a girl, an infant 
 hardly a year old. They were brought home to 
 Eno-lund and consi2:ned to the char;]^e of their 
 uncle, Sir Edward, and well and tenderly did the 
 good old baronet undertake the pious trust and 
 strive to fill the yacuum in the orphaned liyes of 
 the poor unfortunates. He took them to his heart 
 of hearts, and made them completely his own 
 children. From that moment he had no thought, 
 no care, no aspiration, no hope, that did not centre 
 in them. And when they came to repay his loving 
 kindness with more than filial affection, the gloomy 
 donjon-keep of a castle in which he had been so 
 long immured was irradiated from turret to founda- 
 tion-stone with the heavenly light of happiness and 
 home. He had one other brother, from whom he 
 was separated by an impassable gulf. Differing in 
 every element of character, there was nothing in 
 common between him and William Markham but 
 the name they had inherited from the same father. 
 Of the latter person it may be said that he was 
 a shining example of prostituted talents— an accom- 
 plished time-server and supple court tool, who 
 recognized only one cardinal maxim in life, which 
 was the utter abnegation of all fixed principles of 
 conduct, and adapting himself with marvellous ease 
 
wooDcounxE. 41 
 
 to the ever clianging modes and measures of that 
 starred and spangled scene '*' where low brow'd 
 Baseness Avafts j^erfume to Pride.'' Possessed of such 
 versatile gifts, and Avith a rare genius for petty 
 intrigue, he rapidly rose in favor with the new 
 administration, and was employed in sundry lucra- 
 tive offices of a confidential and by no means 
 scrupulously honorable description. To the dis- 
 affc'cted party he contrived to render himself par- 
 ticularly obnoxious by his zeal and activity in 
 ferretting out the secret plots and machinations of 
 the Jacobites. It was in this manner that he had 
 incurred the everlasting displeasure of his brother. 
 Sir Edward, who, although far from being violent 
 and demonstrative in his general demeanor, was 
 nevertheless a staunch and conscientious adherent 
 of the opposition side in the great constitutional 
 debate concerning the legitimacy of the Hanoverian 
 succession. At William Markham s unnatural in- 
 stigation he had been harried and persecuted into 
 taking the odious oath which was prescribed for 
 suspected recusants, an indignity which he never 
 forgave, nor would he afterwards permit his tor- 
 mentor's name to be mentioned in his presence. 
 Thus these brothers became totally estranged, no 
 rare occurrence in those disjointed times. 
 
 So strict for many years had been his retirement 
 from the busy scenes of the outer world that Sir 
 Edward Markham was not advised of the quixotic 
 undertaking of the young chevalier until it burst 
 upon the country with the sudden shock of an 
 earthquake. From the day that the adventurous 
 Prince raised the roval standard of his fiither at 
 
42 WOODCOUIIXE. 
 
 Glenfjnnan amid the loud huzzas of the dcTotc-d 
 band, wlio 
 
 Wi' Highland bonnets on their heads 
 And claymores bright and clear, 
 
 Had come to fight for Scotland's right 
 And the yourg chevalier, 
 
 until, like a brilliant meteor of conquest that same 
 standard ^vaved proudly over the towers of Derby; 
 rumor upon rumor of his yictorious prowess and 
 enthusiastic reception penetrated the hills and 
 echoed along the valleys of Cumberland, kindling in 
 the old knight's breast the flame of ancient lovalty 
 and causing him to pray with redoubled fervor 
 that God would be pleased to give the rightful 
 king his own again. In his own person he had 
 respected the obligations of the oath he had taken 
 under duress, but at the same time he took pains 
 to instill into his nephew a deep yeneration for the 
 principles which had been the sacred heritage of 
 the Markham's from the blessed period of the 
 Restoration — with v>hat effect was soon made lament- 
 ably apparent. 
 
 Young Henry Marldiam, now in his twentietli 
 year and a student at Oxford, where he was in 
 no danger of forgetting his early Jacobite proclivi- 
 ties, took it into his head one fine morning that 
 it' was his imperative duly to tender fealty and 
 homage to ^•'hini they called the Pretender," and 
 not stopping to count the consequences of the rash 
 and irrevocable step, escaped the vigilance of his 
 tutelary divinities and posted away for the chev- 
 alier's camp. He reached it the very evening that 
 
WOODBOURXE. 43 
 
 Charles Edward, with a sad presage of the coming 
 catastroplie, reluctantly yielded to the determination 
 of his council of war and gave orders for the fatal 
 retreat. The scales of destiny had been turned, and 
 the feelings of the infatuated youth when his 
 visions of another grand coronation pageant at Lon- 
 don yanished in the air, may be better imagined 
 than described. Thus, in an eyil hour, had Henry 
 Markham attached liimself to a falling house and 
 was buried beneath its ruins. Asfain and ao:ain 
 has the inspired pen of genius celebrated the 
 romantic story of that one brief year of tumultuous 
 life in- the dreary career of oyerweening ambition, 
 and eyen the stern Xemesis of impartial history 
 has dealt gently and compassionately with the 
 chiyalrous leader of that wildest of forlorn hopes. 
 Sir Edward Markham was duly apprised of his 
 nephew's elopement from Oxford and of his sub- 
 sequent conduct; but as he was neyer heard to 
 utter a word in disapproval of the insane act, cer- 
 tain of his neighbors were uncharitable enough to 
 charge it to the account of his treasonable instiga- 
 tion. However that might be, it was soon pain, 
 fully manifest that he felt a vital interest in the 
 success of the bold adventurer, since in so short a 
 time as a week after he received the tidings of 
 the overwhelming disaster at Culloden Muir he 
 went broken-hearted to his o^rave. On his death 
 AVilliam Markham took possession of the estates 
 and baronetcy, and instantly began to signalize 
 his patriotic zeal afresh by the conspicuous part 
 he bore in wreaking summary vengeance upon the 
 helpless insurgents who had escaped the butcheries 
 
44 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 of the brutiil Cumberland. In liim the bloody- 
 minded Hawley and the hangman Howard found a 
 willing and able coadjutor in the congenial work 
 of decorating the Rikargate of Carlisle with tlie 
 hideous mementoes of civil strife. 
 
 His treatment of his niece was in perfect keeping 
 with his selfish and heartless nature. But tlie high- 
 spirited girl did not long endure his hateful guar- 
 dianship. She fled to Scotland and placed herself 
 under the protection of her mother's powerful 
 family, most of wdiom had ,'early given in their 
 allegiance to the reigning sovereign. Here she found 
 a secure asylum in the house of her maternal 
 aunt, V\'ho was married to a Hieland Laird named 
 Leslie. At her instance, she thenceforth assumed 
 her mother's name, for the reason that the one she 
 inherited from her father was associated with the 
 most agonizing reminiscences of bitter griefs, dis- 
 appointed hopes and relentless persecutions. And 
 it was here that John Graeme, junior partner of 
 the proud commercial house whose head was in 
 Glasgow, and wdiose members strewed the Atlantic 
 coast from Chesapeake Bay to tlie Spanish main, 
 came all the Avay from Virginia in search of tlie 
 noble wife to whom we have been introduced. 
 
CHAPTER lY. 
 
 5IpPEXDED to Mrs. Graeme's letter ^vas a 
 postscript from Lucy. After acrpTainting 
 her brother with such items of current 
 news as were likely to interest him, she 
 took the sisterly liberty of giving him some season- 
 able advice on a delicate topic — videlicet, that the 
 sooner he threw that luckless passion for a certain 
 young lady overboard the better it would be for his 
 l>eace of mind and prospects in life. To this subject 
 Sirs. Graeme had made no allusion, rightly conjectur- 
 ins: that Georo^e would find so much of new and 
 startling moment in her own memoirs as to banish 
 for the time every other consideration from his 
 thoucrhts. Waivinsr his sister's missive aside with a 
 suppressed sigh, the young man turned again to 
 his mother's letter, which he read and re-read with 
 the deepest emotion. It was no longer surprising 
 to him that she should be so much alarmed at 
 the imminence of civil war, and should implore 
 him to stay where he was until the advent of 
 better times. It has been well remarked that in 
 seasons of revolution it is often more difficult to 
 decide what is one's duty, than to do it when it 
 
 (45) 
 
46 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 has once been determined. So it fared witli our 
 young Virginian. Heretofore his mother's lightest 
 wish had been to him in tlie nature of a positive 
 cojnmand. In the present instance, it is true, there 
 was no peremptory mandate, only affectionate en- 
 treaty; yet he felt how devoutly her heart was in 
 the matter, and how sorely grieved she would be 
 if he did not do as she desired. But, as has been 
 intimated, he fully sympathized with his country- 
 men in America, and deemed it to be incumbent 
 upon him to take a part in the impending struggle. 
 In this dilemma he sat for some time immersed 
 in anxious thought. At length he arose, and rev- 
 erently folding up the interesting document, locked 
 it away carefully in his desk. Then, having arranged 
 his dress, he went out. 
 
 As he was passing through the college grounds, 
 still pondering intently on what he had been reading, 
 he was suddenly accosted with the question, "Going 
 into the city, young gentleman ? " 
 
 Looking up he found himself confronted with a 
 person in a clerical garb, who was scanning him 
 critically through a pair of piercing grey eyes that 
 peered out from beneath the shaggiest of brows. 
 The latter were as black as raven's down, though 
 his head was as white as snow. His manner was 
 abrupt, not to say dictatorial, as George thought, 
 yet he replied with a respectful salutation, " Yes, 
 sir." 
 
 "Then, perchance, you can show me the way to 
 Mr. William Hamilton's abode— of the mercantile 
 house of Hamilton & Osborn," said the gentleman. 
 
 "With pleasure, sir," replied George; "it lies 
 directly in my route." 
 
^'OODBOUEXE. 47 
 
 "Yon, if I mistake not, are the Virginian student 
 of whom I have heard," continued the stranger in 
 the same blunt, positive tone, as they walked on 
 together. "I have friends over there of whom I 
 am anxious to get tidings." 
 
 George. — ''I know most families of Scottish people 
 in Virginia, sir; may I inquire who are your 
 friends ? "' 
 
 iStranger. — '-Are you acquainted with the Wis- 
 harts?" 
 
 George. — '"Intimately well; they are my near rela- 
 tions." 
 
 Stranger. — " You are not a Wishart ? " 
 
 George. — ''Xo, sir; my name is George Wishart 
 Graeme, after an old schoolfellow of my father, a 
 fomous preacher in Edinburgh, as I have been 
 told, though I prefer to think it was after the 
 illustrious mai'tyr of the Free Kirk of Scotland." 
 
 Stranger. — "And you are a son of John Graeme ? 
 Xot like him; resemble your mother. She was a 
 Campbell, I belieye?" 
 
 George (vrith slight embarrassment). — "Her name 
 was Ellen Campbell when she married." 
 
 Stranger. — ''Had she eyer another name?" 
 
 George. — "Xot meaning to giye you a short an- 
 swer, sir, I do not think my family affairs are a 
 lit subject of conyersation with a stranger." 
 
 Stranger. — "'Very right; but I happen to know 
 much more than you think of you and yours. It 
 is truly a sad story; one of the many of that 
 wicked rebellion. And now there is another brewing 
 in America. I am growing yery uneasy about my 
 friends there. Are your countrymen all demented ? 
 
48 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 Can tliey dare to cope with the most joowerful 
 nation in the workl — tuey a mere handful of people 
 scattered over a boundless regi(5^i of savage wilds?" 
 
 George (with spirit). — "They have been forced to 
 take np arms in defence of their dearest rights as 
 British subjects. Their cause is just before that 
 Being who has said the race is not always to the 
 SAvift nor the battle to the strong." 
 
 Stranger (with sudden and deep feeling). — "Do 
 yon know what war is, young man ? I have seen 
 it in all its horrors — unscrupulous, relentless, all- 
 devouring Moloch. It foments all evil, is allied to 
 all vices and deformities; it riots in brute strength 
 and glories in destroying power; it raises the 
 wicked and profime to eminence, makes a pande- 
 monium of the earth, and drags its triumphal car 
 over the venerated relics of ages. It spares neither 
 age iior sex ; makes slaves of the weak and help- 
 less; its progress is marked in blood; it fills the 
 world Avith imprecations, misery, 'wretchedness and 
 despair. Of all its gliastly forms, civil strife is 
 the most abhorrent. Smollett's picture is not over- 
 Avrought, as I can testify." 
 
 George. — "It is indeed, sir, a fearful thing to 
 contemplate ; but the responsibility rests not with 
 my countrymen. Very different Avas your oAvn case. 
 What Avere you contending for ? — a choice betAveen 
 tAA'o — " he paused. 
 
 "Tyrants you Avere going to say," replied the 
 gentleman Avith a kindly smile. "You have nothing 
 to fear from me; but bcAA'are hoAv you let that liot 
 blood of yours boil OA'er in this city of trusty 
 liegemen. "Well, Avell, perhaps your countrymen 
 
WOODBOUIINE. 49 
 
 know best Avhat tlicir duty requires of them — the 
 issue is Avith the All-Avise One. Can you tell me 
 anything of one Davies, a Presbyterian minister, 
 president of a college in America?" 
 
 "I have often heard of him, sir," replied George; 
 '*'he has been dead many years." 
 
 The stranger received the announcement with 
 evident concern. ''He was truly a good man and 
 an eloquent preacher. I met with him on his visit 
 to Scotland, soliciting funds for his seminary. His 
 health vras then exceeding precarious. I remember 
 how much tickled he was at AVitherspoon's hit at 
 the highflyers under the ironical designation of 
 moderates, apropos of which I told him a pleasant 
 anecdote of an old covenanting preacher who once 
 said to his congregation: 'My friends, it is as im- 
 possible for a moderate to enter the kingdom of 
 heaven as it is for a sow to sit upon the top of 
 a thistle and sing like a mavis.'" 
 
 George laughed. "That's Mr. Hamilton's at the 
 opposite corner." 
 
 "Are you not going thither ? '' 
 
 "Xo, sir; my destination is some squares fiirther." 
 
 They parted company. The gentleman had not 
 thought proper to tell his name, and George made 
 it a point of politeness not to ask him for it A 
 short walk brought him in front of a large and 
 handsome residence. He rang the bell, and inquired 
 of the servant who answered it if Mr. Ballantyne 
 was at home. " He was at that moment gone to 
 Mr. Halnilton's," was the reply. Thither young 
 Graeme followed him. 
 
 " Here he is in the nick of time,'' exclaimed 
 
 5 
 
50 WOODBOUK^'E. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton, as George was ushered into a room 
 where a score of persons were assembled, eager to 
 hear the news which the ship just arrived at the 
 Broomilaw had brought across the ocean. 
 
 " Pardon nie, Mr. Hamilton," said he, '^ I wish 
 to speak with 3Ir. Ballantyne on pressing private 
 business.*' 
 
 '•'Xo need to apologize, lad; I was on the eve 
 of sending for you," replied the kind old merchant. 
 "I wish to have a word with you myself presently 
 on a matter of business. But first let me make 
 you known to an old friend of your family, and a 
 fur awa' cousin, I believe," turning to the stranger, 
 who was standing at his side. 
 
 "TTe have met before," said the gentleman, very 
 much amused at George's embarrassment, as he 
 took him cordially by the hand. ^^I am the name- 
 sake of whom you are nowise proud, young gen- 
 tleman. Your head is running on martyrs, eh? 
 What say you, friend Hamilton, after that morti- 
 fying speech can I, in self-respect, recognize him 
 as a kinsman ? *' 
 
 ""W^hat has the lad been saying?'' replied Mr. 
 Hamilion ; " nothing indiscreet, I'll warrant." 
 
 Mr. Wishart explained the point of the joke. 
 There was a hearty laugh at the young Virginian's 
 expense, which he took in very good part. Then 
 the conversation, which had been interrupted by 
 his entrance, was resumed. It turned upon the 
 one all-engrossing topic, the threatened rupture 
 with the colonies. To most of the company the 
 event was beyond measure deplorable. It foreboded 
 incalculable detriment, if not ruin, to the lucrative 
 
■NVOODBOURyE. 51 
 
 trade in wliicli so large a portion of their capital 
 was embarked. The fact is well known that at 
 this time the Scotch were beginning to make rapid 
 strides on the road to commercial prosperity and 
 material opulence. But their operations were Avell 
 nigh restricted to the American provinces and the 
 West India Islands. The English, on the con- 
 trary, roamed where they listed, and, particularly, 
 had a monopoly of the fabulously rich products of 
 those regions where " the gorgeous East showered 
 on her kings barbaric, pearls and gold." Unexam. 
 pled wealth attended their respective enterprises; 
 yet in one respect the difference was notably in 
 favor of the hardy and persevering Scot; his accu- 
 mulations w^ere all the legitimate profits of mer- 
 cantile acumen, industry and thrift, never the ill- 
 gotten fruits of wholesale robbery and extortion, as 
 was too often the case with the x\nglo-Indian ad- 
 venturer. But what matters it how nations grow 
 rich and powerful! TJiuIg liahet quaerct nemo, seel 
 oporltt liabere. Still it is curious to mark how 
 splendidly the good old rule of Eobin Hood was 
 Avorked out by Robert Clive on the banks of the 
 sacred river in spite of the prayers of Imaum and 
 Brahmin, and what a nice distinction is sometimes 
 taken by learned casuists between the natural 
 gratification of freebooting propensities and the 
 wholesome severities, the merciful chastisements and 
 righteous exactions which have accompanied every 
 effort to make the rest of mankind acquainted 
 with the blessings of European civilization. Of 
 course all is done out of pure charity for the 
 heathen. There is no such thing among Christian 
 
52 WOODBOURNE. 
 
 people as the aiiri sacra fames! But ^ve are grow- 
 ing satirical, which decidedly is not our cue. 
 
 "Well, well, gentlemen," said the good-humored 
 host, w^hen he thought the debate was becoming 
 monotonous, "there appears to be no change for 
 the better in the posture of affairs abroad. We 
 can do nothiug but possess our souls in patience. 
 Since our views are widely at variance, and as 
 none of ns exactly agree in opinion with our young 
 friend here, suppose we drop the subject. I had a 
 most unexpected visitor this morning. I'll wager 
 none of you can tell Avho he was." 
 
 "Did he come in the vessel?" asked Mr. Ballan- 
 tyne. 
 
 "No; but he was very curious concerning the 
 movements of another vessel, the Katrine, and par- 
 ticularly desired to obtain all the information I 
 could give him about the master of our bark. I 
 readily told him all I knew of the party in ques- 
 tion which, though precious little, was, as far as 
 it went, to his credit." 
 
 "But you have not told us who this inrpusitive 
 person was," said Mr. Ballantyne. 
 
 "He is well known to the present company by 
 fame at least," replied ]\[r. Hamilton; "my visitor 
 was no less a personage than Sir AVilliam Mark- 
 ham." 
 
 "Sir William Markham!" exclaimed Geo. Graeme, 
 involuntarily; "is he here in the city?" 
 
 Mr. Hamilton shook his head. " He came at a 
 late hour last night, and left immediately after our 
 interview post-haste for London. Xo one knew of 
 his coming or going but myself.'' 
 
WOODBOURNE. 53 
 
 "Very mysterious," said Mr. Ballantyne ; "I hope 
 he did not intimate that there Avas anything ^vrollg 
 about Dent." 
 
 "On the contrary he was evidently well gratified 
 by the account I gave him of the skipper," re- 
 plied i\Ir. Hamilton. 
 
 "AVhat sort of a person did he appear to be, 
 sir?" George ventured to ask in a somewhat licsi- 
 tating voice. 
 
 "You mean Sir William, lad? A grand man, a 
 very grand man." 
 
 This emphatic encomium was addressed to the 
 whole company. 
 
 "He stands well in Parliament," said Mr. Wis- 
 hart, who had not failed to perceive how greatly 
 interested the Virginian was in the English baro- 
 net. "Hamilton, if these gentlemen will excuse us, 
 my young kinsman and I will have a word together 
 ill private." 
 
 No one objecting to so reasonable a request, 
 they were shown to a separate room, where we must 
 take the liberty of turning the lock on them for 
 the present. 
 
CHAPTER Y. 
 
 HE grey 
 out on a 
 woodland, 
 undulatino" 
 obviously 
 
 towers of Markhani Castle looked 
 
 varied expanse of mountain and 
 
 intersected here and there by 
 
 ^ plains and fertile valleys. The 
 
 been selected with an eve to 
 
 site had 
 
 military defence in the days when every man's hand 
 was against his neighbor; when the chivalrous 
 custom prevailed of taking all you could and hold- 
 ing fast to what you took by might and main, 
 
 of the Marches found 
 office of custodian of 
 
 and. 
 
 that 
 
 and when my Lord AVarden 
 no bed of roses in his high 
 the King's peace in that debatable border 
 It stood upon the edge of a batting cliff 
 jutted into a small lake, which was fed by two 
 bold streams, the natural boundaries on either side 
 of the broad ancestral domain. Immediately ad- 
 joining it was a table-land of a few acres ; then 
 came the sloping lawn carpeted with a brilliant 
 green sward, beyond which stretched the vast varie- 
 gated park, and leaving that one emerged upon a 
 bleak, brown ami barren tract, the home of the 
 red deer, the fox and the badger. The general 
 aspect of the scenery was Avild, picturesque and 
 
 (54) 
 
WOODBOURXE. 55 
 
 roimintic; yet the adjiicent grounds displayed evi- 
 dences of the tasteful hand of improved cultivation. 
 On one side a large portion of tlie lawn had been 
 converted into a beautiful flower garden and a 
 plantation of rare trees a!ul shrubs, and was artis- 
 tically laid out in neat and trim parterres, walks 
 and avenues. At the end of the principal garden 
 walk, on the margin of the lake, stood a small 
 pavilion or summer-house, overrun with clambering 
 vines of the honeysuckle, clamatis and woodbine. 
 From this point the view was surpassingly grand. 
 Looking across the glassy lake one could see tlie 
 majestic Solway sweeping on to the main, and 
 farther still the eye could discern the long line of 
 sea-coast where the numerous sails were passing 
 and repassing in endless processions. On the right 
 hand a clear sparkling rivulet, flashing in sunny 
 glances through the forest glades, came dancing' to 
 the merry music of a myriad cascades down from 
 its pearly cavern in the encircling mountains, over 
 which domineered the haughty crests of &kiddaw 
 and Glaramara. 
 
 This summer-house was a favorite seat of Lady 
 Markham in her morning and evening walks. It 
 was the crowning feature of the little domestic 
 paradise which the hand of affection had prepared 
 for her especial delight in the midst of those rough 
 scenes of untamed nature ; lovely to look upon at 
 all seasons of the year, but most attractive Avhen 
 arrayed in the gorgeous apparel of summer — when 
 
 I 'is there with liumid bow 
 AV^aters the odorous banks, that blow 
 Flowers of every mingled hue 
 Than her pmtl'd scarf can show. 
 
56 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 It was near the close of a clay in the early part 
 of October of the present year. Lady Markham 
 was busy in the garden giving directions for the 
 protection of the plants from the nipping frosts 
 which would be soon at fiand. Presently her little 
 dauo^hter came runnins^ to her in breathless easfer- 
 ness from the summer-house, saying there was a 
 boat on tlie lake with tv/o boys in it, and a gen- 
 tleman on the other shore was calling to them to 
 come back and throwing his arms about as if in 
 great distress. She hastened to the spot. The boat 
 was just passing, running before the wind which 
 was blowing freshly, and the juvenile sailors, in 
 the wildest glee, were enjoying the sport hugely 
 and laughing and jeering at the outre figure of 
 their disconsolate tutor across the lake, whose vigi- 
 lance they had outwitted. They waved their hats 
 gallantly to the lady as they glided swiftly by, 
 and, heedless of her warning gesture, when they 
 had gone a short distance farther attempted to go 
 about. In doing so, owing to unskillful handling, 
 the sail gibed with sudden violence, and in a 
 twinkling the light cockle-shell of a craft was 
 floating keel upwards, and the luckless urchins 
 were struggling for life in the water a hundred 
 yards from shore. Fortunately, relief was near at 
 hand, and they were saved from the watery grave 
 their recklessness seemed to covet. One of the 
 game-keepers chanced to be passing at the critical 
 moment. He came to their rescue in a boat, and 
 conveyed them to the lodge. Thither Lady Mark- 
 ham hurried by a path through the grounds. She 
 was greatly relieved to find that the little adven. 
 
wooDBOurixE. 57 
 
 tnrers had received no other mishap than a good 
 wholesome ducking, Avhich they richly deserved for 
 their disobedience and temerity. They had been 
 put to bed by the porter's wife while their clothes 
 were drying. From her Lady Markham learned 
 that they were children of ]\Ir. Asburtc.i, whose 
 residence conld be seen on the opposite bank of 
 the lake. She gave orders for them to be brought 
 to the castle, and was leaving the lodge when she 
 encountered at the door a stranger, a tall, da?:k 
 man of a grave and rather ceremonious demeanor, 
 lie sainted her with respectful conrtesy, although 
 there was something of embarrassment in his 
 manner. 
 
 "I have the honor to address Lady Markham, if 
 I mistake not," said he. 'Oly name is Asburton. 
 I shonld not have intruded here, I beg your lady- 
 ship to believe, had it not been for the accident 
 to my boys, of which I was a moment ago apprised 
 by their tutor. Permit mc to tender my grateful 
 acknowledgment of your kindness, and to express 
 the wish that you Avill convey to Sir William my 
 unfeigned regret for what has happened." 
 
 "There is no cause for regret nor any occasion 
 for explanation or apology on your part, Mr. 
 Asburton," interrupted Lady Markham; "the little 
 fellows are none the worse for the accident, and 
 for myself I esteem it a fortunate event which 
 makes known to me a gentleman of whom I have 
 frequently heard my husband speak in terms of 
 sincere respect and. consideration." 
 
 The strange visitor received this gracious declara- 
 tion with marked suri)rise and increased embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
58 WOODBOUEi^E. 
 
 "Pardon me, your ladysliip," said he, bowing 
 low; "am I to believe, — but, no; it cannot be pos- 
 sible that you are ignorant of the relations which 
 have for a long time subsisted between Sir William 
 Markham and myself?" 
 
 "I assure you, sir," replied Lady Markham with 
 dignity, "that I have yet to hear the 'first unkind 
 word towards you from Sir William's lips. It is 
 not his fault that your intercourse has not been 
 more cordial."' 
 
 Mr. Asburton was visibly abashed and discon- 
 certed. The lady was completely at a loss how to 
 interpret his unaccountable deportment. 
 
 " Come, sir," she continued ; " my Avord for it, 
 you have been deceived. Sir William, I am pain- 
 fully aware, has enemies — " 
 
 " Of ■which number, may it please your ladyship,'* 
 hastily interrupted Mr. Asburton, " I am not, nor 
 ever have been. On the contrary, Sir AVilliam has 
 had my warmest sympathy in the trying ordeal 
 through which it has been his lot to i^ass. By 
 the faith I profess, i freely and frankly accept the 
 assurance you have given me of his good will, and 
 beg you will say as much to him. In addition, I 
 have to request that you v,'ill deliver this letter 
 into his hands." 
 
 With which words he drew from his breast a 
 sealed packet, and extended it to Lady Markham. 
 It was her turn to be surprised. 
 
 "From yourself, Mr. Asburton?" she inquired. 
 . "No, my lady; I received it this morning under 
 cover from Glasgow, and was in the act of sending 
 it to the Castle by a servant when this alarm was 
 raised.*' 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 59 
 
 "The handwriting is not familiar/' said the lady 
 musingly, as she examined closely the superscrip- 
 tion; ''you know tlie writer, of course." 
 
 The grave gentleman could not forbear smiling 
 to see how her womanly curiosity was piqued. 
 
 "Intimately well, your ladyship,"' he replied; 
 "we are near of kin; yet no two people could 
 have led more different lives." 
 
 "' In what respect, pray ? Has this person's been 
 a very bad life?" 
 
 "A very sad one, my lady,*' said Mr. Asburton, 
 seriously; "would you like to hear the story?" 
 
 " By " all means," responded Lady Markham, 
 eagerlv. "Pray be seated, Mr. Asburton," leading 
 the way as she spoke to a bench under a neigh- 
 boring tree, and setting him the example. The 
 gentleman's manner had undergone a decided altera- 
 tion. Although still precise and formal, it was no 
 longer distant and reserved. Evidently he was 
 nothing loth to gratify the lady's desire. After a 
 pause, in which he seemed to be collecting his 
 thoughts, he proceeded. 
 
 "With your ladyship's permission I will begin 
 with a short account of myself; albeit there is 
 naught of especial interest in my uneventful career 
 farther than it is connected with the writer of 
 that letter. In early infancy, by the death of both 
 parents, I was left an orphan to the care of a 
 paternal aunt, Avho lived not many miles distant 
 from the town of AVhitehaven. It was my father's 
 latest injunction that I should be reared in the 
 fiiith in which he lived and died, and, accordingly, 
 I was sent abroad to the college at St. Omer, in 
 
60 WOODEOUrvXE. 
 
 comj^any with the priest who had been my father's 
 chaplain. Here I led a life of strict seclusion, and 
 was kept in profound ignorance of what was taking 
 place in the political world. Three years had 
 passed, when one day I was surprised by a yisit 
 from my uncle. From him I learned for the first 
 time of the ill-advised expedition of Prince Charles 
 Edward. He was in it and had shared the fate 
 of his leader, narrowly escaping with his life. He 
 was a man of an ardent and impetuous temper 
 apt to be hurried by his feelings into such a rash 
 enterprise. Too late he discovered his mistake. He 
 was now all anxiety about his family, and nothinsf 
 would satisfy him but that Father Eustace (such 
 was the name of my tutor) should go at once to 
 England for news of them. In a little Avhile he 
 returned; but the report he brought only increased 
 my uncle's uneasiness of mind. He resolved to re- 
 turn home at every risk, nor could the remon- 
 strances and entreaties of Father Eustace dissuade 
 him from his desperate purpose. He consented, 
 however, to disguise himself in the semblance of 
 the good priest. In this Avay he managed for some 
 time to elude detection. At length his secret was 
 made known to the authorities through the treachery 
 of a trusted servant. He was pursued and taken 
 prisoner, after a fierce resistance, in which he was 
 abetted by his son, a lad of fifteen.'' 
 
 "Something of this I have surely heard before," 
 exclaimed Lady Markham hastily, interrupting the 
 narrator ; " the gentleman's name was — ■" 
 
 " Francis Delmay,'' said Mr. Asburton, seeing her 
 hesitate. 
 
WOODBOURNE. 61 
 
 "All, I remember; he Avas among the number — '' 
 again she paused. 
 
 *MVho were murdered in the name of justice," 
 said Mr. Asburton, with deep and bitter feeling. 
 
 The lady vainly strove to prevent a shudder as 
 she averted her gaze from his. '*And the boy; 
 what became of the brave boy?" she asked, in low 
 and tremulous accents. 
 
 "In the melee," replied Mr. Asburton, "a man 
 was killed— the same wretch Avho had sold his mas- 
 ter's life for a price. Suspicion pointed to the 
 son as the avenger, whether truly or not, I am 
 unable to tell. A reward was offered for his arrest. 
 Nevertheless he made good his escape from the 
 country, and found a secure retreat from hie 
 enemies. Of his subsequent history one person alone 
 is fully cognizant — his mother. I only know for 
 certain that he yet lives, and has made me the 
 medium of communication with Sir William Mark- 
 ham, for what purpose that letter must explain." 
 
 " Then you cannot give me a hint of its con- 
 tents?" said Lady Markham, whose features, in 
 spite of her efforts to conceal it, showed a faint 
 shade of disappointment. 
 
 "I have imparted to your ladyship everything I 
 know on the subject," replied Mr. Asburton, rising 
 as he spoke. "I regret that the information is so 
 meagre. Permit me now to take my leave of you, 
 as I see my little runaways are in readiness to go." 
 Regaining her wonted manner, in which gentle- 
 ness and dignity were so happily blended. Lady 
 Markham rose from her seat, and, extending her 
 hand to hei visitor, "Good bye, Mr. Asburton," 
 
63 AVOODBOURNE. 
 
 said she; *'now that the ice is broken, I hope to 
 see you often at the Castle." 
 
 "Your ladyship is very kiud," responded the 
 gentleman with emotion, and making a profound 
 obeisance, he turned and followed his little charges, 
 who had already taken their places in the boat. 
 
 Lady Markham stood looking after them until 
 they were out of view, when she slowly, in medi- 
 tative mood, retraced her steps towards the Castle. 
 On the way a servant accosted her. "Sir AYilliam 
 has returned, my lady," said he. 
 
 "Where is he?" she eagerly asked, her eloquent 
 features radiant with joyous surprise. 
 
 " In tlie library, my lady," replied the man. 
 
 She hastened forward, and next moment was 
 clasped in her husband's arms. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HE older Sir AVilliam Maridiam held the 
 theory of Lord Chesterfield tliat you may 
 train a youth of average capabilities into 
 any kind of a man you desire, and his 
 ideal of perfect manhood agreed in the main ^vith 
 that of his celebrated exemplar and archetype. Tims 
 he tried the experiment fully on his oldest son and 
 heir, who, bearing the same name, was as a matter 
 of course, entitled to the virtues of his incompara- 
 ble parent. The way did not suit the boy, and ho 
 sulked and rebelled at every step. The more 
 inflexibly harsh the paternal discipline, the more 
 stubborn was tlie resistance; Greek had met Creek, 
 and the tug of war came when the young man, 
 
 having finished his course at 
 
 Cambridge, went 
 
 take his degrees in fashion- 
 
 up to London to 
 able society. He had no notion of becoming :i 
 fine gentleman after the Chesterfieldean pattern. 
 He loathed that career which was mapped out for 
 him on his father's chart, and heartily despised the 
 company he was forced to keep in that limbo of 
 folly, where genius and talent played hypocrite and 
 sycophant, and everything was hollow decei)tion, 
 
64 WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 sham pretence and abandoned profiigaej. Towards 
 this depraved microcosm, '•' the west or worst end of 
 the city," his bearing was invariably haughty and 
 disdainful ; no arts of Hattery or persuasion could 
 induce him to mingle in its ignoble pursuits. 
 Subjected to this insufferable tyranny, Avith no 
 opportunities or means of indulging the natural 
 sympathies of his heart, he was fast growing to be 
 morose and cynical, and doubtless had Tie been 
 condemned to breathe the same atmosphere indefi- 
 nitely, he would have become in time a confirmed 
 misanthrope. There was one bright and blooming 
 spot in the blackened waste of his frustrated inclina- 
 tions. While at college he had contracted a well- 
 placed attachment for the amiable and accomplished 
 daughter of a poor clergyman, resident in a neigh- 
 boring parish, and his love, though nourished in 
 secret, was the silver lining of the cloud which 
 overhung the sky of his youthful hopes. 
 
 In the midst of the unnatural contention his 
 father died, and as soon as the last note of the 
 Miserere was chanted, and before the funereal hatch- 
 ments were dry, he posted down to Cambridgeshire 
 for his bride and conducted her to Markham 
 Castle. Here the sins of his father were visited 
 heavily upon him. The neighboring gentry liad 
 not forojottcn the harrowinsf scenes which followed 
 the outbreak of '45, — scenes in which the late 
 baronet had borne a conspicuously hateful i)art. 
 It Avas, therefore, not surprising that his son should 
 meet with a cold reception from them, and should 
 become the mark of studied incivilties. On every 
 hand his overtures of reconciliation were repulsed 
 
WOODBOURXE. 65 
 
 witli rudeness and contumely; his motives aspersed; 
 his sincerity impugned. This treatment was suffi- 
 ciently galling to his pride, and a man of less 
 resolute spirit would have abandoned the struggle 
 in despair, withdrawn from society aud shut him- 
 self up in scornful seclusion. But the present Sir 
 AVilliam Markham was in essential traits the exact 
 antithesis of his father. Possessed of great force 
 and decision of character, he was ' at the same time 
 large-hearted, open-handed, brave and generous. His 
 early training and subsequent experience of life, 
 had not to any extent exacerbated his temper or 
 acidulated the natural kindliness of his disposition. 
 Sprung from a proud-spirited race, he was ever 
 prompt to resent the slightest intentional affront to 
 his dignity and social rank. But while he uni- 
 formly exacted from his equals the full amount of 
 deference, courtesy and respect which belonged to 
 his station, his intercouse with the lower orders was 
 particularly distinguished for its unaffected frank- 
 ness, graceful urbauity and engaging affiibility. At 
 heart, he keenly realized the intense bitterness of 
 feeling against his father among all classes of his 
 neighbors, and was moreover painfully convinced of 
 the justice of the general yerdict upon his conduct. 
 The effect of this consciousness was to stimulate 
 his exertions to obliterate the memory of those 
 atrocious persecutions and to reinstate his house in 
 the old time regard of the community. It was a 
 difficult and delicate undertaking, whicli required 
 for its accomplishment a rare combination of firm- 
 ness, patience and address. Yet he came out more 
 than conqueror in the end. 
 
6G WOODBOURXE. 
 
 Xot only had he seen the enmities and heart- 
 burnings which his father's unhappy career had 
 provoked L^id to rest in the grave with their au- 
 thor, and the ancient influence and prestige of his 
 family restored, but he won the great prize of his 
 ambition, a seat in Parliament conferred upon him 
 by the spontaneous action of the people. In that 
 body he gained distinction as a ready and forcible 
 debater, as well as a wise, moderate and sagacious 
 counsellor. On most subjects that divided parties 
 he allied himself with Chatham and Burke, and 
 was notably fearless and outspoken in advocacy of 
 the rightful claims of the American colonies. 
 
 But although Sir William Markham had suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining the general good-will - of the 
 community and in advancing his fortunes to the 
 full measure of his aspirations, he had made dan- 
 gerous enemies in another quarter. He had been 
 active and unrelenting in the suppression of law- 
 lessness and crime, then unusually prevalent, and 
 from long impunity, grown reckless and defiant. 
 The country along the borders was invested with 
 bands of outlaws and desperadoes, who took ad- 
 vantage of the disjointed condition of affairs to ply 
 their nefarious vocations. Bobberies on the high- 
 way were daily occurrences, murders were not in- 
 frequent, while every species of illicit trafficking in 
 contraband merchandize was carried on in flagrant 
 contempt of the authorities. To the condign pun- 
 ishment of these evil-doers the baronet devoted him- 
 self with uncommon vigor and determination. He 
 was especially instrumental in breaking up a noto- 
 rious ganof of smugglers, v/ho had repeatedly foiled 
 
WOODBOtTRKE. 67 
 
 the best laid schemes of the custom-house officials. 
 On this occasion his zeal cost him dearly enough. 
 Several of the band managed to escape, their leader 
 among the rest. Shortly afterwards the baronet 
 was made to feel their vengeance in a terrible man- 
 ner. His little boy, the heir of his house, just two 
 years old, was mysteriously stolen and carried away, 
 whither it was impossible to discover, though search 
 was made in every direction. The stroke was the 
 mere poignant because of its cruelty to the wife he 
 so tenderly loved; but she, in turn, for his sake, 
 bore the grievous affliction with amazing fortitude. 
 At first it was surmised that the abduction of the 
 child was a device to extort money; but when in 
 the lapse of years nothing was heard of him, his 
 parents lost all hope of ever seeing him again. 
 Meantime other children were vouchsafed to them, 
 and the care of these had the effect to soften and 
 assuage their gi'ief for the loss of their first-born. 
 But latterly another misfortune befell Sir Wil- 
 liam, which well-nigh cost him his life. One day 
 last spring the head gamekeeper, in w^alking his 
 round of the park, soon after sundown, discovered 
 his master stretched on the ground, nearly sense- 
 less and weltering in a pool of blood. He proved 
 to be dangerously, wounded by a sword-thrust 
 throug^i the shoulder, and near by him was his 
 own rapier, which had been broken off close to the 
 hilt. When restored to consciousness, for some un- 
 accountable reason, he refused to be interrogated 
 about the affair. He soon got well of his injury, 
 and, as he persisted in preserving the strictest reti- 
 cence, the supposed attempt to assassinate him ceased 
 
G8 WOODBOUENE. 
 
 to be the subject of public exc'tement and indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 At tlie time spoken of in the preceding chapter, 
 Sir William Markham had been absent some days on 
 business. 
 
 "Well, darling," said he to his wife, when their 
 greeting was over, ''you cannot chide me now for 
 want of punctuality. Here I am a whole day in ad- 
 vance of the time appointed for my return." 
 
 "And what is most important, your mission, I 
 hope, has been aocomplished," replied Lady Mark- 
 ham. 
 
 Sir William. — " To my entire satisfaction ; but of 
 that presently. You have had an adventure this 
 evening, I am informed." 
 
 Lady M. — "An adventure? Yes, it was something 
 of an adventure, who told you of it?" 
 
 Sir W. — "' The children ; that is, Emily, for of lit- 
 tle Charlotte's prattle I could only make out that 
 somebody had been drowned and come to life again." 
 
 Ladg M. — "Then you have not heard of my ex- 
 traordinary visitor." 
 
 Sir W. — " Visitors, you mean to say — the boys." 
 
 Lady i/.— "And their father." 
 
 Sir W. (eagerly). — "Their father — Mr. Asburton — 
 has be been here?"' 
 
 Lady M. — "Yes, no less a person than our unsocia. 
 ble neighbor across the lake. It seems that we are 
 Indebted to the accident which befell his boys for 
 the honor of his visit. You never told me that you 
 and he had quarreled." 
 
 Sir W. — "For the reason, love, that I did not 
 deem tlie matter of sufficient consequence to trouble 
 
WOODBOUnXE. C9 
 
 you about. There was an unpleasant passage between 
 us; quarrel it could hardly be called. Soon after 
 it5 occurrence he went away to France where I sup- 
 posed him to be at present It was all a misunder- 
 standing, growing out of my unlucky rencontre with 
 another person. What did he have to say on the 
 subject ? " 
 
 Lady M. — "Xothing, except to intimate pretty 
 plainly that the enmity was wholly on your part. 
 When I assured him that he was mistaken in sup- 
 posing that you entertained the least unfriendly senti- 
 ments towards him, he was evidently extremely well 
 pleased, and ha^*ing been set at ease on that point, 
 became quite communicatiye. I was not before aware 
 that he was a nephew of Lady Del may." 
 
 Sir W. — "Nephew by blood; but in conduct a 
 most devoted son." 
 
 Lady M. — '•' She had a son ?" 
 
 Sir ir.— "So I have been told." 
 
 Lady M. — " What became of him ? " 
 
 Sir W, — '-'That I have not been able to discover. 
 It is a painful story, darling wife, part of that dis- 
 agi'eeable past over which we had best draw the cur- 
 tain of oblivion." 
 
 Lady JL — '-'Xot so, dearest husband — things with- 
 out remedy should be without regard, but we should 
 not cease trying to redress the wrongs which have 
 been done as long as there is reasonable hope of so 
 doing." 
 
 Sir W. — '' Spoken like your own noble, generous 
 and devoted self. Without your constant, unfailing 
 sympathy I should long ago have given way to 
 despair. As it is, my efforts have assuredly not been 
 
70 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 in vain. In Lady Delmay's case it was impossible 
 to undo the wickedness wliicli deprived her of her 
 liusband. "What it has been in my power to do for 
 her solace and relief has been done." 
 
 Lady M. (looking at him reproachfully, with 
 swimming eyes). — " And you kept it a secret from 
 me. In my opinion that was a very selfish way of 
 doing good by stealth, not even permitting your 
 wife to share in it." 
 
 Sir W. — "There you go, woman like, jumping at 
 a wrong conclusion. The fact is, your ladyship, I 
 had serious misgivings how my conduct should be 
 viewed. They are a very proud, stiff-necked gener- 
 ation, full of bigotry and prejudice and apt to mis- 
 construe the best meant actions. I have done what 
 I conceive to be right, jn-oper and just in the 
 premises. How they will take it remains to be 
 seen. If in good part, tlien you shall have the whole 
 credit of it; if with bad grace, then — well, my 
 shoulders are broad enough to bear the disappoint- 
 ment. Eeally, though, I am delighted to hear what 
 you tell me of Mr. Asburton ; it is a good augury." 
 
 Lady M. — "Yes, love, but we should not forget 
 the sufferings these people have been made to en- 
 dure, and should make due allowance for their exas- 
 perated feelings. Perchance this document may have 
 some bearing on the subject." 
 
 She drew forth the letter which she had concealed 
 in the folds of her dress and gave it to her husband. 
 
 "From Mr. Asburton?" he inquired hurriedly glanc- 
 ing at the address. Lady Markham shook her head. 
 He opened it and read. Presently he gave a great 
 start, turned pale and trembled with violent agita- 
 
WOODBOURXE. ' 71 
 
 tioii, while wonder and gladness were equally blended 
 in his face. Mastering his emotion with a powerful 
 effort, he read the letter through and without a word 
 handed it to his wife, whose expressive features re- 
 sponded eloquently to the changes of his own. Had 
 her woman's instinct divined the cause of the un- 
 speakable joy which brightened the face of her hus- 
 band? In no other way can be explained the mar- 
 vellous self-possession with which she read the start- 
 ling intelligence which the letter conveyed. It was 
 short, and in these words: 
 
 On Board Bauk "Katrine" at the Broomilaw, 
 GiiASGOW, October 11th, 1775. 
 
 Honored Sir :— Circumstances have lately come to my 
 knowledge in an unexpected manner, which make me 
 painfully aware that I have done you grievous wrong both 
 in thought and deed. The conviction would be a source 
 of endless regret and misery, were it not in ray power to 
 make reparation for the injury. The child you have so 
 long mourned for dead lives, is in good hands and has 
 been tenderly and gently reared. In two months' time, 
 God help me, he shall he restored to your arms. You 
 have an enemj-, Sir AYilliam ; you bear the mark of his 
 deadly purpose. I helped him to escape. He shall be 
 delivered into 5'our hands. That done, my conscience 
 will be relieved of a heavy burden. To-morrow I sail 
 for Virginia. Gratefully, your obedient servant, 
 
 DAVID DELMAY. 
 
 To Sir William Markltam^ Baronet. 
 
 Oh, the unselfish purity and depth of woman's 
 love! She felt only as a mother could feel the shock 
 of joy and gratitude unutterable. Yet in the impulse 
 of supreme happiness her first thought was of her 
 
72 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 husband. Smiling throngh her tears, her beautiful 
 face beaming with angelic light, she threw herself 
 on his breast and there poured out her whole heart 
 and soul in divine sympathy with him. In this at- 
 titude they remained some minutes. At length, the 
 baronet, in a voice of forced calmness, broke the holy 
 silence : 
 
 "Your prophecy is fulfilled, my precious wife," 
 said he ; " the crowning blessing of heaven has fallen 
 on your patient efforts. But there is something 
 still left for me to do. Mr. Delmay's mistaken zeal 
 must be frustrated. That letter is dated on the 
 11th of the month; to-day is the 19th, nothing pre- 
 venting, the ship is now nearly half way to America. 
 There is no time to lose; I must dispatch a messen- 
 ger forwith in pursuit of her." 
 
 "Why not wait until she comes back to Glas- 
 gow?" asked Lady Markham, with newly awakened 
 interest." 
 
 "'Xo, no," replied Sir William, "that will never 
 do. I must try and prevent this indignity to my 
 cousin Edward for my own honor's sake. As you 
 know, I have written to him that I freely and 
 frankly accept the terms he has offered. Besides, 
 his name is gazetted among a number of recent ap- 
 pointments of ofiicers in the American army. He 
 must not be brought here. I have it ; Frederick is 
 in London. I will write post-haste to detain him 
 there. I am sure he will gladly undertake the mis- 
 sion for me. Meanwhile, I will myself hasten to 
 Glasgow; find out what I can concerning the 
 movements of the vessel and then proceed directly 
 to London. Come, come, bestir, my bonny Kate, 
 and help me prepare for my journey." 
 
WOODBOURXE. 73 
 
 *' Xot to-niglit, love/' protested Lady Markham; 
 " surely . you Avill not set out to-night ?" 
 
 "In half an hour,'' replied the baronet, consult- 
 ing his watch, "the courier Avill start for London; 
 at early dawn I shall be on the road to Scotland. 
 That is decided." 
 
 He had risen as he spoke, and bending down, 
 kissed her tenderl}^ ''It is hard to part from 
 you, darling," said he softly; "but it cannot be 
 helped ; I'll not be long gone." 
 
 " Be not troubled for me, my husband," replied 
 his brave wife, warmly returning his caress; "I 
 am always happiest when 3'ou are with me; but 
 never unhappy when we are separated by the com- 
 mand of duty. I await your pleasure." 
 
 Saying which, she took his proffered arm and they 
 left the room together. 
 
CnAPTER YII. 
 
 HEX his Excellency, the Eight Honorable, 
 John, Earl of Dunmore, the last and 
 sorriest of his Britannic Majesty's Lieu- 
 tenant-Generals of the Colony and Domin- 
 ion of Virginia, and Vice- Admirals of the same, 
 fled in conscience-stricken dismay from the venge- 
 ance of an outraged people, he took refuge with 
 his family and minions on board of the Foivcij, 
 man-of-war, at Yorktown; there being no other 
 protecting bulwark nor tower along the steep to 
 afford him shelter and protection from the terrible 
 storm his dastardly folly had evoked. Thence he 
 transferred the seat of sovereignty and, as became 
 a valiant son of the proud mistress of "Xeptune's 
 salt-wash,'' he lorded it majestically over the Vir- 
 ginian Mare Internum, thundering wrathfijl anath- 
 emas at his rebellious subjects, plundering reparian 
 sheep-folds and poultry-yards, and doing all manner 
 of base and contemptible acts of cruelty and 
 revenge, which have handed his name down to ever- 
 lasting detestation as the meanest of the infamous 
 tools of a demented despot — like master, like man. 
 But Ave cannot find it in our hearts to be severely 
 
 (74) 
 
WOODBOURKE. 7a 
 
 critical of John Bull's i^eople in the matter. It 
 greatly mollifies the asperity of our resentment 
 towards our loving cousins for sending us such a 
 shabby set of rulers, "when ^ye call to mind the 
 kind and quality of their precious kings. Certainly 
 we of this generation of free Americans have reason 
 to be thankful to them in the present instance; 
 for, in truth, the Grecian gift did prove a very 
 treasure. They could not possibly have done more 
 (shade of Dr. Johnson, forgive us the nninten- 
 tional pun I) to precipitate the result so devoutly 
 prayed for by all true patriots, had it been their 
 deliberate purpose to drive the colonists to desjier- 
 ation and unite them in a compact phalanx of 
 resistance to tyranny. Fi?iis coronat ojms — their loss 
 was our great gain. Queen Mary, of bloody name 
 and execrated memory, when dying, told somebody 
 — her father confessor, most likely — that the word 
 Calais would be found engraven on her heart. 
 Similarly, imagination may trace the name of Amer- 
 ica written in flaming characters on the heart of 
 that fatuous monarch George III, to whom Eng- 
 land is indebted for the loss of her best posses- 
 sions in the Western Hemisphere — a staggering blow 
 to her high-blown pride, nathless the paradoxical 
 Macaulay has endeavored to prove that it was a 
 blessing in disguise. 
 
 Having tested his eminent fitness for military 
 command and by his brilliant forays reflected addi- 
 tional lustre on the naval annals of his country, 
 the doughty Dunmore in a little "while gave it in 
 charge to his trusty lieutenant, Squire, to prosecute 
 the campaign on the water, and, establishing his 
 
76 WOODBOURNE. 
 
 base of operations at tlie town of Portsmouth, 
 placed himself at the head of a Falstaffian follow- 
 ing of variegated ragamuffins, Avith whose assistance 
 he ravaged and harried the defenceless region 
 around the Dismal Swamp until his ruffianly pro- 
 ceedings were brought to a stop by the galhmt 
 shirtmen of Howe and Woodford. 
 
 In addition to its prominence as the headquarters 
 of Dunmore's tatterdemalion army, Portsmouth now 
 enjoyed the enviable distinction of being the tem- 
 porary capital of tlie Old Dominion — an honor 
 which had leen conferred upon the town by an 
 especial edict of the peripatetic governor, and one, 
 too, it is proper to add, over which its patriotic 
 inhabitants were never known to be inordinately 
 vainglorious. 
 
 Tlie gale we have described in a previous chap- 
 ter was felt here in full fury, driving the shipping 
 to shelter, until quite a fleet of vessels of various 
 sizes and descriptions were seen riding at anchor 
 off the town. One of these challengeLl particular 
 notice. Although armed, it was plain from her 
 outfit, appointments and build, that she was not 
 in regular commission as a vessel of war, whilst 
 in hull, rigging and spars, she bore no resemblance 
 whatever to the heavy carriers of the sea which 
 usually frequented these w^aters, and from which 
 she differed as a race-horse differs from a steed of 
 Flanders. Trim, taper, light and rakish, she might 
 have passed for the model of one of those dashing 
 wing-footed couriers which the enterprising mer- 
 chants of Baltimore in a few years sent forth at 
 their own risk and costs on the dangerous quests 
 
■WOODBOURXE. 77 
 
 of trade and traffic. To the eye of a nautical 
 connoisseur, she had every mark of having been 
 designed and fitted out for privateering purposes, 
 or else for carrying on a contraband commerce 
 with the Spanish Main' in deSance of the recent 
 orders in council. 
 
 In the state-cabin of this jaunty sliip on the 
 evening mentioned was a single occupant. Wrapped 
 in a rich furred robe which completely envelopes 
 his person, he sits in a reclining position on one 
 of the lockers, with his head resting on his hand 
 as if plunged in profound thought. His face is in 
 the shadow of the lamp swinging above him, and 
 is moreover concealed by the mass of long, straight 
 brown hair wliich, released from control, hangs 
 loosely about his head and shoulders. There is that 
 about him which conveys the impression at a 
 glance that he is a man of no mean mould, intel- 
 Tectually and physically, while the nervous twitch- 
 ing of the hrm-set lips and the arm drawn so 
 tightly across his breast as if pressing down some 
 struggling emotion, as well as his general air of reverie 
 and abstraction, betokens that there is a severe con- 
 flict going on in his mind and that he is exerting 
 all his faculties of self control to subdue it. So 
 absorbing is his occupation that he pays no regard 
 to the furious gusts of wind which ever and anon 
 smite the vessel, causing her to leap and bound, 
 and tug at her cable, and sending handfuls of 
 hailstones rattling down upon the sky-light. Xor 
 does he hear the loud knock at his cabin-door 
 until it has been thrice repeated with increased 
 emphasis. At last he starts from his reverie and 
 
78 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 calls out impatiently, '• Come in," at the same time 
 bending his stern gaze on the intruder. It is a 
 servant in livery, who enters and stops abruptly 
 as he encounters his masters imperious look. 
 
 " What is it, Charles ? " inquired the gentleman, 
 composing his disordered mien and moderating the 
 severity of his tone. 
 
 "Mr. Saunders desires to know if he can sec 
 your honor," replied the man. 
 
 There were voices in the room outside. ""Who 
 is with him ? " asked the gentleman, without mov- 
 ing from his recumbent position. 
 
 "It is a strange man, a sailor from his looks, 
 an' it please you, sir," said Charles. 
 
 The gentleman sprung up with sudden interest, 
 throwing off the robe and displaying the tall, 
 commanding figure of a man in the vigorous 
 prime of life. "Admit them, Charles," said he. 
 At a sign from the servant there entered the skip- 
 per, a brisk, active, manly young felloAv, and with 
 him none other but our old friend, Mike Burke, 
 who, in his frieze coat, fox- skin cap and long, 
 shaggy beard, resembled a huge good-natured Xew- 
 foundland dog. 
 
 "Well, Saunders," asked the gentleman — who had 
 regained his self-possession — in a half-familiar man- 
 ner, " who have you here ? A pilot, I hope." 
 
 "Please you, Master Frederick," replied the skip- 
 per — or rather first mate, for such was his real 
 station — with a dignified and respectful salutation, 
 "he is an old acquaintance, whom I accidentally 
 ]ncked up at the tavern in the town a while ago. 
 He brings important news of the ship we are in 
 
wooDBOunxE. 79 
 
 search of; she did not give iis tlie slip as we 
 feared she might do when the storm hist • niglit 
 drove ns to harbor; but is now np a river with 
 a barbai'ous name hereabouts making up her cargo.'' 
 
 "How came this fellow by the intelligence? 
 TThat river does he mean?*' asked the Master (we 
 adopt the title his men gave him), in a quick, 
 decisive voice, his piercing grey eyes looking from 
 one to the other until they settled sternly upon 
 Mike, who stood twirling his cap around his linger 
 and cocking his weather-eye at the sky-light with 
 a droll expression of discomfiture and chagrin. 
 
 " Come, Mike,"' said the mate, encouragingly, " tell 
 his honor how it all happened; spin away; yon 
 were a capital hand at a yarn when we sailed 
 witli Captain Byron.*' 
 
 '• Cell I '*' said Mike, with an irre])rcssible burst 
 of enthusiasm, forgetting where he was. ^'An' sure 
 enough, ye v. ere the cap'n's cabin-boy thin, Jemmy 
 Saunders, and a mischievous jackanapes in the bar- 
 gain, an' now ye're e'en most a cap*n yerself. 
 Begorra, them was divartin' times. Arrah, now just 
 to think, it's many a time I've seen the lubberly 
 spalpeen rolling in the lee-scuppers and floundering 
 about the ship like a fish out of water, and here 
 he is again, a picture of the Admiral hisself. 
 Ax' pardon, yer honor,*' pulling his top-knot to 
 the Master, the sternness of whose gaze had given 
 place to a half amused expression; 'Mjut it does 
 my heart good to fall in wid an old messmate, 
 and me and Jemmy Saunders has sailed round the 
 world in the same ship." 
 
 "Quite right, my good fellow,*' replied the gen- 
 
80 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 tlemaii, "the sentiment does you much credit; but 
 come, now, time is pressing; tell us about the ves- 
 sel in the fewest words you can command." 
 
 Giving his forelock a preliminary jerk, Mike 
 launched into his story in characteristic style, 
 half-comical, half-pathetic, and altogether Irish, and 
 by no means as concise as a log-book or a bill of 
 lading. The gist of the matter was that Mike's 
 forlorn expedition had been undertaken for no other 
 object than to render "Misther Dick" a kindly 
 service. On getting home from his successful 
 pursuit of the thieves who had stolen his boat, 
 he had heard from his wife a confused and alarm- 
 ing account of the kidnapping affair. Soon after 
 he left the good dame had flown into a violent 
 spasm of excitement at his unaccountable behavior, 
 and repaired to her friends at Bonhill for' consola- 
 tion and advice. Here she picked up enough of 
 the news afloat to satisfy her that something ter- 
 rible had happened, and, piecing together the 
 materials slie had gathered, she fabricated a lively 
 and harrowing story, wherewitli she regaled her 
 husband after she had sufficiently berated him for 
 his cruel treatment of her that morning. From 
 her melodramatic version two facts only were clear 
 to Mike's comiprehension ; which were, first, that 
 Misther Dick was greatly put out and vexed in 
 spirit; and secondly, that Captain Dent was generally 
 believed to be at the bottom of the trouble. Now, 
 Mike had a sneaking affection for his old captain, and, 
 albeit circumstances were pretty strong against him, 
 he could not believe that he had all of a sudden 
 turned "bloody pirate," for sucli Misthrcss Mur- 
 
WOODHOUIiNi:. * 81 
 
 chieson's tale represented him to be. There must 
 be some mistake. At uU events, lie "svonld not 
 condemn Captain Dent before he liad heard the 
 truth of the matter from his own lips. He could 
 not rest easy in his mind for thinking about it; 
 so, when night came on he determined to go in 
 search of the Katrine, knowing that she had put 
 into the Eappahannock river and for what purpose. 
 Watching his chance, he gave his vigilant spouse 
 the slip, and set o.T alone in his boat on his wild- 
 goose errand. It Avas comparatively calm wlien he 
 started, and tlie moon was shining brightly in the 
 clear sky; but, by the time he reached the mouth 
 of the Potomac, the wind had freshened into a 
 gale and was blowing straight across the bay. He 
 tried in vain to make head against it ; he was 
 driven from his course, and his little jolly-boat, 
 becoming entirely unmanageable, began to dip 
 her gunnels and to take in water by the pailful. 
 Fearful of being swamped or capsized, he unstej)ped 
 his mast and suifered his sail to go by the board, 
 thereby surrendering himself to the merciful pleas- 
 ure of the elements. In this helpless foshion, after 
 buffetting with the winds and waves for twelve 
 long hours, he was fortunately discovered and taken 
 in tow by a lishing-craft and bronght to Ports- 
 mouth, where, half-drowned, hungry, tired and in 
 a generally miserable and woe-begone pickle, he 
 was accidentally stumbled on by Saunders, engaged 
 in drying his clothes and comforting his inner- 
 man by the kitchen fire in the tavern. 
 
 " What are the Katrine s sailing cpialities ? '* asked 
 the Master, when Mike had related his miscellane- 
 ous adventures. 
 
8^ ' WOODBOUEXE. 
 
 "On a wind, plaze yer honor," replied tlie old 
 sailor, ^'slie can liowld her own wid the loveliest 
 crayther that floats, an' Captain Dent is the man 
 to make the most of every capful that is blowin'." 
 
 "Then, Saunders," said the Master, '*we haven't 
 a second to lose; she may yet give us the slip if 
 we are not expeditious. How is tlie weather?" 
 
 " Rougher than I could wish, sir," replied the 
 mate; "but the wind has hauled a point or two 
 since sunset, and we can make pretty fair headway 
 up the bay." 
 
 The gentleman again abruptly accosted Mike. 
 "This Captain Dent's turning kidnapper does not 
 seem to affect your opinion of him, my man.'' 
 
 The old sailor grinned ruefully. "Belike, your 
 honor, it was the orders of his betters. A sailor 
 must obey orders if it breaks owners; eh. Jemmy 
 Saunders ?'' 
 
 Saunders nodded assent; seeing his Master's drift, 
 he had put on a serious countenance. 
 
 "The poor Frenchman, as you say, is not likely 
 to fare well in such hands ? " continued the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 "I can speak for the cap'n, yer honor,*' replied 
 Mike, warmly ; " he must be a changed man entirely, 
 if he Avould harm a hair of the gentleman's head." 
 
 "How do you know he is a gentleman, sirrah?" 
 
 " Faith, yer honor, it's sorrow to the tongue o' 
 Misthress Murchieson an' he is not a gentleman; 
 fer didn't she say he was goin' to marry the 
 Squire's beautiful dater?" And Mike shot a re- 
 proachful glance at the young skipper. 
 
 The Master beckoned Saunders aside, and they 
 
AVOODBOUEXE. 83 
 
 remained some minutes in wliispered conference. 
 Presently he tnrned and addressed Mike, smiling 
 pleasantly as lie did so. 
 
 *'Well, my good fellow, you shall not miss your 
 chance to get back to the old country after all. 
 You have only to do my present bidding, and then 
 Captain Dent can take charge of you." 
 
 The ruse had its effect. There was no longer 
 room to doubt the old sailor's perfect honesty. 
 Whatever hankering he might have for the sea- 
 faring life he had quitted, he had certainly no 
 intention of running away from his friends. "The 
 ould counthryl" he exclaimed, twisting his features 
 into a wofui grimace, " Och, yer honor, an' what 
 will Misther Dick and Misthress Murchieson say 
 to me when I come back, and, for the matter of 
 that, how am T going to get back?'' 
 
 Both Saunders and the Master laughed heartily. 
 '•Xever mind, my good man,"' said the hitter, "I 
 only jested with you. What I really desire of you 
 is to take us where we can find the other vessel, 
 and then we will let you return to your friends. 
 See that his boat is taken aboard, Saunders; I 
 have no further orders for you, except to make all 
 dispatch and not to call me up until there is 
 absolute occasion for doing so; I must have rest.'' 
 
 ^'Be dad," said Mike, with a quizzical leer at 
 the mate, as the latter slapped him playfully on 
 the back and gave him a boost up the companion- 
 way; "and sure, it's drameing, I am, that I am 
 goin' to sail wid Jemmy Saunders in the Flying 
 Dutcliman.^'' 
 
 And well might the old sailor fancy he was 
 
S-i WOODBOURXE. 
 
 dreaming; for his waking vision was never before 
 greeted by sucli an inspiring spectacle as a few 
 moments later tlie Alalania presented, bounding 
 over the billows under a strong quarter breeze, as 
 though she really felt in every fibre of her beau- 
 tiful frame 
 
 The cxuithig sense— the pulse's mad-lening: play, 
 That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way. 
 
 Duly installed in his ofnce cf pilot and plied 
 vrith an extra allowance of genuine poteen, he kept 
 the forecastle in such an uproar with his marvelous 
 reminiscences that there would liave been little 
 need of the boatswains whistle in case of alarm 
 to pipe the crew to quarters. What particularly 
 surprised him was to see that the men were all 
 either young or middle-aged, and ho was still more 
 astonished when Saunders gave him to understand 
 that the vessel belonged to the Master, who was 
 as rich as a ^q^^, and that the matter of wages 
 was no consideration if the lads behaved themselves. 
 
 Xothing occurred during the night to require the 
 Masters presence on deck. An hour or so before 
 the dawn they were off the mouth of the Currito- 
 man. A black cloud obscured the light of the 
 moon. Mike said there was plenty cf water inside, 
 but he could not distinguish the landmarks in the 
 darkness. So they reefed their sails and stood off 
 and on waiting for daylight. Meantime Saunders 
 took the liberty to call the Master up for more 
 specific instructions. Just as he made his appear- 
 ance the lookout announced a sail in sight, close 
 aboard, on the starboard bow. The mate leveled 
 his glass in that diroction. 
 
WOODBOURXE. 85 
 
 ''It's a large schooner/' said he, "and there, she 
 has gone about like a "svbirligig and is running 
 away as if the devil were at her heels. I would 
 like, for tho fun of the thing, to send a shot over 
 her head.-' 
 
 "Blaze away, then," replied the Master; "it's 
 the quickest way to call her back." 
 
 In a trice the pivot-gun amid-ships was run up, 
 manned and loaded. "Aim high," said Saunders to 
 the gunner. "Fire!" Tlie report, which followed, 
 was echoed from hank to hank of the river, and 
 reyerberating far and wide over the adjacent 
 country, caused many a sleeper to start up in 
 fear and trembling at the terrible thought that 
 Dunmore's war-dogs were let loose upon them. "We 
 have seen what effect it had on our friends aboard 
 the Endeavor, 
 
CHAPTER YIII', 
 
 you know that craft, Mr. Burke?" asked 
 the Master of the Atalanta of the old 
 sailor, who was peering through the dusk 
 with all his miglit at the schooner. 
 "My eyes are none of the best, plaze yer honor," 
 replied Mike; "but I have a notion there is some- 
 thing familiar like in the cut of her jib." 
 
 "Take a look at her through this," said the 
 blaster, handing him the spy-glass, which he no 
 sooner brouglit to bear, than he exclaimed, "Sure 
 enough, it is Misther Ballington's Inclivcr — an' may I 
 never see the Blessed Virgin in glory, ef it ain't 
 Misther Dick — tlie gentleman in tlic boat." 
 
 "Eh?" said the Master, gazing with keen inter- 
 est at the party, "there are three persons in the 
 boat, which of them is your friend Mr. Alloway?" 
 "The big gentleman, yer honor, as is taking his 
 seat in the stern-sheets, him as Misthress Murchie- 
 son calls Golier, an' a giant he is by the same 
 token — most like one of them ugly haythens we 
 came across in Pattagony — leastways in stater, I 
 mane." "Oh, the Irish giant," said the Master, 
 laughing; " wjio are Ihe other t\vo ? You don't 
 
 (SC) 
 
Yt'OODBOUrvXE. 87 
 
 know tliein — well you can go l3elov>' and turn in 
 until you are wanted again.'' 
 
 Mike was going to protest against being summa- 
 rily sent to bed at so interesting a conjunctnre, 
 but catching the Masters eye, he saw that the 
 command was intended to b3 obeyed without fur- 
 ther questioning. "When ha Avas gone, the Master 
 stood watching the boat until it came alongside, 
 then he descended to the cabin. 
 
 *•' Charles," said he to the servant, "go up and 
 tell Mr. Saunders to send Mr. Alloway to me; he 
 can take charge of the other persons. This is in- 
 deed a fortunate turn of affairs,'' he contintied, 
 speaking io himself as the man departed on his 
 errand; "this meeting relieves me of a deal of 
 trouble. That document, now where did I put it, 
 ah, I remember." 
 
 From a drawer in the buffet he drew forth a 
 paper, and seating himself at a table in the mid- 
 dle of the room, awaited the execution of his order. 
 
 If Mr. Richard Alloway had reason to be agree- 
 ably impressed by the civil terms of the invitation 
 he had received to repair on board of the Aialania^ 
 he had greater cause for surprise at the leceptjon 
 which greeted him as he entered the c^biru Rising 
 from his seat, the Master advanced to meet him, 
 and extending his hand, said in a tone and man- 
 ner at once courteous, frank and contiding, " I have 
 the honor to address Mr. Richard Alloway?" 
 
 "That is my name, sir, and you, I presume, are 
 Captain ^Jarkham," replied Dick, taking tlie seat 
 which was politely tendered him. 
 
 "So my crew call me when on shore; aboard ship 
 
88 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 I am thi Master. I owe you an apology, Mr. Al- 
 loway, for overhauling you so rudely. Permit me 
 to explain. I was in vrant of certain intelligence 
 which I thought it likely you could give me, and 
 therefore took that effectual method of stopping your 
 flight. Of course you took my vessel to be one of 
 his Excellency's gunboats." 
 
 Alloway frankly confessed that he did entertain 
 such a reasonable supposition. 
 
 "You will be gratified then to learn that your 
 fears are groundless. I have naught whatever to 
 do wdth Lord Diinmore's affairs; my business here 
 is wholly of a private nature. Waiving ceremony, 
 I have in the first place to thank you for the 
 lively interest you have manifested in a kinsman of 
 mine, who has been yery foully wronged." 
 
 "Edward Markham — is he here on this ship?" 
 exclaimed Dick in utter bewilderment, no less at 
 hearing his own name so pat on the tongue of a 
 total stranger than at the connection in which it 
 was pronounced. 
 
 "Xo, he is not here," replied the Master, ap- 
 parently unconscious of Dick's look of blank aston- 
 ishment; "'but you, Mr. Alloway, I have reason to 
 believe, can tell me w^here he is to be found." 
 
 Alloway reflected a moment, his usually clear and 
 collected wits were for the nonce in a state of in- 
 tricate confusion. 
 
 "I have a friend who came with me, Captain 
 Markham," said he; "he is equally conversant with 
 the subject of your inquiry. May I beg that he be 
 made a party to this interview." 
 
 "Your request is quite proper," replied the Mas- 
 ter. "You refor to the elderly personage." 
 
wooDBOurvis'E. 89 
 
 "Xo, sir; it is the young gentleman of wliom I 
 speak," said Dick. "He! why he is a mere strip- 
 ling to all appearance/*' exclaimed the Master. "He 
 is scarcely twenty years old," replied Dick, warmly; 
 "but for all that, you will find him to be a man 
 in the truest sense of the word." 
 
 "Damon and Pythias," said the Master smiling, 
 and putting his mouth to a speaking-tube which 
 communicated with the mate's room, he ordered him 
 to conduct Mr. Alloway's friend to the cabin. 
 
 Carleton was no less astonished than Dick had 
 been by the scene which awaited him there; but he 
 had the address to conceal his emotion under the 
 guise of easy dignity and composure of mien, which 
 showed that his friend's confidence in his resources 
 was not misplaced. The formality of introduction 
 passed, the Master said: "I was asking your friend 
 here, Mr. Carleton, to tell me what has happ)ened to 
 my kinsman, Edward Markham. i now repeat the 
 question." 
 
 Encouraged by Harry's presence, Dick, without 
 further hesitation, related with graphic distinctness 
 all the particulars of the kidnapping affair, as well 
 as the revelations which had come to light concern- 
 ing the yictims. The Master listened to the story 
 with grave and earnest attention. 
 
 "'It was a bold stroke, your attempted rescue, 
 gentlem.en," said he, when Dick had concluded his 
 narrative. "Likely eiiough you Avould have been 
 successful but for the unexpected obstacle you have 
 encountered. Erom your account, Mr. Alloway, this 
 Captain Dent, as you call him, has acted entirely on 
 
 8* 
 
90 WOODBOURNE. 
 
 his own responsibility. Yet lie must ha^e a motiye, 
 and a strong one too, for his audacious behavior." 
 
 " That goes Avithout saying,'' interposed Carleton, 
 "most human actions spring from some motive good 
 or bad. In tlie present case ^ve have been unable 
 to discover it, that's all. I have no acquaintance 
 with Captain Dent, but from my friend's descrip- 
 tion of him I should as soon expect the sea to 
 give up its dead as for him to divulge the motive 
 of his conduct in this matter." 
 
 " Yet he has divulged it," said the Master, " to 
 one person at least, and it is not a bad motive 
 either, as you, Mr. Carleton, will readily admit, 
 when you have heard the particulars of this hazard- 
 ous adventure. In the outset I will state that the 
 person in whose behalf it was undertaken is my 
 brother. Sir AVilliam Markham. From him I re- 
 ceived — " He w^as interrupted by a shrill whistle 
 proceeding from the speaking tube. " Pray excuse 
 me a moment, gentlemen, that signal requires my 
 presence on deck," saying which he went out ab- 
 ruptly, leaving the amazed friends to discuss the 
 strange turn events had taken. 
 
 "AVell, Harry," said Dick, drawing a loug breath, 
 "I am fairly dazed; it all looks like a talc of the 
 Arabian ISIights.". 
 
 "Or an Indian summer day's dream," responded 
 Harry; "it's lucky for us that our captor does 
 not prove to be one of his Lordship's corsairs, in 
 that case we should have been in a lively pre- 
 dicament; there's no telling what that gruff old 
 Scotchman would have said about us to save his 
 own ])acon." 
 
WOODEOURXE. 91 
 
 "Lucky, indeed," said Dick; "I made sure we 
 were in an ugly scrape ; relieved on that score, the 
 Avonder now is how in the world he came to kiiow 
 who I was."' 
 
 Ilarri/.—'- 1)'A you not tell him?" 
 
 Dicic, — ^'Xot a word; he saluted me as familiarly 
 as though I were an old acquaintance, and stranger 
 still, he knew exactly what it was we v/ere so much 
 concerned about." 
 
 Harry. — '-lie must surely have falk'U in with 
 the Katrine,'' 
 
 Dick shook his head. '-That is not the least 
 probable; if he had he would not have questioned 
 me so closely; besides he could not in that way 
 have learned anything of our movements." 
 
 Harry, — "One thing is certain, he was privy to 
 the kidnapper's design. Sir William Markham's 
 brother, eh? It's just nothing more nor less than 
 one of those delightful little family feuds which are 
 an every-day occurrence in our merry motherland. I 
 am truly sorry for your fair cousin, Dickon; she'll 
 uot see her captive knight again in a hurry. Well, 
 well, there is nothing like patience, old boy, as I 
 have often inculcated — * of all the virtues 'tis the 
 nearest kin to heaven.' So far, so well. Here we 
 are sound and hale, in the snuggest and most 
 comfortable quarters, courteously entreated and hos- 
 pitably entertained. What more could we desire?" 
 
 Dick. — "'When I Avas at home I was in a bet- 
 ter place.' There I am sure I could get Gomething 
 to eat; I am as ravenous as a wolf." 
 
 Harry. — ''That comes of your fastiug yesterday. 
 Catch me taking other people's troubles so much 
 
92 WOODBOUPtXE. 
 
 to heart. I am not the least Lit hungry; had you 
 said thirsty — halloo! what's that?" 
 
 "x\nchored, by Jove," exclaimed Dick; at the same 
 moment the man, Charles, made his appearance, 
 bringing in a smoking bowl, whose peculit.r aromatic 
 fragrance plainly discovered the nature of the in- 
 gredients it contained. This he deposited on the 
 sideboard, from which receptacle he next produced 
 sundry bottles of v>ine. Then having disposed the 
 table in due form, he went out again and presently 
 retuwied with a large tray on which was a tempt- 
 ing array of viands of various sorts, constituting on 
 the whole an elegant and substantial repast. Al- 
 loway greeted these preparations with signs of un- 
 disguised satisliiction, his eyes fairly sparkling with 
 pleasure. "The Master is engaged, gentlemen," said 
 the man, when he had comph^ted these prelimi- 
 naries; "he begs that j'ou will consider yourselves 
 perfectly at home in his absence." 
 
 "Your master is very kind," replied Dick, 
 promptly availing himself of the invitation; "we 
 pledge him our humble service. Capital punch, 
 Harry; irj a glass." 
 
 Harry,—'' ^o, thank you; this claret is strong 
 enough for n^.e. I'll have a bottle at table, if you 
 please," to the servant. 
 
 Dick. — "There's no accounting for tastes; I would 
 not give a glass of punch like that for the entire 
 vintage of France. Xoav, Het good digestion wait 
 on appetite,'" v/ith which appropriate grace he took 
 a seat at the table and fell to with an energy and 
 heartiness which made the eyes of the staid major- 
 domo dilate with astonishment. 
 
WOODBOURXE. 93 
 
 The presence of the servant acted as a restraint 
 upon the freedom of their conversation, and the 
 meal proceeded in silence, broken only by an occa- 
 sional trite remark. When it Avas over and the 
 debris were cleared away, "Xow,*' said Dick, 
 stretching his burly form to full advantage, **I am 
 ready for anything that comes along; nothing so 
 demoralizes a man as an empty paunch. AVhat 
 makes you so serious all of a sudden, Harry?" 
 "I was turning over in my mind" — his reflections, 
 whatever they might have been, were cut short by 
 the entrance of Captain Markham. "It has fallen 
 dead calm, gentlemen," said he, as he resumed his 
 seat; "so I shall have the pleasure of your com- 
 pany some time longer. Eecurring to the subject 
 Ave were on, a word of introduction will not come 
 amiss. My name is Frederick Markham. When 
 only eight years old my father, who took no 
 thought of his children, save my oldest brother, 
 AA^illiam, gave me in charge to a maternal uncle 
 living in Barbadoes. Partly from inclination, but 
 chiefly on account of disagreeable circumstances at 
 home, my uncle had led a roving sort of life, being 
 at one time a soldier of fortune, then a sea cap- 
 tain, and lastly an amphibious character, now 
 sailor, then planter. Though a man of letters, he 
 had a decided turn for speculation. In other re- 
 spects he was active, energetic, temperate and self- 
 denying. He was married, but childless. His wife 
 came of an old French Huguenot family resident 
 in the island. To her I am mainly indebted for 
 my education, such as it is; my uncle, being fre- 
 quently away on long voyages while I was growing 
 
9-4 WOODBOUUis'E. 
 
 lip, liad little time to devote to doinestic matters. 
 I was turned eighteen, "vvheu Irc was brought liome 
 sick of a distemper caught while trading on the 
 coast of AfriciL During his long illness I had the 
 sole management of his affairs, and acquitted myself 
 so much to his satisfaction that when he got well 
 he surrendered the helm entirely into my hands. 
 Tlie nature of tlie business kept me continually 
 afloat, so that I became literally a dweller upon 
 the sea. Strange as it may seem, during all this 
 time I never visited England. The explanation is 
 that on my once expressing a desire to do so my 
 uncle showed so much displeasure that I refrained 
 from mentioning the subject again until it was 
 brought vividly to mind by reading in the English 
 papers an account of the supposed murderous as- 
 sault upon my brother. I was in Halifax at the 
 time buying lumber to finisih this very ship. Mak- 
 ing known my wish to uncle, he not only ac- 
 quiesced, but proposed that I should take the trip 
 in the new vessel as soon as she was completed. 
 She was built after a model of his own invention 
 and he personally inspected every part of the work, 
 so that the process was necessarily slow and tedious, 
 and I did not arrive at London before the middle 
 of September. I repaired at once to Markham Cas- 
 tle, our family seat, in Cumberland. Here I Avas 
 welcomed by the brother from whom I had been 
 separated so many years, with every mark of affec- 
 tion, lie Avas entirely recovered from the injury 
 he had received and made light of my allusion to 
 it. He never once spoke of his assailant, and I 
 naturally gave credence to the commonly re^^orted 
 version of the affair." 
 
WOODBOURNE. 95 
 
 "I remember," said Alloway, "reading an account 
 of it in the Virginia Gazette, copied from an Eng- 
 lish paper. It said he had been set npon by some 
 unknown ruffian while walking in the park." 
 
 "So it was believed," continued the Master; "Sir 
 William Markham is in one respect the most ex- 
 traordinary man I ever met with; he never says a 
 word to anybody, his wife excepted, about his own 
 troubles, and I should have remained in profound 
 ignorance of our painful family history but for 
 a most fortuitous circumstance. After staying sev- 
 eral weeks at the Castle, I returned to London to 
 make preparations for my homeward voyage. I was 
 on the eve of departure, when a messenger came in 
 great haste from my brother to arrest me. Almost 
 at the same instant a letter was handed me from 
 my uncle with news of my aunt's alarming illness 
 and imploring me to make all speed back to Bar- 
 bad oes. In two days my brother arrived. He had 
 been travelling day and night and looked jaded and 
 care-worn. Yet his foce wore its old expression of 
 stern, inflexible resolution and liis words were few 
 and directly to the point. He came to demand my 
 service in a matter in which he was peculiarly 
 interested, but which concerned my honor as well as 
 his own. He explained, and then for tlie first time 
 I had a view of the skeleton in the house of Mark- 
 ham; then I knew why it was my good uncle had 
 always forebore to speak of my father." He paused 
 and suddenly rising, paced the cabin with hurried 
 strides. Presently he stopped and resumed : " I 
 forget myself, it is unnecessary for me to pursue 
 the painful theme. Sufilce it, that I am here in 
 
96 WOODBOUE^'E. 
 
 time to prevent fiir.tlier mischief. Yet I ought even 
 now to be at home. I shall nevei^ forgive myself 
 if I tarry an instant longer than is absolutely essen- 
 tial to execute the purpose of my coming. This 
 docnment, which I beg to commit to your hands, 
 Mr. Alloway, will explain everything. It is ad- 
 dressed as you perceive to my cousin, in the care 
 of Captain David Del may, otherwise known as Cap- 
 tain Dent It will fully accomplish what you de- 
 sire. I must be gone from here as soon as possi- 
 ble. Hark, there is the signal again. Yvliat is it, 
 Saunders?" he demanded. 
 
 "The wind is rising, sir," was the reply. 
 
 "Up with your anchor instantly," orderd the 
 Master. " Come, gentlemen, we inust part." 
 
 In the ante-room a fresh surprise awaited the 
 friends, in the apparition of Mike Burke, his jolly 
 features radiant with the combined inspiration of 
 joy and poteen. 
 
 "Here is a waif I picked up below, Mr. Al- 
 loway," said the Master ; " he claims to be your 
 very 'fidus Achates,' and is in a peck of troubles 
 for fear you might think he intended to run away. 
 I assure you he has resisted every effort of mine, 
 seconded by my mate, to seduce him from his al- 
 legiance to you and a lady he calls Mrs. Murchei- 
 son." 
 
 Harry glanced at Dick, and seeing that he was 
 completely dumbfounded, made haste to cover his 
 confusion and give him time to rally his senses 
 from the effect of this unlooked-for blow. 
 
 "'Why, this is indeed a fortunate escape," said he; 
 "'we had given you up for lost, Mr. Burke; my 
 friend Alloway was quite inconsolable." 
 
WOODBOURIfE. 97 
 
 "Xotliing of the kind, Mike/' iuterruptcd Dick; 
 * to tell the honest truth, old friend, I did you 
 gi'eat injustice in my thoughts and am very sorrv 
 for it. There is my hand." 
 
 " Och, Misther Dick,'' replied the old sailor, as 
 their hands met in a grip that made Carletcm's 
 fingers tingle to see,'' '• an' did ye really believe 
 that Mike Burke had clean gone and desarted in- 
 tirely? Faix, it's no wonder after his stealing away 
 like a dirty thief in the night." 
 
 " But it is an ill wind that blows nobodv jrood, 
 Mike," said the Master; *•'! was in sore need of a 
 ]nlot, and the storm-king sent me the very fellow 
 I wanted." 
 
 *• AVhy, where is our Scotchman ?" asked Carleton, 
 when thev were on deck lookiniT around. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot to say," replied the Master, ''that 
 as he seemed ill at ease, I sent him back to the 
 schooner. AVhat do you know of him ?" 
 
 ^•Xothing, except that he is mortally anxious to 
 get back to the old country, like a sagacious rat 
 running for life from a doomed ship, as he imag- 
 ines." 
 
 ''The Scotch are as prudent as they are proud," 
 said the Master, with a meaning smile. '*' Mr. Hun- 
 ter is not singular in his opinion. Of course there 
 can be but one end to this disturbance." 
 
 "And that," said the fiery Carleton, the blood 
 mounting to his cheek, "will be the realization of 
 good King Alfred's dying wish." 
 
 "What was that?" inquired the Master. 
 
 "That every Englishman should be as free as his 
 own thoughts," boldly responded Carleton, paying 
 
98 WOODBOURNE. 
 
 no heed to Alloway's admonitory frown. Far from 
 showing any displeasure, the Master looked with 
 involuntary admiration at the youthful patriot, as 
 he stood before him with lofty air and defiant 
 mien, "all his country beaming in his face." 
 
 "Well, well," said he hastily, "every man must 
 judge for himself what is his duty in such a case. 
 I confess I have not studied the merits of the 
 controversy, and if I had this is no time for us to 
 dispute about it. Your boat is ready. Adieu, gen- 
 tlemen; may we meet again under a happier 
 star." Saying whieli he escorted them to the ship's 
 side and saw them safely bestowed in Mike's boat, 
 which the mate had furnished with a new set of 
 oars and a large piece of sail cloth. 
 
 "That for your pilot fee, Mr. Burke," said the 
 Master, tossing him a leathern pouch which chinkled 
 as it fell at his feet. "' In this bundle is something 
 for the good dame, old ship-mate," said Saunders, 
 giving him a parting salute as he sprang up the 
 ladder. Mike was so disconcerted that ere he could 
 find words to invoke the blessings of his patron 
 saint on the generous donors, his boat had fallen a 
 cable length astern of the vessel, which with all 
 her sails set was speeding away at a rate which 
 made good that boastful claim that her name im- 
 plied. He sat for a moment gazing at her in mute 
 admiration, then bending to his oars, he pulled 
 vigorously for the Endeavor. 
 
 "AVhat's to be done now, Dick," asked Carleton, 
 when they Avere again on board of the schooner. 
 
 "Well," replied Alloway, "I sujipose we shall 
 have to wait here until the Katrine comes along.' 
 
wooDBOUi:x£. 99 
 
 *'TVliy not get under weigh and go to meet 
 her ?'' demanded his friend, '• she cannot be many 
 miles off. ' 
 
 " You forget I am not captain here ; we mn^t 
 see Braun — but what is that coming round tlie 
 tlie point yonder — a sail, by Jove." 
 
 Carleton looked eagerly in the direction he 
 pointed. '• Psha I" said ke, 'Mt is only another 
 schooner ; see, she is standing this way." 
 
 *-I know that vessel well," said Braun, who had 
 joined them ; *•' it's Mr. Gordon's Cliarity,^^ 
 
 In a little while she was in speaking distance, 
 running briskly before the wind, which had now 
 freshened into a steady gale. 
 
 '•Where are you from," shouted Alloway to the 
 man at the helm. 
 
 •'Up the river a piece," was the reply. 
 
 "Seen anything of the Katrine f^ 
 
 "Gone; out o' the Capes by this time," vocifer- 
 ated the man, with a sweep of his disengaged hand 
 to emphasize the words. 
 
 A thunder- clap could not have startled them 
 more than this unexpected announcement. It lit- 
 erally took avray Alloway's breath and ere he re- 
 gained it, the vessel was out of ear-shot. Carleton 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 "What do you think of that, Mr. Burke," said 
 he, addressing the old sailor. 
 
 Mike was standing up in his boat in a listening 
 attitude, having suspended half way the act of 
 taking a chew of tobacco. In answer to Carleton's 
 question, he gravely shook his head, twisted his 
 features into a woefully ridiculous grimace, and, 
 
100 WOODBOURKE. 
 
 biting off an immoderate slice of pigtail, betook 
 himself to rolling up the sail cloth into a compact 
 bundle. 
 
 " Tantalizing to say the least," continued Carle- 
 ton, *-'all oar trouble for nothing. Come, Dick, a 
 truce to that doleful music; yoa cannot whistle 
 your rover back, let's go home." 
 
 "But, I say, young gents," chimed in the skip- 
 per, "what am I to do with him?^ 
 
 "Him! who?" said Dick. 
 
 " The party, you know, Mr. Eichard, as I fetched 
 here." 
 
 DicJc. — " Oh, you mean that Scotchman ; where the 
 devil is he?" 
 
 Braun. — "Fast asleep in the cabin." 
 
 Dick. — "There's only one thing you can do with 
 him, take him back where he came from." 
 
 Carleton (asidej. — "' Or throw him overboard." 
 
 Braun. — '^But don't you think I ought to wake 
 him up." 
 
 Dick (with some asperity). — "By no means. 
 Come, hurry up and let's be off. Confound the 
 stupid fellow, he is enough to provoke a saint." 
 
 "Especially when he happens to be in a very 
 unsaintly humor," said the vivacious Carleton, 
 "sorry come off this from our glorious expedition, 
 Dickon; *home without boots and in foul weather, 
 too, how 'scapes he ?' " 
 
 "You make a jest of everything, Harry," said 
 Dick, in a tone of rebuke, "please forbear, this one 
 time; I am in no veiu to relish your pleasantry." 
 
 " Xot another word will I speak, old fellow ; I 
 would not hurt your feelings for the world ; I had 
 no idea you took things so much to heart." 
 
WOODBOURNE. 
 
 101 
 
 It was ind.^ed a sore disappointniGnt to Alloway. 
 A moment ago tlie sky was bright with the 
 promise of joy to the loved ones at Clifton and 
 Bonhill; now it was overcast again— " all dark and 
 barren as a rainy sea." 
 
 1^ 
 
 9* 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 EVER Ijcfore had Lucy Gnicme seen lier 
 father so strangely agitated as he was on 
 getthig back from Clifton. Strive as he 
 might to assume his usual serene deport- 
 ment, it was only too apparent that there was 
 something of overmastering significance upon his 
 mind. To his daughter's eager questioning he gave 
 scarcely any heed, and it was merely to save his 
 politeness that he hurriedly explained to Alloway 
 the purport of the letter of which he was tlie 
 bearer. Leaving the lovers in a state of vexatious 
 uncertainty, he immediately souglit his wife's cham- 
 ber. She had been apprised of the misfortune 
 which had befallen the Thompsons, and was anx- 
 iously awaiting his coming to learn the full par- 
 ticulars of the outrage. But she was little prepared 
 to hear the astounding discovery which his confer- 
 ence with Mary Littleton had brought to light. 
 There was no doubt of the fact, Col. Littleton's guest 
 was her nephew, child of the brother whose supposed 
 untimely fate she had never ceased to mourn. The 
 proof was contained in a document which ^Ir. 
 
 It was a narra- 
 
 Graeme had brought with him. 
 
 (102) 
 
wooDBouR:5rs. 103 
 
 tive, Tvliicli had been written by the Abbe Julian 
 Soiilo at his pupil's request, for Miss Littleton's 
 especial gratification. It's perusal will greatly assist 
 the reader in unravelling the tangled web of this 
 over true history. 
 
 "My first visit to America," said Father Soule, 
 '* began in the spring of 17 — and lasted five years. 
 During that time I made the tour of the European 
 settlements and explored divers regions where the 
 light of civilization had not penetrated, one year 
 making the voyage full of danger and hardship from 
 the great lakes down the * Father of AVaters' to 
 the sea. Thus I had gathered from every source 
 within reach of human observation and inquiry, the 
 valuable mass of materials which are embraced in 
 my principal vrork. On my return to Europe I de- 
 termined to put my book to press in Geneva, and 
 while it was being published to fix my resi- 
 dence in that city. In going thither I turned 
 aside to visit the old chateau in the mount-ains of 
 Dauphiny where my father had sought an asylum 
 in his last days from the turmoils of ambition and 
 the caching vanities of a licentious court, and which 
 in the division of his wasted estate at his death 
 was the only patrimony that fell to the lot of 
 my eldest brother. Louis was two years older than 
 myself. He had early embraced the profession of 
 arms and at this time was serving in Pondicherry 
 under General Duplieux. The place was in the 
 most wretchedly ruinous and desolate condition, pre- 
 senting a ghastly symbol of the havoc of war. 
 It lay in the track of the Duke of Savoy's ruth- 
 less inva.^ion of this defenseless region, and was 
 
104: WOODBOURi^E. 
 
 visited with more than ordinary brutality because 
 of my father's participation in the campaigns of 
 Catinot. The work of destruction had been fearfully 
 complete, and not in the lapse of so many years 
 had the hand of nature been able to conceal the 
 frightful ravages of fire and sword. As I was 
 wandering through this scene of desolation, indulg- 
 ing the melancholy reflections its appearance awak- 
 ened, I was startled at hearing a piercing wail of dis- 
 tress, which seemed to proceed out of the ground 
 at my feet. Glancing through an aperture in the 
 broken wall, I discovered that .the noise came from 
 a child that had fallen into one of the many vaults 
 underneath the ruins. Luckily tlie descent vv'as 
 rendered easy by a dense mass of creeping vines, 
 and on being rescued the little imp' proved to be 
 more scared than hurt. He was a boy of some 
 four or five summers, as I surmised, and in spite 
 of the coarseness and squator of his raiment was 
 the most beautiful little cherub that had ever blessed 
 my sight. AVhile I was engaged in quieting his fears 
 a woman, accompanied by a half-grown lad, ap- 
 proached. At sight of me she stopped with a ges- 
 ture of ala?'m, but appai-ently reassured by my looks 
 she came forward and saluting me Avith resp«ctful 
 courtesy, clasped the child caressingly to her breast, 
 at the same time scolding him roundly for having 
 given her such a fright. Slie was poorly though de- 
 cently clad, and bore upon her face such marked 
 traces of sickness and suffering, as instantly excited 
 my warmest sympathy. Entering into conversation 
 with her, I learned that she was the A\ife of a poor 
 herdsman who lived in a glen of the mountains not 
 
WOODBOURXE. 105 
 
 far olf. Their family consisted of five children of 
 their own and this little waif, that came she knew 
 not whence. His history was summed up in a few 
 words. She was alone at the chalet one morning 
 with her children, when she Ava5 surprised by the 
 entrance of a man — a stranger of such a wild and 
 disordered appearance that at sight of him she was 
 at first gi'eatly alarmed. But his piteous manner 
 and miserable plight soon aroused her w^omanly 
 compassion, which increased when she saw that he 
 carried in his arms a child whom he caressed and 
 fondled in the tenderest manner. Of his language 
 she comprehended hardl}^ a word, and it was with 
 difficulty that he made her understand that he 
 wished her to lake care of the child while he went 
 on a short journey. After some hesitation she 
 yielded to his vehement entreaties and he went 
 away, never to return. She knew nothing more of 
 the boy except that his Christian name was Edward. 
 The "woman's story greatly enhanced the interest 
 which the sight of her lovely charge had inspired 
 in my breast. I passed the night at an inn in a 
 neighboring hamlet. In the morning I sent for the 
 peasant and offered to relieve him of this unlooked- 
 for burthen upon his scanty means. He readily 
 assented to the proposal, on account of the j)re- 
 carious state of his wife's health, and thus I ob- 
 tained possession of the dearest object of my life. 
 *• Years fly past. Edward Soule — by which name 
 he has come to be known — is now in his fourteenth 
 year and fully justiQes the care and painstaking of 
 his education. Up to this time he has been my con- 
 stant companion and I have been his only pre- 
 
106 WOODBOUKiH"E. 
 
 ceptor. Observing the briglitness of liis parts, I de- 
 termined to give him every advantage in my power 
 to obtain the highest intellectual training. With 
 that view he w^as placed at the college in Fribourg. 
 There he made rapid advances in all his studies and 
 surpassed even my sanguine expectations. His vaca- 
 tions were spent in travelling through Italy and 
 visiting the principal cities of France and Germany. 
 In these hours of relaxation, I sedulously refrained 
 from exercising undue restraint upon his inclinations, 
 leaving him free to follow the bent of his desires; 
 although I took pains to give him the benefit of my 
 large experience of the world and commerce with all 
 sorts of people, and sought every fitting occasion to 
 direct his attention to the general scene of misery, 
 destitution, ignorance and vice which saluted him on 
 every hand, and to point out the source of them, 
 in the evils of bad government in Church and State. 
 All the timo my thoughts dwelt upon America as 
 the future theatre of his ambition and I was anx- 
 iously looking forward to the completion of his 
 scholastic education, when we woukl together depart 
 for our ultimate destination. 
 
 "It was Edward's last year at Fribourg — the au- 
 tumn of 17 — I had gone from Paris, wliere I w\as 
 then living, to meet him, and we were returning 
 home by slow stages on foot. The first night after 
 leaving Geneva we were constrained to seek accom- 
 modation at the dwelling of a family of the supe- 
 rior class of peasantry. It was situate in a glen 
 of the mountains, in the midst of a region of unpar- 
 alleled beauty and grandeur. In the room in which 
 we slept, I was not a little surprised to find among 
 
WOODBOURXE. 107 
 
 a number of other books, an odd volume in English 
 of the works of David Hume; it was well worn 
 and profusely annotated. At breakfost next morn- 
 ing I inquired of mj host how he came by this 
 contraband property. He cheerfully explained the 
 mystery. It belonged, he said, to a famous English 
 traveller, who some years before had been an inmate 
 and welcome guest at his home. He was a great 
 student, constantly occupied with his books; yet a 
 person of the gentlest and most winning manners 
 and after his own fashion, of the most exemplary 
 and pious habits. There was nothing in his nature 
 which savored of misanthropy or assceticism. It was 
 not from aversion to the society of his fellows that 
 he sought this lovely and sequestered spot, Avhere 
 he could pursue in calmness and quiet the investi- 
 gations of science and philosophy on which he ap- 
 peared to be so deeply intent. For a year or more 
 the stranger, whose name was Metcalf, resided here 
 devoting himself to his studies and mingling in the 
 nameless, unnumbered joys of this simple-minded 
 family. All of a sudden he fell alarmingly ill, 
 betraying symptoms of distressing mental troubles. 
 A physician was called in who enjoined absolute 
 cessation from his accustomed work and to enforce 
 the prescription, made the cotter secrete his lodger's 
 books. Greatly to the joy of his humble friend, the 
 patient after hovering for months on the brink of 
 eternity, was recalled to life. Soon he grew well 
 enough to travel again, and by the advice of the 
 leech started on [i tour through the northern 
 provinces of Italy. From that day nothing had been 
 heard of him. 
 
108 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 ^^ Pursuing our journey, on the following night we 
 arrived at the famous convent founded by St. 
 Bruno, which is known as the Grande Chartreuse. 
 Here I was persuaded to tarry several days, in 
 order to give Edward an opportunity to view the 
 majestic scenery, the sight of which, said an Eng- 
 lish traveller, would awe an atheist into belief with- 
 out the help of other argument. Happening to 
 relate to the Vicar what had befallen us at the 
 cotter's, I was surprised to obtain from him a fur- 
 ther account of the interesting stranger. He was 
 the same person, who some years ago had stopped 
 at the Monastery, having been taken suddenly ill 
 on the road. His disease assumed a violent form 
 and his life was despaired of for weeks. He did 
 not die; but his health was so terribly shattered 
 that he vras in an agony of dread lest he should 
 not hold out to get to his home which was in 
 America. His name was Richard Metcalf. Often 
 in the delirium of fever, he raved wildly about a 
 child which he imagined to be lost and the words 
 Conrad, Campabello, were repeatedly on his lips. 
 When ho was recovering he revealed to the father 
 who attended him, and who had since died, the 
 matter which was weighing on his mind. The 
 Vicar could not remember the particulars of the 
 stor}', farther than that it related to an unfortu- 
 nate English adventurer, in the service of the King 
 of [N'aples, who went by the name of Campabello. 
 He had secretly espoused a noble lady, connected 
 with the ancient family of Torella. Her name was 
 Constance Conrad. This marriage, when discovered, 
 had given mortal oScmce to some of the lady's 
 
WOODBOURXE. 109 
 
 relatives, to escape the yengeance of whom, Campa- 
 bello, with his Avife and chikl were forced to fly 
 from Xaples. Afterwards the hidy had died under 
 the most harrowing circumstances, and the man 
 and chikl were believed to have sought refuge in 
 the vicinity of Grenoble. 
 
 *' These incidents did not impress me at the time 
 as having any especial significance ; but in a little 
 while they were brought back vividly to my recol- 
 lection. On arriving at Paris, to my inexpressible 
 joy, I found Louis there. It was our first meeting 
 after a separation of more than twenty years. To 
 him I introduced my protege, in whose favor he 
 instantly became much interested and whose ro- 
 mantic history enlisted his warmest sympathv. 
 There was somothing in Edward's appearance, he 
 told me, which reminded him of a former associ- 
 ate — an English oflicer at one time in the retinue 
 of Prince Charles Edward, in whose desperate un- 
 dertaking Louis had taken part. The name of this 
 person was Henry Markham, though here he had 
 assumed that of Beauchamp. Louis tried to prevail 
 on him to enter the French army, but he refused, 
 saying that he could not consent to draw his 
 svrord against his countrymen. They parted; Louis 
 iroimr to India, where in a short while, he learned 
 tliat his friend had gone to Genoa to seek his for- 
 tune under the banner of Charles the Bourbon, 
 King of Xaples. Beauchamp, Campabello, the names 
 were identical. Then the stranger's mention of the 
 lost child. I had long despaired of ever solving 
 the mystery of Edward's birth, but here was a clue 
 at last. I had a friend in Naples, one Xicolo 
 
 10 
 
110 WOODBOUENE. 
 
 Spinelli, in ^vliom T could implicitly confide. To 
 him I wrote. In a few days his answer came. It 
 fully confirmed the Vicar's tale of what happened 
 to Campabello in Naples. Of the subsequent fate 
 of the fugitives, Spinelli knew nothing. The date 
 of their flight was no great while before the ap- 
 pearance of the man and child at the peasant's 
 hut in Dauphiny. Could he have been Campa- 
 bello, was the first question I asked myself. Xext, 
 I was puzzled to conjecture in what manner the 
 American had learned their history. To find him, 
 if living, was the only recourse left to me. In my 
 perplexity I knew not which way to turn, when 
 assistance come to me from an unlooked-far quar- 
 ter. There chanced to be in Paris an English 
 gentleman, with whom I had had some correspond- 
 ence. His name was Asburton. To him I made 
 known the matter which concerned me so deeply. 
 He was well acquainted Avith the family to Avhich 
 Edward's father belonged, and gave me an interest- 
 ing account of the troubles which had beset them. 
 At his suggestion I went to London and sought 
 an interview with Sir William ]^Iavkham. His ex- 
 traordinary behavior surprised and disconcerted me 
 be3'ond measure. Before I had even stated the 
 purpose of my mission, he brok'c out in a violent 
 fit of unaccountable rage. *I know Avliat you are 
 come for,' he exclaimed; 'you are the priest who 
 foimd that spurious bantling; it i.3 all an infamous 
 Jesuit plot; begone instantly from my presence.' 
 Thus insolently repulsed, I made haste back to 
 Taris, having gained nothing by my visit to Lon- 
 don, except the knowledge that Sir William ]\rark- 
 
"WOODBOUnXE, 111 
 
 ham had become possessed of the secret which I 
 sought to obtain. Coukl he have seen Mr. Metcalf? 
 Of him I coukl get no tidings. The aiitnmn was 
 now far advanced. It had been arranged that Ed- 
 ward and I shouhl depart for America early in 
 the spring. But circumstances of a political char- 
 acter, which I am not at liberty to reveal, made 
 it necessary far me to proceed forthwith to Phila- 
 delphia. Leaving Edward wdth Louis, I set out 
 accordingly. Wliat afterwards befell, he can best 
 relate." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 T Y/as a busy morning "with Mr. Murdoch 
 McKittrick, head clerk of Ballantine & 
 Co., at Yeocomico Store. Besides an un- 
 precedented accumulation of letters, Avhich 
 demanded his attention, there vras the yearly list 
 of balances to be made up. And in addition to 
 these weighty tasks, which belonged exclusively to 
 his especial province, his supervision was required 
 in assorting and getting into ship- shape, a large, 
 bulky miscellaneous cargo of goods, wares and mer- 
 chandize, . which had been brought by the Endeavor 
 from divers places up the river. AVith characteristic 
 prudence and forecast, the shrewd senior partner of 
 the firm had determined to lay in a large stock 
 of such commodities of general use and demand, as 
 Avould be exceedingly hard to procure in the prob- 
 able event of an entire interruption of commercial 
 intercourse with the outside world, and as a goodly 
 number of his countrymen were anxious to close 
 out their business before leaving for the old coun- 
 try, he availed himself of the opportunity thus 
 afforded to purchase on advantageous terms, sucli 
 articles as he wanted. Hence the extraordinary dis- 
 play of barrels, boxes, bales and bundles, to say 
 
 (112) 
 
WOODBOUKXi:. 113 
 
 nothing of a straggling host of loose lumber, which 
 blocked up every available space in the large to- 
 bacco warehouse, and which two brisk lads were 
 trying to **' arrange in order and dispose with grace" 
 according to Mr. ^IcKittrick's instructions. In his 
 own person, that gentleman was a pattern of the 
 neatness, method and system which he so rigidly 
 inculcated upon his underlings. He had received a 
 thorough training in the counting-house in Glasgow 
 and was versed in all the details of the business. 
 Invested with ample authority in the absence of his 
 chief, he maintained the strictest order and disci- 
 pline. His motto was a place for everything and 
 everything in its place. He had no toleration for 
 untidy and slovenly habits of dress or of careless 
 and slip-shod ways. Though addicted to the preva- 
 lent vice of taking snuff, and continually dipping 
 into the inkstand, not a speck, spot or stain of either 
 could be detected on his immaculate plum-colored 
 clothes, pearl grey stockings and cambric ruffles. 
 Working vigorously aAvay at his desk, with an 
 occasional vigilant glance at the operations of his 
 subalterns, he was fast clearing off the formidable 
 score when he was suddenly accosted by his em- 
 ployer who had come into the counting-room un- 
 perceived by him. 
 
 '•'Well, Murdoch, hard at it I see; I hope you 
 have gotten everything arranged so that I can set 
 out for Williamsburg to-day ?" 
 
 "What time do you start, sir?' asked the clerk. 
 
 "Early this afternoon," replied Mr. Ballantine. 
 
 '•'All will be ready, sir,'' said Murdoch. 
 
 10* 
 
114 • WOODBOURXE. 
 
 "Anytliing of especial importance this morning?" 
 inquired the merchant. 
 
 "I have contents of several letters, which require 
 immediate answers," replied the clerk, taking up a 
 bundle from the desk. 
 
 J/r. B. — '^Well, let's hear what they have to 
 say." 
 
 Murdoch (reads). — "Dr. Steptoe wishes to know the 
 whereabouts of the negro man, Ayr, wdio was given 
 him by Mr. Hugh Hamilton ; also, whether his 
 brother James can have the vessel to carry his over- 
 seer and family to Pohiek." 
 
 Mr. B. — "Answer: Ayr is at Chaptico with Mr. 
 Fergusson; the E7ideavor is engaged to take a load 
 of corn for Col. Lee from Kingcapsico to Stratford ; 
 after whicli, it is at Col. Steptoe's service. Which 
 reminds me to say, send a message to William 
 Callis to come to-morrow and overhaul tlie schooner; 
 Braun says she needs some repairs bodily; also, 
 make a note to charge Dr. Steptoe with £15, paid 
 him for inoculating my wife and daughters and 
 two negroes." 
 
 Murdoch. — " Inspector Crabb writes to ask whether 
 he must charge you or Mr. Hague with fees for 
 inspecting and shipping the lot of tobacco sent to 
 Philadelphia in the Friendship.'^ 
 
 Mr. ^.—"Answer: Charge me, and tell him to 
 send us all the casks he has on hand." 
 
 Murdoch. — "Sheriff Rochester says he will meet 
 you without fail at ISTaylor's hole, and desires you 
 will bring list of persons who have paid you their 
 levies and taxes ; he could not serve the ca sa 
 against Fisher, lie having absconded for parts un- 
 known." 
 
TVOODBOURXE. 115 
 
 Mr, B, — '-The rascal; but I'll have Fim yet. 
 Very well; Tvhat's next." 
 
 Murdoch. — '•' Mr. Benjamin Eiist wants twelve 
 liogslieads of rum; refers to Col. George Lee." 
 
 Mr. B. — "Ilumpli! a cool request; we have just 
 sent him six hogsheads; sorry to decline; orders 
 ahead for all we can spare." 
 
 Murdoch. — "Here is memorandum of sundries to 
 be gotten in AVilliamsburg (reads) : Item — For Parson 
 Smith 1 dozen prayer-books, 2 ditto testaments." 
 {Mr. B. — "Dou't forget to charge him with £1 
 10s. paid Collector Marmaduke in part of his 
 salary as minister.'*) '-Item — For Mr. John Tur- 
 berville 1 stone-breast buckle set in gold, 1 pair sil- 
 ver-set knee-buckles, 1 calfskin that will make four 
 jiairs of shoes, have watch repaired." {Mr. B. — 
 "Send him word about that riding chair; I have 
 had several applications for it.") "Item — For Mr- 
 Wardrobe, get school-books mentioned in list; pay 
 his subscription for Virginia Gazette.''^ {Mr. B. — 
 " Charge him with cost of saddle, bridle and sad- 
 dle-cloth, which he lost on that frolic in Xorthum- 
 berland, £2, 5s., and credit him with 12s. for school- 
 ing Major Broadwater's daughter.") "Item. — Mrs. 
 Corbin, silk bonnet, garnet necklace, earrings and 
 hunting-saddle for daughter Lettice. Item — Richard 
 Coddun, tailor's goose, 10 yards claret cloth, 1 
 gi'oss gilt buttons. Item — Miss Eskridge, curls, 
 pounce box, hairpin, 3 yards pea-green ribbon and 
 1 open-worked silk purse. Item — Mr. John "Wash- 
 ington, 3 sides harness leather, 10 gallons best 
 Jamaica spirits, 1 English Dictionary." {Mr. B.-^ 
 "' Send Jot to Bushtield in the mornino: for a hind 
 
116 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 quarter of beef/') Item — Inquire of Mr. Eonald if 
 if he has done anything in Major affair and of Mr. 
 Piitchie how much you are bound with him on 
 Fauntleroys account. Is there anything else, sir?" 
 
 Mr, B. — "Xo, thank heaven; how^ nmch casli is 
 there?" 
 
 Murdoch.— " SG Doubloons, 49 half Iocs, 131 pis- 
 toles, £59, 10s. in paper and £3, 4s. 8d. in small 
 silver. There is, also, an order of James Fisher 
 on 'Squire Lee for £110 in currency.'' 
 
 J/r. B. — " That is all I believe ; no, I was near 
 forgetting an important matter. I wish you to 
 Avrite to Mr. Buchanan per the Boyal Widoic, now 
 at Annapolis, and request him to explain to Mr. 
 John Bland why he did not receive the last con- 
 signment of tobacco ; you know the cause of the 
 accident; also, to see the underwriters about insur- 
 ance on goods lost by the foundering of the Rctp- 
 jmliannoclc. Now, give me the list of balances due 
 at Nanticock, and then you may go on with yours* 
 What have you got there, Jerry?" 
 
 The question was addressed to one of the young 
 men we have mentioned, who entered with a 
 crumi^led juece of paper in his hand. 
 
 "It is a note for you, sir," replied the lad; 
 "Mr. Claughton sent it, with a message that it 
 had been brought to him last night through mis- 
 take." 
 
 Mr. Ballantine ran his e^-es hastily over the 
 queer-looking missive. " Eh ? what's this ? " he ex- 
 claimed, knitting his heavy brows in evident dis- 
 pleasure as he slowly repeated t]ie contents. "Im- 
 
WOODBOURXE. 117 
 
 portant and pressing business in Lancaster; learned 
 by merest chance that vessel goes round; takes lib- 
 erty of passage in her, as speediest and most agree- 
 able way of getting there; hopes he will be par- 
 doned; his friend, Mr. Alloway, accompanies him. 
 Was ever the like of his impudence. Did you de- 
 liver my order to Braun, Murdoch?" 
 
 "I did, sir," replied the clerk. 
 
 " Positively on no account to permit another 
 passenger to come on board of the vessel?" 
 
 "Those Avere the very -words, sir." 
 
 " Discharge him on the spot, as soon as he gets 
 back; that is, if he ever does come back; there's 
 no questioning what mad freaks these wild callants 
 are up to ; ten to one they are captured. I am 
 not surprised at that boy's conduct; but I did 
 give Alloway credit for having at least a gi'ain of 
 discretion." 
 
 "What do you suppose is their intention, sir?" 
 the clerk ventured to ask. 
 
 " Intention ? " exclaimed Mr. Ballantine ; " why, to 
 meddle with what does not in the least concern 
 theuL It would serve them right if Dent takes 
 them along with him to Glasgow. But who knows 
 what danger they may run the vessel into ? I 
 would not have her miscarry for twice her value. 
 Where is Job Halliday? I must send a note to 
 Mr. Graeme about this matter?" 
 
 Miirdocli. — "'He has not been here this morning, 
 I am afraid he is on one of his long sprees." 
 
 Mr. B. — "AVhat, again, after the warning I gave 
 him? Pay him his wages and let him go; truly, 
 
118 
 
 WOODBOURi^E. 
 
 I am beset — call Jerry; but never mind, I'll go 
 myself to see Graeme. Put the ])apers and money 
 np securely in one package and bring tliem to the 
 house punctually at two o'clock." 
 
 AYith wliicli parting injunction tLo indignant 
 merchant left Mr. McKittrick to finish his task. 
 
CnAPTETv XI. 
 
 -L-,ii-- S we have seen, tlie cruise of our madcap 
 l^/i'W'J adventurers had turned out very different 
 from anything which their liveliest ima- 
 ginations had depicted. Meantime their 
 friends at Bonliill were in total ignorance of their 
 moyements. In fact, Miss Lucy Graeme was sorely 
 put out and she had good reason for the displeas- 
 ure. Mr. Piichard Alloway had failed to keep an 
 imperative engagement. She had particularly re- 
 quested him the day before at church to come 
 over that afternoon with his friend, Mr. Carleton, 
 and take his fair cousin and herself out riding. 
 The diversion, she thought, would be good for 
 Mary, and Dick agreed with her ; his last words 
 were that she might certainly look for them to be 
 punctually on hand at the appointed hour. It was 
 long come and gone; another and another had 
 passed and still they were not come; nor had a 
 message been sent to explain the seeming delin- 
 quency. All this time she and Mary had been 
 patiently waiting in the parlor, equipped for the 
 jaunt; the horses Avere ready saddled at the rack, 
 and now the shadows from the hills were gradu- 
 
 (119) 
 
120 WOODBOURXE. 
 
 ally creeping over field and forest and her last 
 glance through the window gave reiterated assur- 
 ance that her expectations were doomed to disap- 
 pointment. Mary saw the cloud on her friend's 
 face, usually so bright and wreathed with smiles; 
 but she thought it best not to appear to notice 
 her vexation. 
 
 "You had as well send the horses back to the 
 stable, Lucy dear," said she ; " something has hap- 
 pened to detain the gentlemen; cousin Eichard is 
 not wont to play truant. It matters little about 
 the ride; that is no rarity to me; only I did wish 
 to go and see Mrs. Thompson, poor woman ; Archie's 
 mishap has been a terrible shock to her." 
 
 Lucy. — '-'Does she know^ what Mr. Osborn said 
 about it?" 
 
 Mary. — " yes ; papa informed Mr. Thompson 
 yesterday. I have no patience with that old bear; 
 he is perfectly odious; think of his still declaring 
 that your cousin Edward is the cause of the trou- 
 ble, after being told who he is." 
 
 Lucy. — ''And you really believe that no harm 
 has befallen him — cousin Edward?" 
 
 Mary. — "Certainly; why should I fear for him, 
 well knowing that he and Captain Dent are on 
 the best terms?" 
 
 Lucy. — "But whv did he go away on the ves- 
 sel?" 
 
 J/t7r?/.— " Who says that lie did? Mr. Osborn 
 makes no mention of him in his letter to vour 
 fatlier." 
 
 Lticy. — " What, tlien, lias become of liim ? " 
 
 Mary shook her head. "These are stirring times, 
 
WOODBOURls^E. 121 
 
 dear/' she evasively replied; "Ave literally know not 
 what a day or an hour may bring forth." 
 
 Lucy was evidently not satisfied with the hap- 
 hazard explanation. She became on a sudden 
 silent and thoughtful. 
 
 "Mamma," she presently said, "knew Sir William 
 Markham when a child and was very fond of 
 him — so unlike his father, she thought." 
 
 Mary. — "He is said to be a person of superior 
 ability and is generally popular; indeed, there is 
 nothing to his discredit that I am avvare of ex- 
 cept his unnatural behavior to your cousin Ed- 
 Vv-ard, for which I can iiiKigine no palliation or ex- 
 cuse. He knew that every word he said was false, 
 for it is perfectly evident from what Mr. Carleton 
 told me the other night that he had heard in some 
 way the whole unhappy story of your uncle's fate ; 
 doubtless from the late Mr. Richard Austin. Yet 
 it would seem that he has repented of his conduct 
 in some measure at last. Mr. Buchanan says in 
 that letter which Mr. Carleton fortunately discov- 
 ered, that he expressed unfeigned regret for what 
 had happened and assured him that he would 
 make ample amends for the wrongs he had done. 
 Such a declaration, as your father remarked, coming 
 from a man of his high character and standing, 
 ought surely to relieve our minds of all apprehen- 
 sion of further serious trouble between these near 
 kinsmen. Mr. Graeme enjoined me not to say a 
 word to your mother about the quarrel." 
 
 Lucy, — "You have never told me exactly what 
 did fall out. Wait a moment" (seeing that Mary 
 
 11 
 
122 WOODBOURNE. 
 
 was about to respond;, "I must have the liorses 
 put up." 
 
 That duty performed, " Now," said she, resuming 
 her seat on the sofa at Mary's side, " tell me all 
 about the fight.'' 
 
 Jf^^r?/.— '"Well, you know, the Abbe left your cousin 
 Edward in Paris with the Count de Yillieres. He 
 was greatly perplexed to decide whether to reveal 
 to his pupil what he had learned concerning his 
 parentage. After much debate, he determined to 
 entrust the matter to his brother's discretion. The 
 Count had conceived the strongest affection for Ed- 
 ward, both for his own and his father's sake; had 
 introduced him everywhere in the best circles of 
 Parisian society, and had given him the benefit 
 of his instructions in what pertained to military 
 aiTairs, politics and belles-lettres, in all which he 
 became thoroughly proficient. It was some months 
 after the Abbe's departure before the Count im- 
 2)arted to him the secret of his birth. His first im- 
 pulse was to go at once to England and seek an 
 understanding with Sir "William Markham, being 
 convinced that the baronet knew who and what he 
 was. From this course the Count dissuaded him, 
 not deeming it opportune or politic at the moment; 
 it would be more prudent, he thought, to wait 
 until Sir AVilliam had gone home from London, 
 where he was then attending in Parliament. By 
 his advice Edward now assumed the name of Con- 
 rad, which belonged to his mother. Only to a few 
 intimate friends of the Count was his history made 
 known, and from them he received every mark of 
 courtesy and consideration; so that altogether his 
 
WOODDOURXE. 123 
 
 sojourn M-as as pleasaut as lie could desire Mr. 
 Asburtoii, the Englishman of ^vhom the Abbe tells, 
 had spent the winter in Paris. He purposed re- 
 turning home early in spring, and with the Count's 
 consent it was arranged that Edward slionld ac- 
 company him. He resided in Cumberland, in the 
 immediate neighborhood of Z\larkham Castle. Soon 
 after his arrival there, Edward sent a message to 
 Sir AVilliam Mark ham requesting an interview. The 
 baronet acceded to his request, but strange to say 
 designated a certain retired place in the Park for 
 their meeting. The selection of such an unusual 
 spot awakened Mr. Asbnrton's suspicion; he 
 advised Edward to take his sword v>itli him, 
 keeping it concealed beneath his cloak. The pre- 
 caution was well-timed. Sir William Markham had 
 a deadly purpose at heart in making th^it appoint- 
 ment. They had not exchanged many words before 
 the baronet began to quarrel with him, madly, 
 frantically. He was as one possessed of a devil. 
 He heaped on Edward every vile and contumelious 
 epithet; called him an impostor; taunted him with 
 the spuriousness of his birth, and seeing him hesi- 
 tate to draw his sword, scornfully denounced him 
 as a coward. They fought; the combat was fierce 
 and short. Sir William was overmatched in strength 
 and dexterity. Easily putting aside a desperate 
 lunge at his heart, Edward caught his adversary's 
 weapon in his hand and broke it in twain; then 
 he coolly ran him through the body and left him 
 lying for dead on the ground." 
 
 Lucy turned pale and shuddered at this graphic 
 recital of the duel. " Gracious," Mary, she ex- 
 
124 WOODBOUIlis'E. 
 
 claimed, "how can you speak in that cold blooded 
 way of anything so horrible?" 
 
 "It would haye been horrible, dear, had the 
 baronet been killed,*' replied Miss Littleton, with 
 imperturbable sang-froid; "it is not pleasant to 
 have the life blood of a fellow-being on one's hand, 
 even when it is shed in defence of one's own life. 
 As it luckily happened. Sir William ]!^[arkham only 
 received the chastisement he justly merited. Let 
 us hope that he has profited by the stern lesson." 
 
 Lucy. — " What became of cousin Edward after the 
 fight?" 
 
 Mary. — " Of course he lost no time in effecting 
 his escape from that dangerous locality. In this 
 he was aided by Mr. Asburton. Provided by that 
 gentleman vv'ith a trusty guide and a letter of in- 
 troduction to the master of the Katrine, he reached 
 Glasgow in safety, v/hence he at once embarked for 
 America. He found Captain Dent, as was repre- 
 sented by his kind English host, to be a i:)erson in 
 whom he could implicitly confide. On the voyage, 
 v/hich was long and stormy, the skipper, between 
 whom and Mr. Asburton there appeared to be a 
 mysterious tie, shov/ed Edward every mark of civility 
 and attention to his comfort, and although he was 
 exceedingly reserved and guarded in his speech, it 
 was evident that he had no good will for Sir Wil- 
 liam Markham. At Annapolis they parted with the 
 warmest expressions of mutual regard. So, you see, 
 I have a very substantial reason for believing that 
 if anything has gone wrong with your cousin Ed- 
 ward, it cannot be laid to the charge of Captain 
 Dent." 
 
WOODBOURXE. 125 
 
 Lucy. — "Yes, so it seems; papa, too, has a high 
 regard for Captain Dent and does not believe that 
 he has been guilty of any Tvrong; yet I cannot 
 forgive him for treating poor little Archie so 
 cruelly." 
 
 Mary. — '•' There again, dear, I think you do him 
 gross injustice. lie is not implicated in that sad 
 business, according to Mr. Osborn's account, any 
 farther than to asseverate positively that the man 
 was acting "with his full knowledge and consent, 
 and that he held himself accountable for the trans- 
 action to his employers in Glasgow. Besides, he 
 pledged his solemn word to Mr. shorn that so far 
 from any mischief being intended to the boy, the 
 sequel Avould show that it was the very best thing" 
 that could have happened for him." 
 
 Lucy. — '-AVell, I sincerely hope and trust that all 
 will turn out as you seem to anticipate; but it is 
 none the less provoking to be kept so long in sus- 
 pense. Come, let's go and change our dresses. 
 Stay; there's papa's step in the passage, perhaps he 
 has news of the delinqnents." 
 
 Mr. Graeme had been to escort Mr. Waddell 
 part of the way on his homeward voyage, and was 
 just come back. Lucy ran to meet him. He was 
 grave and flurried. 
 
 "What is the matter, papa?" asked Lucy ten- 
 derly, as she helped him take off his wra^ipings, 
 -you look worried," 
 
 *''0h, it's naething— naething worth mentioning," 
 said he, trying to assume a careless tone, though 
 his face plainly denoted that there was something 
 
 11* 
 
12G WOODBOURN'E. 
 
 on his mind -wliicli he was debating tlie propriety 
 of making known. " AVhere is Mary ? " 
 
 " Here I am, sir," replied that young Lady, 
 coming forward; "if it concerns me, don't hesitate, 
 I entreat, to speak freely, I can bear anything but 
 suspense." 
 
 " Ye are a braw lassie, a vera braw lassie," said 
 Mr. Graeme, kissing her and leading the way back 
 to the parlor, the door of which he carefully 
 closed. 
 
 "Weel, I dinna ken but it is sae vera bad, 
 after all; aiblins they might hae consulted wi' me 
 before ganging on sic a wild goose chase." 
 
 "They? Who, papa?" asked Lucy. 
 
 "Who? why the lads frae Woodbourne, to bo 
 sure," replied Mr. Graeme. 
 
 " Where have they gone ? " eagerly inquired both 
 the girls in a breath. 
 
 "Gane? Where else, but speerin' after the 
 Katrine in your Cousin Ballantine's vessel, which 
 they took without sae much as a beg your leave, 
 sir. He's angry enough about it, I can tell you, 
 and wi' reason ; it was vera wrang, vera wrang." 
 
 "How did you hear this, papa?" asked Lucy, 
 on whose pretty cheeks the lily and rose were 
 battling for supremacy, while her accents grew 
 perceptibly tremulous and the moisture gathered in 
 her lovely eyes. 
 
 "From his own lips," replied her father; "I 
 met him on the road as I was coming home.^' 
 
 Lucy looked from him to Mary. To her sur- 
 prise, that young lady betrayed in her features 
 anything else than displeasure. Her face was 
 
WOODBOUKXE. 127 
 
 flushed, and her eves kindled >Nith a glow of 
 excitement Intuitively she had taken in the 
 meaning of the daring movement. It was apparent, 
 too, to her keen perception that Mr. Graeme him- 
 self was secretly in sympathy with the adventurers, 
 and was awkwardly endeavoring to mask his real 
 feelings. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Graeme, I am so glad they are gone; 
 we shall soon learn all about the matter." 
 
 "Weel, wcel," said the cautious old gentleman, 
 sliaking his head with an air of dubiety, "gin nae 
 ill-luck betide — wha the deil is making that 
 racket" — there was a loud knock at the hall- 
 door — "go and see, bairn." 
 
 Lucy hastened to obey; but ere she reached the 
 door, it flew open and revealed to their astonished 
 gaze the form and figure of the person who was 
 the subject of their intense solicitude. With an 
 unchecked exclamation of delight, Mary rushed 
 into her lover's extended arms, while Mr. Graeme, 
 quickly divining the situation of affairs, promptly 
 drew his dauojhter out of the room. 
 
CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 OW, Sir Truant," said Mary, when the 
 transport of their meeting was over, "give 
 an account of your eccentric conduct. 
 AYhat do you mean by raising such a 
 hub-bub in our peaceful neighborhood, to say 
 nothing of giving me such a terrible fright?" 
 
 " Were you then really alarmed about me, • dear- 
 est?" naively inquired her lover. 
 
 Mary. — " To be sure I was, and with good rea- 
 son. Do you know what you are accused of?" 
 
 Ediuard. — ''Anything very wrong?" 
 
 Mary. — "In the first place, it is alleged that 
 you aided and abetted one Captain Dent in the 
 abduction of poor little Archie." 
 
 EcUuard (With affected indignation). — "Ridiculous; 
 "Who says so?" 
 
 Mary. — "Never mind; it is moreover charged 
 that you are nothing else but a spy, a sort of 
 three-headed Cerberus of an emissary of the great 
 triumvirate of iniquity, his Majesty of France, the 
 Pope of Ivome and the *old boy!'" 
 
 Edward laughed. "Ah, I see now in what quar- 
 ter the wind sits; the old tory has doubtless ap- 
 plied to Colonel Littleton for a warrant to appre- 
 
 (128) 
 
wooDBornxE. 129 
 
 hend me if found within the four seas. Seriously 
 speaking, what did 3'ou think had become of me?" 
 Mary. — '' AVhat else could I reasonably conjecture, 
 other than that you had met witli an unexpected 
 detention — possibly the Abbe had been prevented 
 from keeping his appointment or had changed his 
 plans and 3'ou had been suddenly summoned to go 
 over the river. Of one thing I was v/ell satisfied ; 
 you did not go o:T on the vessel." 
 
 Edward. — " There you mistook ; I did go away 
 on the Kairini, much against my will; in a word, 
 I was made prisoner." 
 
 Mary. — "A prisoner; how dared they — " 
 Edward. — ''Xay, dearest, be not disturbed; as it 
 turned out there vras no great harm done; yet it 
 was a most inexplicable affair; a deep one, for a 
 surety, is that Captain Dent." 
 
 Mary. — '^Oh, do tell me all about it." 
 Ediuard. — '-'Well, you remember that when I 
 wrote to the skipper of the Katrine to engage a 
 passage for the Abbe, he very kindly offered to send 
 a boat for him to St. Inigo's and bring him across 
 the river in time for us to have our desired in- 
 terview and leave-taking. "When I arrived at Yeo- 
 comico, the good father was not there. I waited 
 until nightfall and still he came not. Naturally, 
 I grew impatient, and hiring a boat set out for 
 the vessel. On the way I was met by the Katrine^ s 
 yawl, which had been despatched for me. At the 
 ship's side I was politely received by the mate 
 and escorted to a room. The Captain, he said, was 
 engaged with a pascenger, and begged that I would 
 excuse his seeming rudeness in not waiting uj^on 
 
130 WOODBOUr.NE. 
 
 me at once. The gentleman I expected to meet 
 was not 3"et come; tliey were looking for liim 
 every moment, the weather being so calm made it 
 necessary to row every foot of tlie way. With this 
 explanation he left me alone. Vexed by the delay, 
 I sat down on one of the lockers and counted the 
 minutes until an hour was gone. Then I rose and 
 took a turn or two up and down the floor. Tired 
 of this, I stopped, and began making an inspection 
 and inventory of the apartment. It was different 
 from the one v>-]]ich had been assigned to mo be- 
 fore; it was cleanly, snug and comfortable enough, 
 but it was entirely destitute of furniture, save a 
 couple of lockers, two berths and a capacious cup- 
 board. This last stood open, and on a shelf in it 
 were refreshments, which had evidently been placed 
 there for my use and behoof. Like a flash of 
 lightning a gleam of suspicion shot through my 
 brain. I rushed to the door. It was fast, locked, 
 bolted and barred. I was in a prison ; why and 
 for what purpose I could not divine. Of one 
 thing I soon became convinced; my jailor had 
 efiectually barred every avenue of escape ; I was 
 as safely bestowed as a bird in a cage. Realizing 
 this disagreeable fact I became in an instant per- 
 fectly cool and collected, and resuming my seat on 
 the locker, calmly thought the matter over. I had 
 but one enemy in the world; this was his con- 
 trivance; no doubt the skipper had been suborned 
 to kidnap me. Determined to make the best of 
 circumstances I turned into one of the berths and 
 went to sleep, and so sound vv'as my slumber, 
 thanks to the hard sides I had taken, that I was 
 
AVOODBOURXE. 13X 
 
 only awakened by hearing a loud noise, which I 
 discovered was made by the turnkey as he slammed 
 to the door of my dungeon. The first object 
 which greeted me was the open cupboard; in it I 
 saw displayed a fresh and bountiful supply of pro- 
 vant, wine, biscuits, conserves, cold meats — vic- 
 tuals enough for a siege. At all events, they did 
 not mean to starve me. Immediately I became con- 
 scious that the vessel was in motion, drifting 
 slowly with the tide. Overhead all was as still as 
 the grave; I lay in the berth and listened in- 
 tently for hours; not a sound reached my ears 
 save a smothered word or tvro of command and 
 the occasional quick tread of a foot on deck. I 
 ■had often read of the horrors of solitary captivity; 
 such was to be my lot. Xevertheless, I was not 
 greatly appalled at the thought. I rose, dressed, 
 and with unimpaired appetite, attacked the store of 
 provisions. Having breakfasted heartily, I diverted 
 mj'self with walking ojiickly back and forth 
 in my prison-house, wondering what was ahead of 
 me and feigning an imaginary scene of extreme 
 peril in which I was to act the part of a heroic 
 martyr, and surmising, if the worst befel, Avhat a 
 lady, who shall be nameless, would do." 
 Mary. — " Were you not dreadfully scared ?" 
 Edward. — " Strange to say, np to this moment I 
 was not conscious of feeling the least sensation of 
 alarm. The situation was so strange and unex- 
 pected that it awakened intense curiosity and set 
 mv fertile invention to work to an amazinfr desrree. 
 My character, as you know, lias a decidedly ro- 
 mantic bent and I have an inveterate penchant for 
 
132 wooDi50uii:srE. 
 
 adventure. The day wore on; it passed; another 
 night came; the silence and solitude were unbroken; 
 not a soul came near me. I began now, shame to 
 say, to grow nervous and fidgety; the situation 
 was becoming intolerably irksome ; in spite of all 
 I could do I lost control of my thoughts; they 
 wandered wildly hither and thither, and all manner 
 of phantoms chased through my brain. Then, in- 
 deed, I had a keen sense of the misery of solitary 
 confinement, shut out from all converse with my 
 fellow-man. It was so oppressively still. 0, for a 
 sound to break the awful monotony of silence. 
 Hours rolled by during which I continued to pace 
 the room with rapid strid3S. At last relief came. 
 A shuddering tremor ran through the vessel; then 
 a heaving motion up and down and now a bound 
 forward; the wind had suddenly sprung up and the 
 bark was speeding before it. I felt a thrill of joy 
 at the change; here, at least, was life and motion. 
 The wind increased to a gale; it grew very cold. 
 To keep warm I went on walking my round until 
 wearied with fatigue, I threw myself undressed into 
 the berth and in a little while went to sleep. 
 Awaking with a start I heard some one calling me 
 by name. It was the mate; the captain, he said, 
 had sent him to conduct me to his cabin. Hur- 
 riedly springing up and composing my disordered 
 array I followed him. To my surprise it was near 
 midday. The ship was lying at anchor in the 
 middle of a large river and at her side was a 
 schooner from which men were transferring hogs- 
 heads of tobacco. On reaching the cabin I found 
 to my amazement and delight, not Dent, but the 
 
WOODBOURlfE. 133 
 
 Abbe, He embraced me -warmly, and ere I had 
 recovered from my surprise sufficiently to ask a 
 question, 'Heaven, my son,' said he, *has made me 
 the instrument of preventing a great crime ; how 
 or by whom intended I am not at liberty to re- 
 veal. You must not blame the skipper; it was all 
 a mistake on his part. You are free; all is ar- 
 ranged for your return to your friends. Time 
 presses, in a little while we shall be again under- 
 way ; I have , only a few minutes in w^hich to 
 speak a parting word. I am going, as you are 
 aware, on a voyage of uncertain duration. My good 
 friend, Mr. Carroll, is fully advised of my wishes 
 and plans as they affect your welfare. Confer freely 
 with him and follow his advice. One thing more. 
 There is a little boy on board who has been taken 
 away from his friends in Virginia. Assure them, 
 in my name, that he is in safe hands and cannot 
 suffer harm. Some day they will know more of 
 the matter.' 
 
 "With a fervent blessing he bade me adieu. I 
 was lost in bewilderment, and when I regained my 
 senses I found myself standing on the deck of the 
 schooner staring vacantly at the Kafrinc, as with 
 outstretched wings she went sailing down the river." 
 
 Mari/. — "And you did not once see Captain Dent 
 and don't know the meaning of his inscrutable 
 behavior ?" 
 
 Edward. — '*Xo; he was all the time invisible. 
 "Well, to make an end of a long story, I was in- 
 formed by the person in charge of the schooner 
 that she belonged to a Colonel Gordon, who lived 
 at a place called Merry Point, in the County of 
 
 12 
 
134 WOODBOURKE. 
 
 Lancaster, wliither he was instructed to convey me. 
 Before doing so, however, he had to go a short 
 way up the river for a load of corn. Consequently, 
 I did not reach Merry Point until this morning. 
 Colonel Gordon obligingly provided me with a horse 
 and a guide, and here I am. By the w^ay, I 
 should have mentioned that as we were making 
 the landing we passed another schooner on the 
 deck of which were a group of persons, among 
 whom I recognized the gigantic figure of Mr. 
 Eichard Alloway — Que diaUe fait4l dans cette 
 (jaVere ! " 
 
 Mary laughed. "Well," said she, "it's an Oiu 
 saying, you know, one story is good until another 
 is told. It is my turn now; prepare yourself for 
 the greatest surprise you ever had in your life. 
 But, no; I must keep you a while longer in sus- 
 pense until I have made you acquainted with my 
 very dear friends, the Graemes." 
 
 As she rose to leave the room a servant entered 
 v,dth lights and a letter, which he handed to her. 
 
 "This is for you," she exclaimed, "and is ad- 
 dressed to the care of Captain Delmay; who on 
 earth is he?" 
 
 Edward gravely shook his head, as he took the 
 extended packet. "Another mystery," said he ; " per- 
 chance the letter will explain." 
 
 He hastily opened it. A small slip of paper fell 
 out on the floor. He picked it up and read as 
 follows : " My much WTonged cousin : Mr. Alloway 
 v/ill tell you why I have gone away without seeing 
 you, in obedience to my brother's request. His 
 letter, novf on the way (if you have not already 
 
WOODBOUR^'^E. 135 
 
 received it), will explain everything. Tlie enclosed 
 document rightfully belongs to you. The past can- 
 not be recalled; I trust that its misdeeds will be 
 atoned by the future. 
 
 "Ever your dutiful cousin, 
 
 *' FREDERICK MAKKnAil." 
 
 He turned to the document. It was Mr. Austin's 
 letter to Sir William Markham. The first few lines 
 caused his heart to throb tumultuously; but con- 
 scious that Mary was watching him closely, he 
 commanded his features so as not to betray a hint 
 of its contents until he had finished reading it. 
 Then he heard a profound sigh of relief and in a 
 voice which vibrated with a depth of feeling no 
 words could express, "You may read it for yourself, 
 darling," said he, giving her back the letter and 
 turning away to conceal his emotion. 
 
 "With eager eyes Mary rapidly devoured page after 
 page of the closely-written epistle. It was a repeti- 
 tion of the sorrowful tale which Carleton had nar- 
 rated to her on the night of the party; the missing 
 link of a broken chain. But what avail was it, now 
 that the rightful heir had renounced his claim to 
 his father's hall. 
 
 Here the interest of our story ends. The game of 
 hide and seek has been played. Xothing remains 
 for us to do but to make our congees according to 
 custom to the principal characters of the drama. 
 
 In less than a month they were married — were 
 Captain Edward Conrad Markham, of the Conti- 
 nental Army, and Miss Mary Littleton, the fair 
 consummate flower of Lowland beauty. The wedding 
 
136 WOODBOURi^E. 
 
 was a very exclusive affair and unattended with any 
 of the pomp and circumstance which in those days 
 almost invariably commemorated such joyous events. 
 A good reason was assigned for thus violating the 
 ancient usage, which was, that the bridegroom was 
 in duty bound to report Avithout delay at the head- 
 quarters of the army before Boston. The invitations 
 were confined to the Alloways and Graemes, there 
 was very short commons of "cakes and ale," and good 
 parson Smith did the rest for the happy pair in con- 
 formity with the sacramental requirements of the 
 Established Church. Mary accompanied her husband 
 as far as Philadelphia on liis way to join the army, 
 and having consecrated him with her prayers and 
 tears to the holy cause of his country, returned to 
 Clifton. Her future home was in Maryland — a beau- 
 tiiful villa on the Severn in the midst of that en- 
 chanting region which lies around Annapolis. But 
 she was not destined to make her abode there for 
 many long and anxious years. It was a painfully 
 trying situation for a new-made bride to be placed in, 
 to be separated from her husband before the honey- 
 moon had waxed and waned; but it was her delib- 
 erate choice after duly reflecting upon the fatalities 
 of war. She therefore bore her lot with cheerful 
 equanimity, wrote the most tenderly brave and en- 
 couraging letters by every post to her young soldier, 
 and occupied herself chiefly with assisting Lucy 
 Graeme, who was making preparations for her own 
 approaching nuptials. These took place in the early 
 part of April and was projected on a scale of mu- 
 nificence which made ample amends for the previous 
 public disappointment. The neighbors, young and 
 
WOODBOURKE. 137 
 
 old, were there, and each guest brought with him 
 his quota of hearty fun and wholesome mirth to 
 give the entertainment the genuine flavor of old 
 Virginia hospitable cheer. The "horse company" 
 graced the occasion in full regimentals, the dashing 
 cavalier Carleton shining in the van. But the to:ist 
 of the whole hilarious party was our weather-beaten 
 old friend, Mike Burke, who was in the finest pos- 
 sible feathers, and fovored the company with an end- 
 less supply of irresistibly droll humor, interlarded 
 with comical catches and grotesque capers, and 
 drunk the bride's health and the bridegroom's health 
 and everybod3^'s health in large jorams of rum punch 
 as a succedaneum for his native poteen, such as no 
 other animal in the world could have stood up 
 under but such another "leathering swash of an 
 Irishman " under like inspiring circumstance. In the 
 language of the Jenkins of the time, the wed- 
 ding was a most enjoyable affair. Lucy looked as 
 archly charming as could be, and sung her sweetest 
 songs more divinely than ever before, and Mr. Eich- 
 ard Alloway was the happiest fellow who ever heed- 
 lessly ran his neck into the fatal noose, Mr. John 
 Graeme was a miserable counterfeit of careless indif- 
 ference in giving away the bride, and his best 
 attempt at wit was a mal-apropos quotation of the 
 proverb, which says a man may woo where he list, 
 but he maun wed where his wind is; very appo- 
 site when applied to his son-in-law and himself, 
 seeing that neither had courted but one woman in 
 his life. As for the sweet hostess, her heart was 
 really too full for utterance, and her thoughts were 
 constantly straying far away to her absent darling. 
 
 12* 
 
138 WOODBOUENE. 
 
 One day shortly after the wedding, came a long 
 letter from George Graeme to his mother. It was 
 written from Markham Castle and cwitained two 
 matters of especial interest. He had left college 
 and was on his way home to share the destinies of 
 his countrymen. The rest is told in his own 
 words: "On yesterday Sir William invited me to 
 walk with him. We went together to the old vault, 
 in which the remains of so many of our fixmily are 
 deposited. There was an addition, and entirely new 
 apartment, in which was a beautiful cenotaph of the 
 purest white marble. He pointed silently to it and 
 I read the names, with what emotion, you can 
 imagine. They were those of Sir Henry Markham 
 and his wife, Constance Conrad. And now, my 
 dearest mother, the supreme wish of your heart has 
 been fulfilled, and may your evening sky grow 
 brighter and brighter with the smiles of love and 
 joy and peace until it fades in the light of eternal 
 happiness." 
 
 E2JD OF PART II. 
 
If the reader lias not discovered in the closing chapters of 
 this narrative a commendable illustration of the art of 
 gradual diminution — of ** growing to a point," — the failure 
 to do so is owing entirely to his want of critical discernment. 
 In the original design several more chapters were embraced, 
 but, remembering that it is not good husbandry to carry 
 all our eggs in one basket, we put aside a budget of ma- 
 terials for the sequel we have in contemplation. Whether 
 the promise of such a work will ever be fulfilled depends upon 
 the reception which is accorded our first venture in the over- 
 crowded mart of fiction. 
 
■"73^ y^ mj^] % 
 
 :^x^ 
 
 
 wiiij- 
 
 ^® 
 
 j.??i.ror4?6n"35 
 
 Berl 
 

 
 
 M120T7 
 
 ^..-^^ 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY ^; , 
 
 
M^mi.