THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF P. ^ennox Tierney BEATRICE HALLAM. NotieL AUTHOR OF "SURRY OF EAGLES NEST," "MOHUN," "HILT TO HILT," ETC., ETC. NEW YORK: COPYRIGHT, 1892, BT G. W. Dillingham, Publisher^ SUCCESSOR TO G. W. CARLETON & Co. MDCCCXCII. BEATRICE HALLAM. PROLOGUE THE memories of men are full of old romances : but thej will not speak our skalds. King Arthur lies still woundee grievously, in the far island valley of Avilyon : Lord OdiL. in the misty death realm : Balder the Beautiful, sought long by great Herrnoder, lives beyond Hela's portals, and will bless his people some day when he comes. But when? King Arthur ever is to come : Odin will one day wind his horn and clash his wild barbaric cymbals through the Nord- land pines as he returns, but not in our generation : Balder will rise from sleep and shine again the white sun god on his world. But always these things will be : Arthur and the rest are meanwhile sleeping. Romance is history : the illustration may be lame the truth is melancholy. Because the men whose memories hold this history will not speak, it dies away with them : the great past goes deeper and deeper into mist : becomes finally a dying strain of music, and is no more remembered forever. Thinking these thoughts I have thought it well to set down here some incidents which took place on Virginia soil and in which an ancestor of my family had no small part to write my family romance in a single word, uad alsc t though following a connecting thread, a leading idea, to speak briefly of the period to which these memories, as I may call them, do attach. That period was very picturesque : illustrated and adorned, as it surely was, by such figures as one seldom sees now on the earth. Often in my evening reveries, assisted by the partial gloom resulting from the struggles of the darkness and the dying firelight, I endeavor, and not wholly without success, to summon from their sleep these stalwart 16 AN INTERIOR WITH PORTRAITS. cavaliers, and tender, graceful dames of the far past. They rise before me and glide onward manly faces, with clear eyes and lofty brows, and firm lips covered with the knightly fringe : soft, tender faces, with bright eyes and gracious smiles and winning gestures ; all the life and splendor of the past again becomes incarnate ! How plain the embroidered doublet, and the sword-belt, and the powdered hair, and hat adorned with its wide floating feather ! How real are the ruffled breasts and hands, the long-flapped waistcoats, and the buckled shoes ! And then the fairer forms : they come as plainly with their looped-back gowns all glittering with gold and silver flowers, and on their heads great masses of curls with pearls interwoven ! See the gracious smiles and musical movement all the graces which made those dead dames so attractive to the outward eye as their pure faith ful natures made them priceless to the eyes of the heart. CHAPTER L AN DPTESIOB WITH PORTRAITS, ON a splendid October afternoon, in the year of our Lord 1763, two persons who will appear frequently in this history were seated in the great dining-room of EfEngham Hall. But let us first Ray a few words of this old mansion. Effingham Hall was a stately edifice not far from Williams- burg, which, as every body knows, was at that period the capi tal city of the colony of Virginia. The hall was constructed of elegant brick brought over from England : and from the great portico in front of the building a beautiful rolling country of hills and valleys, field and forest, spread itself pleasantly before the eye, bounded far off along the circling belt of woods by the bright waters of the noble river. Entering the large hall of the old house, you had before you, walls covered with deers' antlers, fishing-rods, and guw : portraits of cavaliers, and dames and children : even carefu ly painted pictures of celebrated race-horses, on whose spe and bottom many thousands of pounds had been staked an lost and won in their day and generation. AN INTERIOR WITH PORTRAITS. IT On one side of the hall a broad staircase with taken ba lustrade led to the numerous apartments above : and on the opposite side, a door gave entrance into the great dining room. The dining-room was decorated with great elegance : the carved oak wainscot extending above the mantelpiece in an unbroken expanse of fruits and flowers, hideous laughing faces, and long foamy surges to the cornice. The furniture was in the Louis Quatorze style, which the reader is familiar with, from its reproduction in our own day ; and the chairs were the same low- seated affairs, with high carved backs, which are now seen. There were Chelsea figures, and a side board full of plate, and a Japan cabinet, and a Kiddermin ster carpet, and huge andirons. On the andirons crackled a few twigs lost in the great country fireplace. On the wall hung a dozen pictures of gay gallants, brave warriors, and dames, whose eyes outshone their diamonds : and more than one ancestor looked grimly down, clad in cui rass and armlets, and holding in his mailed hand the sword which had done bloody service in its time. The lady por traits, as an invariable rule, were decorated with sunset clouds of yellow lace the bright locks were powdered, and many little black patches set off the dazzling fairness of the rounded chins. Lapdogs nestled on the satin laps : and not one of the gay dames but seemed to be smiling, with her head bent sidewise fascinatingly on the courtly or warlike figures ranged with them in a long glittering line. These portraits are worth looking up to, but those which we promised the reader are real. In one of the carved chairs, if any thing more uncom fortable than all the rest, sits, or rather lounges, a young man of about twenty-five. He is very richly clad, and in a costume which would be apt to attract a large share of at tention in our own day, when dress seems to have become a mere covering, and the prosaic tendencies of the age are to despise every thing but what ministers to actual material pleasure. The gentleman before us lives fortunately one hundred years before our day : and suffers from an opposite tenden cy in costume. His head is covered with a long flowing pe ruke, heavy with powder, and the drop curls hang down OB 18 AW TNTBRIOE WITH PORTRAITS. his cheeks ambrosially : his cheeks are delicately rouged, and two patches, arranged with matchless art, complete the distinguished tout ensemble of the handsome face. At breast, a cloud of lace reposes on the rich embroidery of his figured satin waistcoat, reaching to his knees : this lace is voint de Venise and white, that fashion having come in just one month since. The sleeves of his rich doublet are turned back to his elbows, and are as large as a bushel the opening being filled up, however, with long ruffles, which reach down over the delicate jewelled hand. He wears silk stockings of spotless white, and his feet are cased in slippers of Spanish leather, adorned with diamond buckles. Add velvet garters below the knee : a little muff of leopard skin reposing near at hand upon a chair not omitting a snuff-box peeping from the pocket, and Mr. Champ Effingham, just from Oxford and his grand tour, is before you with his various surroundings. He is reading the work which some time since attained to such extreme popularity, Mr. Joseph Addison's serial, " The Spectator," collected now for its great merits, into bound volumes. Mr. Effingham reads with a languid air, just as he sits, and turns over the leaves with an ivory paper cutter, which he brought from Venice with the plate glass yonder on the sideboard near the silver baskets and pitch ers. This languor is too perfect to be wholly affected, and when he yawns, as he does frequently, Mr. Effingham applies himself to that task very earnestly. In one of these paroxysms of weariness the volume slips from his hand to the floor. " My book," he says to a negro boy, who has just brought in some dishes. The boy hastens respectfully to obey crossing the whole width of the room for that purpose. Mr. Effingham then continues reading. Now for the other occupant of the apartment. She sits near the open window, looking out upon the lawn and breathing the pure delicious air of October as she works. She is clad in the usual child's costume of the period (she is only eleven or twelve), namely, a sort of half coat, half frock, reaching carcely below the knees ; an embroidered undervest ; scar let silk stockings with golden clocks, and little resetted shoes with high red heels. Her hair is unpowdered, and hangs in juris upon her neck and bare shoulders. Her little fingeri A SERIES OF CATASTROPHES. 19 we busily at work upon a piece of embroidery which repre sents or is to represent a white water dog upon an intensely emeraid back-ground, and she addresses herself to this occu pation with a business air which is irresistibly amusing, and no less pleasant to behold. There is about the child, in her movements, attitude, expression, every thing, a freshness and innocence which is only possessed by children. This is Miss Kate Effingham, whose parents died in her infancy, for which reason the little sunbeam was taken by the squire, her father's brother. Kate seems delighted with the progress she has made in Jelineating Carlo, as she calls him, and pauses a moment to survey her brilliant handiwork. She then opens her ivory decorated work-box to select another shade of silk, holding it on her lap by the low-silled open window. But disastrous event ! Just as she had found what she wanted, just as she had procured the exact shade for Carlo's ears, just as she closed the pretty box, full of all manner of little elegant instruments of needle-work she heard an im patient exclamation of weariness and disdain, something flut tered through the air, and this something striking the hand some box delicately balanced on Kate's knees, precipitated it, with its whole contents, through the window to the lawn beneath. The explanation of this sudden event is, that Mr. Effing- ham has become tired of the " Spectator," hurled it sidewise from him without looking ; and thus the volume has, after its habit, produced a decided sensation, throwing the work- box upon the lawn, and Kate into utter despair. * CHAPTER II. A SERIES OF OATA8TEOPHE8, ENDING IN A FAMILY TABLEAU. KATE, spite of her great age and near approach to woman* hood, is almost ready to cry: " Oh cousin Chamo 1 " she says, ' 'now could you 1 " 20 A SERIES OP CAlASTROPHES. Mr. Effingham yawns. " Did you speak to me, Katy ? " he says languidly. " Yes I" " Why, what's the matter ? " " You've ruined my work-box 1 " I ! " " Yes, you knocked it out of the window with your book and I think it was not kind," Kate says, pouting, and leaning out of the window to gaze at the prostrate work-box. Mr. Effingham sees the catastrophe at a glance, and ap parently smitten with remorse, tries to ascertain the extent of the injury. But the morning seems an unlucky one for him. As he places his heel upon the carpet, he unfortunately treads with his whole weight upon the long silky ear of his sister's favorite lapdog Orauge, who is about the size of the fruit from which he takes his name. Orange utters a yell sufficiently loud to arouse from their sleep the seven champions of Christendom. Drawn by his successive yells, a lady appears at the door and enters the apartment hurriedly. Miss Alethea, only sister of Mr. Effingham, is a lady of about thirty, with a clear complexion, serene eyes, her hair trained back into a tower ; and with an extremely stately and dignified expression. She looks like the president of a benevolent society, and the very sight of her erect head, the very rustle of her black silk dress has been known to strike terror into evil-doers. " Who has hurt Orange ? " she says, severely ; " here, poor fellow ! some one has hurt him I " Orange yells much louder, seeing his defender. " V'hat in the world is the matter with him, Champ ? " he Bays ; " please answer me 1 " Mr. Effingham regales his nostrils with a pinch of snuff, and replies indifferently : " Probably Orange has an indigestion, or perhaps he is uttering those horrible sounds because I stepped upon his ear." " Stepped on his ear ! " Mr. Effingham nods serenely. " Keally, you are too careless !" Miss Alethea exclaims, and her black silk rustling, she goes to Orange and take him in her arms. A SERIES OP CATASTROPHES. 2 1 But in brushing by Mr. Effingham her ample sleeve chances to strike that gentleman's snuff-box, and the contents of the useful article are discharged over little Kate, who coughing, sneezing, crying and laughing, perfects the scene. " See what you have done, Alethea !" says Mr. Effingham, reproachfully, and yawning as he speaks ; " you have thrown my snuff upon Kate." And turning to the child : " Never mind, Kate ! " he says, " it's excellent snuff. It won't hurt you now don't " With such observations Mr. Effingham is quieting the child, when another addition is made to the company. This is in the person of a young gentleman of thirteen or fourteen Master Willie Effingham, Mr. Champ's brother, aad a devoted admirer of Kate. Will, seeing his sweetheart in tears, bustles up, upon his little resetted shoes, flirting his little round-skirted coat, and fiercely demands of the company at large : " Who made Kate cry ! " " Oh, the snuff ! the snuff ! " says Kate, crying and laughing. " Whose snuff! " says Will, indignantly. " Mine," replies Mr. Effingham ; " there are no excuses to be made ; arrange the terms of the combat." " For shame, Champ ! " says Miss Alethea, with stately dignity ; " you jest at Willie, but I think his behavior very honorable." " Ah 1 " you are an advocate of duelling, then, my dear madam ? " drawls Mr. Effingham. " No, I am not ; but your snuff made Kate cry." " Deign to recall the slight circumstance that your sleeve discharged it from my hand." " Never mind, I think Will right." Will raises his head proudly. " Kate is his favorite and playmate " " As Orange is yours," says Mr. Effingham, languidly, the lapdog having uttered an expiring howl. " Well, well s don't let us argue ; I am ready to make the amende to my little Kate we are all dear to each other so here is my lace handkerchief, ma mignonette, to wipe away the snuff 1 ' Kate laughs. 22 A SERIES Of CATASTROPHES. ' And here's a kiss, to make friends for the snuff and tha work box." Kate wrung her hands, and says, laughing and pouting " Oh my box ! my box 1" " Your box 1 " says Will, who has been looking daggers at Mr. Effingham for kissing the child. " Yes ! my poor box 1 " " Never mind, Katy," says Mr. Effingham, smiling as he passes his hand caressingly over the little head ; " I un fortunately broke it, but you shall have one twice as hand some ; I saw one in Williamsburg yesterday, which I thought of getting for Clare Lee but you shall have it." " Oh, thankee ! " cries Kate, " but I oughtn't to take cousin Clare's, you know 1 And there's papa 1 he's got my box I" Kate springs forward to meet the squire the head ef the house who enters at the door. The squire is a gentleman of fifty-five or sixty, with an open frank face, clear, honest eyes, and his carriage is bold, free, and somewhat pompous. He is clad much more simply than his eldest son, his. coat having upon it not a particle of embroidery, and his long plain waistcoat buttoning up to the chin : below which a white cravat and an indication only of frill are visible. His limbs are cased in thick, strong and comfortable cloth, and woollen, and he wears boots, very large and serviceable, to which strong spurs are attached. His broad, fine brow, full of intelligence and grace, is covered by an old cocked hat, which, having lost the loops which held it in the three-cornered shape, is now rolled up upon each side ; and his manner in walking, speaking, arguing, reading, is much after the description of his costume plain, straightforward, and though somewhat pompous, destitute of finery and ornament. He is the head of a princely establish ment, he has thousands of acres, and hundreds of negroes, he is a justice, and has sat often in the House of Burgesses : he is rich, a dignitary, every body knows it, why should he strive to ape elegancies, and trouble himself about the impression he produces ? He is simple and plain, as he con ceives, because he is a great proprietor and can afford to wear rough clothes, and talk plainly. His pomposity is not obtrusive, and it is tempered with A SERIES OF CATASTROPHES. 23 Bo much good breeding and benevolence that it does not de tract from the pleasant impression produced by his honest face. As he enters now that face is brown and red with ex ercise upon his plantation and he comes in with cheerful smiles ; his rotund person, and long queue gathered by a ribbon smiling no less than his eyes. In his hand is the unfortunate work-box, which has not, however, sustained any injury. " Here 'tis, puss 1 " says the squire, " nothing hurt I picked up the scissors and the vest : and the grass was as soft as a cushion." With which words the worthy squire sits down and wipes his brow. " Oh, thank'ee. papa," says Kate this is the child's name for him : and she runs and takes his hat, and then climbs on his lap, and laughingly explains how cousin Champ hadn't meant to throw the box out " because you know me and cou sin Champ are great favorites of each other's : and I am his pet." Having achieved this speech, which she utters with a rush of laughter in her voice, Kate hugs her box, and returns to Carlo. " Well, Champ," says the planter, " whither go you this afternoon any where ? " " I believe not," says Mr. Effingham. " Still enamored of your ease, you jolly dog 1 " " The Epicurean philosophy is greatly to my taste," saya Mr. Effingham, " riding wearies me." " Every thing does." "Ah?" " Yes, sir : you are the finest fine gentleman in the Colony." This half compliment produces no effect upon Mr. Ef- dngham, who yawns. " Why not go and see Clare Lee ? Clary's the most be witching little creature in the world," says the squire, unfold ing a copy of the " Virginia Gazette," which he draws from his pocket. " Clare Lee ? " says Mr. Effingham. " Yes, sir : she's a little beauty." 11 Well, so she is." 24 80METHINO LIKE AN ADVENTURE. " And as good as an angeL" " Hazardous, that, sir." " No, sir 1 " exclaims the squire, " it is true ! Zounds 1 she's too good for any mortal man." " Consequently, as I am a mortal man I draw the infer ence," says Mr. Effinghara. " Well, she's too good for you, sir : you had better go and see her : it may improve you." Mr. Effingham relents. " I think that is very desirable, sir," he says, " and on my word, I'll go. Please ring that bell." The squire without protest takes up the small silver bell and rings it. Mr. Effingham orders his horse descends soon in boots and riding gloves, and mounting, sets forth to wards the abode of the angel Miss Clare Lee. CHAPTER III. SOMETHING LIKE AN ADVENTURE, LEAVING the group which we have seen assemble in the drawing-room of Effingham Hall, let us follow the worthy whose misdeeds in connection with the work-box and lapdog caused the dramatic assemblage. Mr. Effingham, elegantly clad in a riding costume, perfect in its appointment, and mounted on a splendid courser which he had appropriated from his father's stud, took his way through the fresh woods towards Riverhead, the residence. of Mr. Lee and his two daughters, Henrietta and Clare. But Mr. Effingham was much too sensible a gentleman to bore himself, as we say to-day, with the fine scenery of Octo ber the fair blue skies, with their snowy clouds floating on like ships towards the clear horizon the variegated woods Cull of singing birds the streams dancing in the sun and all the myriad attractions of an autumn afternoon. Hia taste had been phaped iu London, and the glare of lights, SOMETHING LIKE AN ADVENTURE. 25 the noise of revelry, and gay encounter of bright wits and beauty, had long since deprived him of the faculty of admir ing such an insipid thing as simple nature. There was little affectation about the worthy gentleman in reality : he wag really and truly worn out. Accustomed for some length of time to evry species of dissipation, his character had been seriously injured his freshness was gone, and he sought DOW for nothing so much as emotions. We shall see if he was fortunate in his search. At times, as he went along, Mr. Effingham indulged in a gort of silent, well-bred laughter, at the scene he had just witnessed at the Hall. ' What a farce the world is," he said, philosophically, " we all run after something one has his literary ambition, another political aspiration : this young lady wishes to marry a lord : that young gentleman's highest hope in life is, that his comedy may not be damned for its want of freedom the polite word now I understand. It's all weariness : I really begin to think that little Katy and Alethea, with their em broidery and lapdogs, are the most sensible after all. Em broidery and lapdogs cost less, and " Mr. Effingham drew up suddenly so suddenly, that his horse rose on his haunches, and tossed his head aloft. The meaning of this movement was simply that he saw before him in the centre of the road he was following, a lady, who apparently awaited his approach. The lady was mounted upon a tall white horse, which stood perfectly quiet in the middle of the road, and seemed to be docility itself, though the fiery eyes contradicted this first impression. Rather would one acquainted with the sin gular character of horses have said that this animal was subdued by the gentle hand of his rider, and so laid aside from pure affection / all his waywardness. This rider was a young girl about eighteen, and of rare and extraordinary beauty. Her hair so much as was visi ble beneath her hood seemed to be dark chestnut, and her complexion was dazzling. The eyes were large, full, and dark instinct with fire and softness, feminine modesty, and collected firmness the firmness, however, predominating. But the lips were different. They were the lips of a child soft, guileless, tender, confiding : they were purity and VB 26 SOMETHING LIKE AN ADVENTURE. nocence itself, and seemed to say, that however much the brain might become hard and worldly, the heart of this ycung woman never could be other than the tender and delicately sensitive heart of a child. She was clad in a riding dress of pearl color and from the uniformity of this tint, it seemed to be a favorite with her. The hood was of silk, and the delicately gloved hand held a little ivory-handled riding whip, which now dangled at her side. The other gloved hand supported her cheek ; and in this position the unknown lady calmly awaited Mr. Effing- ham's approach still nearer, though he was already nearly touching her. Mr. Effingham took off his hat and bowed with elegant courtesy. The lady returned this inclination by a graceful movement of her head. " Would you be kind enough to point out the road to the town of Williamsburg, sir ? " she said, in a calm and clear voice. " With great pleasure, madam," replied Mr. Effingham, "you have lost your way 1 " " Yes, sir, very strangely, and as evening drew on, was afraid of being benighted." " You have but to follow this road until you reach Effingham Hall, madam," he said " the house in the dis tance yonder : then turn to the left, and you are in the highway to town." " Thanks, sir," the young girl said, with another calm inclination of her head: and she touched her horse with the whip. " But cannot I accompany you ? " asked Mr. Effingham, whose curiosity was greatly aroused, and found his eyes, he knew not why, riveted to the rare beauty of his companion's face, " do you not need me as a guide ? " " Indeed, I think not, sir," she said, with the same calm ness, your direction is very plain, and I am accustomed to ride by myself." " But really," began Mr. Effingham, somewhat piqued, a I know it is intrusive I know I have not the honor " She interrupted him with her immovable calmness. " You would say you do not know me, and that your offer b intrusive, I believe sir. I do not consider it so it is verj SOMETHING LIKE AN ADVENTURE, 'tier," she said, with a flitting blush. " My poor society would ovly weary you, I fear," he said, ostensibly addressing both of the sisters, but looking at Clare, " I am a poor visitor." Clare turned away and puiled a rose. " It is not so far," she murmured, refusing plainly tc accept the excuse, and speaking in so low a tone that Hen rietta, who had taken some steps to meet her approaching father, did not hear the words. " And if I came ? " whispered Mr. Effingham. Clare turned away to hide her confusion. " Could I hope, dear cousin Ciare dearest Clare 1 " Mr. Effingham was getting on. But Henrietta and Mr Lee approached. " That you could could " " Good evening, Champ," said Mr. Lee, a fine portly old gentleman, coming up arm in arm with Henrietta, " glad to see you." Mr. Effingham bowed, and Clare bent down to examine, with profound curiosity, the rosebud which she held in her little hand. " The evening was so fine, that I thought I could not spend it more agreeably than in a ride to Riverhead, sir/' said Mr. Effingham. " Delightful 1 these August days are excellent for the corn ; what news ? " " Nothing, sir I have not seen the ' Gazette.'" " Oh, the ' Gazette' never contains any intelligence : sometimes, it is true, we hear what is goiog on in Parliament, but it never condescends to afford UP any news from Vir ginia. The tobacco on the south side may be all gone to the devil for any thing you read in the ' Gazette.' Here it is an abominable sheet I Ah 1 I see we are to have a the atrical performance in Williamsburg next week," added th old gentleman, glancing over the paper, " Mr. Hallam and his ' Virginia Company of Comedians ' very politic, that addition of ' Virginia 1 * are to perform The Merchant of Venice, by perir-iiuion of his worship the Major, at the Old Theatre near the Capitol, he announces. Truly we are im- 12 THE ROSE AND THE VIOLET. proving : really becoming civilized, in this barbarous term incognita. Mr. Effingham winced ; be bad more than once expressed a similar opinion of Virginia in good faith not ironically and the old gentleman's words seemed directed at himself. A moment's reflection, however, persuaded him that this could not be the case ; he had not visited Kiverhead a dozen times since his return from Oxford and London and on those occasions had never touched upon the subject of Vir ginia and its dreadful deficiencies. " A play ? " he said, " that is really good news : but the ' Merchant of Venice ' is not one of my acquaintances." " Ah, you young men are wrong in giving up Will Shakespeare for the Steeles, Addisons, and Vanbrughs. Mr. Addison's essays are very pleasant and entertaining reading, and sure, there never was a finer gentleman than Sir Roger ; but in the drama, Will Shakespeare distances him all to nothing." " Let us go to see the play, papa," said Henrietta. " Oh, yes," said Clare. The old gentleman tenderly smoothed the bright golden hair. " Certainly, if you wish it," he said. " And may I request permission to accompany the party, ladies ? " said Mr. Effingham, languidly. "How modest!" said Henrietta, laughing ; "certainly you may go, sir. You will tell us when to hiss or applaud, you know, as you are just from London 1 " " What a quick tongue she has I " said Mr. Lee, fondly ; " well, we will all go, and see what the ' Virginia Company of Comedians ' is like : not much, I fear." " Oh, we'll have a delightful time," cried Clare, glanc ing at Mr. Effingham softly and frankly. That young gentleman's languor melted like snow iu the sunshine, and as he placed the little hand upon his arm to lead its owner in to supper, he pressed it tenderly, and whispered : " I know I shall, for you will be with me, dearest Clare : don't be offended, for you know " The whisper of the leaves around them, drowned the end of the sentence, but the red sunset lighting up Clare'* K>ft warm cheek might very well have spared its crimscn 1 POLITICS AND COURTSHIP. &3 CHAPTER V. POLTH08 AND OOUBTBHIP. " WE cannot rationally doubt it, sir," said the squire, admir ing the excellent glass of claret which he held between hi eye and the window ; " there must be classes, scales of re finement, culture and authority : to state the proposition proves it." The squire uttered these oracular words at his dinner- table on the day after Mr. Champ Effingham's visit to River- head. That gentleman was seated in a lounging attitude, ever and anon moistening his lips with a glass of wine. In one corner of the room Miss Alethea prosecuted some dar ling household work, her favorite Orange lying comfortably coiled up in her lap : in another, Master Willie and little Kate were having a true-love quarrel as to the proper shade of silk to be used on Carlo's nose in the famous embroidery. But we have omitted in this catalogue of personages a gen tleman sitting at the table on the squire's right hand, and whom we now beg leave to briefly introduce to the reader as Mr. Tag, the parson of the parish. The parson was a rosy, puffy-looking individual of some fifty years, and in his person, carriage, and tone of voice betrayed a mingled effrontery and awkwardness : having formerly served as a common soldier, then lived by his wits, as an adventurer, he had finally, perforce of the influence of a noble patron for whom he had performed some secret seivice, been pre sented to a benefice in the colony of Virginia. We cannot dwell on the worthy gentleman's character, and can only add here that he was a regular visitor at Efl&ngham Hall about dinner time, and that he had no religious scruples against taking a hand at ticta< or other games of chance, any more than he was opposed to the good old English divertisement of fox-hunting. To the squire's oracular dogma laying down the laws of so cial organization, the parson replied between two gulps of elaret : " Certainly oh certainly." 34 folifics " The men of education and lineage not only must alwayi rule," continues his host, "but ought to ; to trust the reins of power in the hands of common men, who have compar atively no stake in the community, no property, no family, is absurd a doctrine too monstrous to require refutation." The parson shook his head. " I very much fear, squire, that these good old sentiments are becoming obsolete. We men of position and rank in so ciety, born in high social station, will have to yield, I fear. They are seriously talking, I understand, of giving every man in the colony a vote." " Every man a vote 1 who speaks of it ? who Droaches such an absurdity ?" "'A parcel of hair-brained young men, who will yet get themselves into trouble. As a minister of the Established Church, I hold it my duty to warn them, and after that have no further concern with them. I have pointed them out to the authorities, and I now call your worship's attention to the subject" " Who are they ?" " First and foremost, a young man called Waters son of the fisherman on the river there near Williamsburg. He had the audacity to intrude upon a conversation I was holding with some gentlemen of my parish in town a day or two since, and he uttered opinions over and above what I have called to your attention, which will bring him to the gallows if he does not beware." " Other opinions ?" " He spoke of the oppressions of the Home Government, said that Virginians would not always be slaves, and actually broached a plan for thoroughly educating the lower classes." " A statesman in short clothes," said the squire, with a sneer " the wine stays with you, sir a colonial patriot ! faugh ! Educate the lower classes 1 Educate my indented servant, and the common tradesman and farmer, and have the knave talking to me of the ' rights of men,' and all the wretched stuff and foolery of Utopian castle-builders I you are right, sir, that young man mtut be watched. Good hea vens 1 how has the Home Government oppressed us ? I grant you, there are some laws I would have altered and others refused us, passed but is this oppression ? Damn my POLITICS AND COURTSHIP. 35 blood I" added the squire, with great indignation, " I now feel the truth of Will Shakespeare's words, that 'the age is grown BO picked, the toe of the peasant comes near the heel of the courtier and galls his kibe,' or to that effect. The direct consequence of these fooleries is to abolish our rank follow these doctrines, and where will be our gentlemen ?" " Where, indeed ? " Even the very parsons will go to the devil," here in terposed Mr. Champ Effingham, with an evident desire U yawn. The squire greeted this sally of his son with a laugh. " You are irreverent, young sir," the parson said, making an effort to look dignified. " I irreverent ! " replied Mr. Effingham, coolly ; " by no means, most reverend sir. I think my respect for you is sufficiently shown by attending church punctually every Sunday, and respectably going to sleep under the effect of your admirable homilies." " You jest at my homilies " " Oh, no." " But you should understand, young man, that a minister of the Church of England is not a public haranguer " " Precisely." " And dishonors his high place and position by appealing to the passions and feelings of his hearers instead of giving them good wholesome doctrine." And Parson Tag drew himself up, with a hauteur which badly assorted with his puffy face and figure. " You are right," replied Mr. Effingham, with languid indifference ; " nothing is so disagreeable as these appeals to the feelings which you speak of, most reverend sir. How could you bend your excellent mind to ombre and tictac after such performances ; or, exhausted by such unnecessary exertion as a ' rousing appeal ' demands, join in the delight ful pursuit of a grey fox on the following Monday ? " The squire laughed again, at the crestfallen parson, and said: " Come, no tongue-fencing at the dinner-table ; we have wandered from the subject which we commenced with." " What was the subject ? " asked Mr. Effingham, lau guidly. 86 POLITICS AND COURTSHIP. " What 1 was all the parson's eloquence thrown away on you ? " " Perfectly ; I was not listening, with the exception of a moment, when you closed your address." " We were speaking of classes, and the necessity which avery gentleman is under to preserve his rank." " I suppose it's true ; but I never busy myself with these matters." " You should, sir ; the estate of Effingham falls to you as eldest son." " I trust, respected sir, that I shall worthily comport myself in that station in life to which it hath pleased Heaven to call me," drawled Mr. Effingham. " Never jest with the forms of the Established Church, sir," said his father, with some asperity ; for however willing the squire was to applaud a jest at the parson's expense, one directed at the church itself was a very different matter. " I hold every thing connected with the Liturgj of the Holy Church as sacred." Mr. Effingham assented, with a careless inclination of his head. " This spirit of free speaking and thinking is worse than the other," continued the planter ; " those abominable New Lights 1 " " Wretched, misguided fools," chimed in the parson, whose equanimity several glasses of wine had restored by this time perfectly. " I cordially hate and despise them," said the planter, " and consider it my duty to do so. I hope the representa tive of my family will share my sentiments." This observation being directed at Mr. Effingham, that gentleman replied indifferently : " Of course of course." " Champ," said the old planter, " you are really becom ing worse than ever. Where will your indifference to every thing end, I should like much to know ? You seem to have no aim in life, no thought of advancement, no opinions, even." " True, sir ; that is a pretty fair statement of the truth. This subject of rank and classes, gentlemen and commoner** advancement, ambition, and all that, never troubles me." POLITICS AND COtJRTSHIK 37 "Sunt quos curriculo pulvorem Olympicum, Collegisse juvat metaque fervidis Evitata rotis," or something of that sort. It's Horace, I believe, and the scanning strikes me as correct. I mean, respected sir, that I am not ambitious, and have no very fervid desire to get dusty in the arena, or race-course, I should more properly say dust soils the ruffles so abominably." The squire always ended by laughing at his son's peti maitre airs, though he had sagacity enough to perceive that there was little real affectation in the young gentleman's weariness and indifference. He argued, however, that this would disappear in time, and knowing that any argument would be useless on the present occasion, turned the conver sation by taking wine with the parson. Let us see what the youthful members of the company were saying now. Human nature, under all guises, and in every possible degree of development, is worthy of atten tion. Master Will, who had been making assiduous love to Kate, engaged now on Carlo's nose, caught Mr. Effingham's Latin, and betook himself to a sotto voce criticism on the speaker. " Just listen to brother Champ, how learned he is 1 He's just from Oxford, and thinks that Latin mighty fine to be kissing you the other day I " added this young scion of the house of Efimgham, thus betraying the disinterested and impartial character of his criticism. " Why, I didn't care I like to kiss cousin Champ," says Kate, with a coquettish little twinkle of the eye, " he's al ways so nice, you know." "Nice! he nice?" "Why, yes.' 1 " He aint ! " " That's your gallantry : to contradict a lady," aayi Kate, with the air of a duchess. " I'm nicer than he is," says Will, eluding like a skilful debater the charge of want of gallantry. u I don't stuff my nose full of snuff and sneeze all the powder off my hair." " Ha ! ha ! " laughs Kate. " What are you laughing at ? ' " You hav'n't any powder 1 " 38 POLITICS AND COURTSHIP. " Never mind : I mean to." " When ? " Never mind 1 " " Why you'd look ridiculous, Willie." " Ridiculous i me ridiculous 1 Hav'n't I aigh-heeled *hoes " " So have I I'm a girl" M And silk stockings." So have I, sir." And ruffles, and sword, and all' " Oh, what a fine cavalier." Master Will looks mortified. " Now, Willie," says Kate, " don't pout, for you know I was only jesting." " Give me a kiss, then." " A young lady kiss a gentleman ? Indeed ! " The flattering word " gentleman " completely restores Master Will's good humor: and essaying to conquer a 'salute," as they said in those honest courteous old times, Kate's needle pricks his finger, which circumstance causes the youthful cavalier to utter a shrill cry of pain. " What's the matter, Will ? " asks the squire, breaking off in the middle of a sentence addressed to the parson. " Nothing much," says Mr. Champ Efliingham, who has watched the assault of his younger brother with philoso phic interest, " merely an illustration of the truth of my views." " Your views what views ?" " Will was ambitious to ' collect the Olympic dust ' in other words to kiss Katy, and the needle ran into hit finger. So much for ambition. Moral : never meddle with the ladies." Master Will listens to this languidly-uttered speech with many indications of dissatisfaction uttering more than one expressive " humph ! " that little monosyllable which onveys so much. At Mr. Emngham's " moral," however, he boiled over. " Never meddle with ladies, indeed ! " he said, " that's pretty, coming from you, brother Champ, when old June from Kiverhead says he saw you yesterday courting cousin Clare 1 "--old June having, indeed, retailed to Cato that POLITICS ANt) COBRTSfllf. 39 evening, in Master Will's hearing, the fact that he " sped they'd be a marridgin somewheres 'fore long 'sidering how Mas' Champ Efnum and Mis' Clary was agwyin' on I ' The squire burst into a hearty laugh, and rallied Mr. Effingham without mercy. That gentleman, though for a moment disconcerted, quickly regained his nonchalance, and raising his glass languidly, said with a delightful drawl, an exaggeration of his usual languor : " Of course it's all true, sir ; but why laugh at me foi following your respectable advice ? " " Clare's much too good for you, Champ," eaid Miss Alethea, taking a pin from her mouth and affixing there with some indescribable garment to her knee, the better to set to work on it. " Ah 1 " said Mr. Effingham, indifferently, " well, I think so too." " A thousand times," said Master Will. " Come, Will, recollect Champ is your elder brother,' said the old planter, laughing merrily. " Brother Champ laughed at me," said Master Will. " True, I did, and am justly punished but correct the word, Will : say I philosophized upon the result of your as sault to steal the kiss. I never laugh." " There's no harm in my kissing Kate," says Master Will, with great dignity. " None none 1 " " Because we are engaged," adds Will, with the air of an emperor. Kate suddenly fires up at these words, and exclaims in dignantly : " My goodness ! aint you ashamed, Willie ? " " Not engaged ! " cries Will. " No never," says Kate, with a charming little pout i( and if we were, do you think I would acknowledge it, and have the servants talking about me like cousin Clare ? " At which speech the whole company burst into laughter and a smile is even observed to wander over Mr. Effing ham's face. " I see," says that gentleman, " that Miss Clare is given to me by universal consent : I forgive you, Katy " " Oh, cousin Champ, I didn't mean " commences Kate, emorsefully. 40 HOW THEY WENT TO THE PLAY. " No matter," concludes Mr. Effinghara, yawning, " I have only to observe that I am willing to take Miss Clare or any other agreeable young lady for my wedded wife : and now, as I feel drowsy, I beg leave of you, parson, a*hd you, le spected sir, to excuse me ; I am going to take a nap." With which words Mr. Effingham saunters through tke door, and slowly ascends the broad stairs to ais chamber. Miss Alethea continues to sew : the children to play . the parson and his host to converse over their wine. CHAPTER VI. HOW THEY WENT TO THE PLAY. THE reader will recollect that Mr. Lee had promised hii daughters to go with them to Williamsburg, to witness the performance of the " Merchant of Venice" by those newly- arrived Virginia Comedians, of whom every one was talking. Mr. Champ Effingham had asked permission to be one of the party, it will be remembered, and that permission had been granted by Miss Henrietta with the merry speech we have recorded. So on the appointed day, Mr. Effingham, in his most be coming riding suit, and mounted on his handsomest courser, made his appearance at Rivet-head. The young ladies came down to him, already dressed for their excursion to town as Williamsburg was called, just as they called London " the Town" in England and Miss Henrietta commenced immediately her accustomed amust ment of bantering their visitor. She was radiant in a dress of surpassing elegance flowered satin, yellow lace, jewels, powdered hair, pearl pendants, and rich furbelows and the bright beauty of her laughing face well assorted with her flashing and glittering costume. As for Clare, her dresa was much more subdued, just as her manner was more quiet, than that of her sister. But Mr. Effingham, gazing at her Buietly, with little care for Miss Henrietta's sky-rockets, HOW THEY WEN.T TO THE PL4Y. 41 thought he had never seen a more enchantingly beautiful face ; so soft and tender was it, with the bright hair gathered back from the temples, and strewed all over with its pearly powder ; so warm and red were the girlish lips ; so clear and mild the large melting eyes. Mr. Effingham began t think seriously of having in future a distinct aim in life to make his own this fairy creature, who had thus moved his worn-out heart, making him feel once more some of the light and joy and enthusiasm of his boyhood that time passed from him, it really seemed, long ages ago. Clare did not return his gaze, but busied herself in turn ing over the leaves of a new book from England, with an affectation of interest which was the merest failure. Really all my wit is thrown away upon Mr. Effingham," said Henrietta suddenly, with a beautiful pout ; " he has not done me the honor to listen, I believe my last question waiting a reply from him." Mr. Effingham waked up, so to speak, and turned round. " What did you say, my dear cousin ? " he asked indif ferently. " I say that my cousin, Mr. Effingham, is the most affected personage I have ever known." " I affected ! You have made that charge once before. But what was your question ? " " I asked where you procured that ridiculous little muff there on the settee, which you threw down so carelessly OD entering." " In London," said Mr. Effingham, concisely. " And are the London gallants such apers of the ladies as to wear them ? " " I don't know; they are used." " And you imitate them ? " " I imitate nobody, my dear cousin Henrietta ; it is too troublesome. I do not wear a coat, or powder my hair, or use ruffles from a desire to imitate any one." " I don't think you do ; for I never saw such prepos terous ruffles in my life." " Eh ? " said Mr. Effingham, with languid indifferuece. " Or such red cheeks." " What of them ? " " They are as rosy as a girl's." f HOW THEY WENT TO THE PLAT. " Your own are more so, and I think cousin Clare's mor\ BO still," returned Mr. Effingham ; " but let us dismiss the subject of ruffles and roses, and come to the play. Do you anticipate much pleasure ? " " Oh, it will be delightful ! " exclaimed Miss Henrietta, always ready to run off upon any subject which afforded her an opportunity to pour out her spirits and gayety. " And you, cousin Clare do you think these Virginia Comedians, as they call themselves, will afford you a very pleasant entertainment ? " " Oh, yes I'm sure I shall be pleased, you know I have never seen a play." " But read a plenty ? " " Oh yes : and I like the ' Merchant of Venice ' very much. The character of Portia is so delicate and noble." " Quite true an excellent criticism : better than any thing in Congreve, I think, though I should hesitate to ad vance such an opinion in London." " Who will act Portia ? " " I don't know : but can tell you without much difficulty. Here is a play-bill which I sent to town for yesterday." And Mr. Effingham drew daintily from his coat pocket a small roughly-printed handbill, which he spread out before the eyes of Clare. " ' Virginia Company of Comedians,' " he read, " ' by permission of his worship the Mayor in the Old Theatre near the Capitol, Thursday evening a tragedy called " The Merchant of Venice," by Mr. William Shakespeare boxes seven shillings sixpence vivat Rex et Kegina ' here it is : ' Shylock, Mr. Pugsby Portia, Miss Beatrice Hallam : ' The part of Portia is to be performed by Miss Beatrice Hal- lam I have never seen or heard of her." " Which means," said Henrietta, laughing, " that Miss Beatrice cannot be very well worth going to see, as Mr. Champ Effingham, just from London, and conversant with all the celebrities there, ha& never heard of her existence." " My dear cousin Henrietta," said Mr. Effingham, lan guidly, " you really seem to sit in judgment on my wearisome conversation. I do not profess to know any thing about cele brities : true, I very frequently lounged into the theatres iu IiQndon, but I assure you, took very little interest iu the playi HOW THEY WENT TO THE PLAT. 4fl or performers. Life itself is enough of a comedy for me, and I want nothing more. I know nothing of Miss Hallam she may be a new witch of Endor, or as beautiful as Cleo patra, queen of Egypt, for all that I know. That I have not heard of her proves nothing the best actors and ac tresses are often treated with neglect and indifference." " Well," said Clare, smiling, " we shall soon see for our selves, for there is papa corning, all ready dressed to go, and I hear the wheels of the chariot." Mr. Emngham took up his muff. " Oh," cried Henrietta, " how do you carry that funny little thing while riding ? it's smaller than mine." " I swing it on my arm," replied Mr. Effingham, indif ferently. " Let me relieve you of it all the girls will then be admiring my new London muff." " No, thank you. I will not trouble you." " Oh, here is papa," said Clare. Mr. Lee entered. " Good morning, Champ," he said, in his strong, hearty voice, " how is your good father ? have you dined ? Yes ? Then let us get on to town. We have no time to lose, as the play commences, I am informed, at seven." With which words the worthy gentleman led the way to the door, where the large chariot, with its four pawing horses and liveried coachman, awaited them. Mr. Emngham assist ed the ladies in with great elegance and gallantry. After performing this social duty, he made a slight bow, and waa going toward his horse. " Come, take a place in the chariot," said Mr. Lee. " Oh, yes," cried the lively Henrietta, " don't go prancing along out there, where I can't get at you to tease you. There's room enough for a dozen in here." " No, no, my horse would get impatient." Mr. Emngham was waiting for Clare to invite him to enter, and no one who looked at his face, and witnessed his tell-tale gaze could doubt it. Clare stole a glance at him, and said, with a slight blush, " There's plenty of room." Mr. Effingham took two steps toward the chariot u But my horse," he said. Mr. Lee called to a servant, and ordered him to take tb 44 THE OLD THEATRE NEAR THE CAPITOL. animal to the stable. Mr. Effinghara then yielded he only wanted the excuse, indeed and entering the chariot, waa about to sit down by the old gentleman, opposite the young girls. "Ah ! take care !" cried Mr. Lee, with a hearty and sudden laugh, " my glasses are on the seat 1 " Henrietta laughed too, and said, moving near to her side of the carriage, and making room, " Come ! you may ride between us mayn't he, Clary ? there's plenty of room for a bodkin." Mr. Effingham plainly had no objection, and, as before, in the matter of riding within or without, waited for Clare's manifesto on the subject. This time he would have been sa tisfied with a simple glance granting him permission so very reasonable was this gentleman at bottom but unfortunately Clare did not invite him, either with her lips or eyes. The consequence was that Mr. Effingham refused Henrietta's in vitation, with a graceful wave of his muff-ornamented arm, and the glasses of the old gentleman having been transferred from the seat to his nose, gently subsided into the softly- cushioned space left free for him, smoothing his ruffles, and arranging delicately the drop-curls of his powdered peruke. The chariot rolled on, then, with dignified slowness, to ward " Town " that is to say, the imperial metropolis of Virginia, then, and now, known as Williamsburg. CHAPTER VII. THE OLD THEATRE NEAR THE CAPITOL, THE " old Theatre near the Capitol," discoursed of in the manifesto issued by Mr. Manager Hallam, was so far old, that the walls were well-browned by time, and the shutters to the windows of a pleasant neutral tint between rust and dust color. The building had no doubt been used for the present purpose in bygone times, before the days of the ." Virgieia Gazette," which is our authority for many of the THE OLD THEATRE NEAR THE CAPITOL. 45 facts here stated, and in relation to the " Virginia Company of Comedians " but of the former companies of " players,' as my lord Hamlet calls them, and their successes or misfortunes, printed words tell us nothing, as far as the researches of the present Chronicle extend. That there had been such companies before, however, we repeat, there is some reason to believe ; else why that addition " old " applied to the " Theatre near the Capitol." The question is submitted to the future social historians of the Old Do minion. Within, the play-house presented a somewhat more attractive appearance. There was " box," " pit," and * gal lery." as in our own day ; and the relative prices were ar ranged in much the same manner. The common mortals gentlemen and ladies were forced to occupy the boxes raised slightly above the level of the stage, and hemmed in by velvet-cushioned railings, in front, a flower-decorated panel, extending all around the house, and for this posi tion were moreover compelled to pay an admission fee of seven shillings and sixpence. The demigods so to speak occupied a more eligible position in the " pit," from which they could procure a highly excellent view of the actors' feet and ankles, just on a level with their noses : to concili ate the demigods, this superior advantage had been offered, and the price for them was, further still, reduced to five shillings. But " the gods " in truth were the real favorites of the maaager. To attract them, he arranged the high upper " gallery " and left it untouched, unincumbered by railing or velvet cushions, or any other device : all was free space, and liberal as the air : there were no troublesome seats for " the gods," and three shillings and nine pence was all that the managers would demand. The honor of their presence was enough. From the boxes a stairway led down to the stage, and some rude scenes, visible at the edges of the green curtain, completed the outline. When Mr. Lee and his daughters entered the box which had been reserved for them, next to the stage, the house was nearly full, and the neatness of the edifice was lost sight of in the sea of brilliant ladies' faces, and strong forms of cavaliers, which extended Uk a line of glistening foam 46 THB OLD THEATEK NEAR THE CAPITOL. around the semicircle of the boxes. The pit was occupied by well-dressed men of the lower class, as the times had it, and from the gallery proceeded hoarse murmurs and the un- forgotten slang of London. Many smiles and bows were interchanged between the parties in the different boxes ; and the young gallants, follow ing the fashion of the day, gathered at each end of the stage, and often walked across, to exchange some polite speech with the smiling dames in the boxes nearest. Mr. Champ Effingham was. upon the whole, much the most notable fop present ; and his elegant, languid, petit maitrc air, as he strolled across the stage, attracted many remarks, not invariably favorable. It was observed, how ever, that when the Virginia-bred youths, with honest plain ness, called him " ridiculous," the young ladies, their com panions, took Mr. Effingham's part, and defended him with great enthusiasm. Only when they returned home, Mr. Effin^ham was more unmercifully criticised than he would otherwise have been. A little bell rang, and the orchestra, represented by three or four foreign-looking gentlemen, bearded and moustached, entered with trumpet and violin. The trumpets made the roof shake, indifferently, in honor of the Prince of Morocco, or King Richard, or any other worthy whose entrance was marked in the play-book " with a flourish." But before the orchestra ravished the ears of every one, the manager came forward, in the costume of Bassanio, and made a low bow. Mr. Hallam was a fat little man, of fifty or fifty-five, with a rubicund and somewhat sensual face, and he expressed extraordinary delight at meeting so many of the " noble aristocracy of the great and noble colony of Virginia," assembled to witness his very humble representation. It would be the chief end and sole ambition of his life, he said, to please the gentry, who so kindly patronized their servants himself and his associates and then the smiling worthy concluded by bowing lower than before. Much applaust from the pit and gallery, and murmurs of approbation from the well-bred boxes, greeted this address, and, the orchestra having struck up, the curtain slowly rolled aloft. The young gallants scattered to the corners of the stage seating them selves oo stools or chairs, or standing, and the IN THE SQUIRE'S BOX. 47 of Venice " commenced. Bassanio having assumed a digni fied and lofty port, criticised Gratiano with courteous and lordly wit : his friend Antonio offered him his fortune with grand magnanimity, in a loud singing voice, worthy the utmost commendation, and the first act proceeded on its way in triumph. CHAPTER VIII IN THE SQUIBE'S BOX. THE first act ended without the appearance of Portia or Nerissa ; the scene in which they hold their confidential though public and explanatory interview having been omit ted. The audience seemed to be much pleased, and the actors received a grateful guerdon of applause. In the box opposite that one occupied by Mr. Lee and his daughters, sat the squire, Will, and Kate, and proh pudor ! no less a personage than Parson Tag. Let us not criticise the worthy parson's appearance in a play-house, too severely, however. Those times were not our times, nor those men, the men of to-day. If parsons drank deep then, and hunted Reynard, and not unwillingly took a hand at cards, and they did all this and more why should they not also go and see the " good old English drama ? " Cer tain are we, that when the squire proposed to the parson a visit to town, for the purpose of witnessing the performance of the " Merchant of Venice," that worthy made no sort of objection : though it must be said, in justice to him, also, that he expressed some fears of finding his time thrown away. He now sat on the front seat beside the squire, with solemn gravity, and rubicund nose, surveying from his respectable position the agitated pit. Miss Alethea had remained at home : but, beside the squire, Will and Kate were exchang ing criticisms on the splendid novelty they had just witness ed. They remembered it for years afterwards this, thjj oeautiful, glittering, glorious, magical first play 1 48 IN THE SQUIRE'S BOX. " Not so bad as you predicted eh, parson ? " said thf squire. " I don't think that fellow Antonio acts so badly/ " Very well very well," replied the parson, who was in the habit of echoing the squire's opinions. " And the audience seem delighted. Look at that scamp of a son of mine, strutting up to friend Lee's box, and smoothing those enormous ruffles like a turkey-cock." "Harmless devices of youth, sir." " Yes, and innocent, at least : he'll reform in time, sir, 1 tell you." " Beyond all doubt" " There's good in Champ." " A most amiable young man." " Who abused your homilies," laughed the squire. " Oh ! that is forgotten, my respected friend a mere youthful jest the words of a thoughtless youth." The parson was evidently in a most Christian state of mind, and had plainly left his usual severity at home. The fact was, that the worthy man felt no little complaisance at being seen the honored companion of " one of the aris tocracy," as Mr. Hallam would have said, in that public place. It flattered him he thought he heard the gallery say to the pit, " Who is that fine-looking gentleman in Squire Effingham's box ? " and the pit audibly replied, " That is the Reverend Mr. Tag, the distinguished clergyman." The parson was, therefore, in a forgiving state of mind, and at that moment would not have refused to agree with the squire if that gentleman had stated his opinion that Mr. Efnngham's natural genius and moral purity were sub* lime. Suddenly, however, the parson's face clouded over, and catching hold of the squire's arm, he said : " There, sir ! look there ! That is the young man I spoke of Charles Waters below us 1 " " What of him ? " " Have you forgotten, sir ? " " Perfectly," said the good-humored squire. " Oh, yes 1 now I recollect, the young man who^" " Has been propagating those treasonable opinions, sir one of the lower classes turned statesman, as you very eloquently observed 1 What business has he to be there ? m THE SQUIRE'S BOX. 49 the gallery is his plac*, among the servants and laborers. I wonder he is not in the boxes, by us gentlemen ! " The squire followed the indignant finger of the parson, and saw beneath them in the pit a young man clad in gray cloth, and gazing with a thoughtful and fixed look upon the curtain. Plainly, however, he was unconscious of thus staring out of countenance the poor curtain his own thoughts, it was evident, pre-occupied his mind. He was ap parently twenty-two or three, and his countenance was full :>f truth and nobility : the hair short, 'chestnut-colored and unpowdered the eyes large and clear, the mouth firm, but somewhat sorrowful. Altogether, the face of this young man would have attracted much attention from close ob servers of character ; and it was not without its effect on the generous mind of the squire. " You may say what you please of young Waters, par son," he said, " but he's no fool ; you may see that in his countenance." " I fear he is much more knave than fool, honored sir," said his companion. " If what you said of him is true, he's both," said the bluff squire, suddenly recollecting the young man's alleged opinions on education, " but let him go we came here to be amused and I shall not talk politics. Come, let us ques tion the juveniles here. How did you like the play, Kate, was it pretty ? " Kate clapped her hands, and said : " Oh, lovely, papa ! " "And you, Will?" " Pretty good," said Master Will, endeavoring to smooth his modest ruffles after the manner of his brother Champ, whom he secretly admired and venerated as the model of a gentleman and cavalier. " I think it's pretty well, sir but not up to my anticipations hum ! " " My goodness, Willie ! " cried Kate, in the midst of the squire's laughter at this magniloquent speech, " you just said to me a minute ago that you were delighted." " I said so to satisfy you," said Master Will, grandly. " To satisfy me, indeed ! " " Yes. I never argue with women." The squire seemed much delighted with this ppeeoh, and 3 BO Hi THE SQUIRE'S BOX. endeavoring to command his risible muscles, asked Kate " what she had to reply to that ? " " He says he never argues with women !" answered Kate, pouting and shaking her little fresh-looking head up and down, " never mind 1 I'll catch him at it before long. Never argues with women 1 " adds Kate, " as if he was not arguing with me all the time 'most ! " " Let us dismiss the subject," says Will, gently caressing his upper lip as Mr. Champ was doing opposite, " if that's the way you're going on when we are married, I'll have a time of it." " I won't marry you ! " says Kate, " to be quarrelling all the time " " I quarrel ! " " Yes ! " pouts Kate, wiping her eyes. " Well, I won't any more," says Will, descending from his heroics, and endeavoring to make friends j '' don't cry, Kate. You know how devoted I am to you " " I won't be friends 1 " " Now, Kate ! " " You needn't be squeezing my hand." " I'll get you the silk for Carlo's foot" " Will you ? " ' Yes, from cousin Clare." " To-morrow ? " " This very night." " Then," says Kate, smiling, " I won't quarrel : and you niusn't." "I? never!" " How pretty Carlo will be I " " Lovely and we're engaged ? " " Oh, yes ! " says Kate, absorbed in the imaginary con templation of Carlo's foot, " but hush ! Willie, they are go ing on with the play, and you m jsn't be making love to me, you know, where every body can hear you ! " " Never 1 " says Will, with Roman dignity and firmness. The audience utter a prolonged " Sh-h-h-h 1 " and the curtain rises. m MR. LEE'S aox. CHAPTER IX, IN MR LEE'S LET us return for a moment to the box occupied by Mr. Lee and his daughters. At the end of the first act Mr. Effing- ham left his companions, with whom he had been interchang ing remarks during the performance, to the great disgust of the pit, and sauntered to the side of Miss Clare Lee, who sat nearest the stage. Clare was radiant with pleasure : she had never seen a play before, and it was therefore as much of a novelty to her as to little Kate. Never had she looked more beautiful, with her bright eyes and soft rosy cheeks and this fact probably occurred to Mr. Effingham : for his gaze betrayed unmistakable admiration. No one, however, would have discovered it from his manner, which was as full of languor as ever. " How does my fair cousin relish the performance ? " he asked. " Oh ! I was never more pleased with any thing," said Clare, " and how do you like it ? " " Tolerably : but I never had a very great relish for these things " " Because, to wit, life itself is a comedy," said Henrietta, laughing. " Yes," said Mr. Effingham, " and a very brilliant one it would be, if all the world were Miss Henriettas. I hope, my dear cousin, that compliment is sufficiently broad." " T.hank you, sir I know how to take your fine speeches : don't think they deceive me." " There ! you have it, Champ," said Mr. Lee, who turned round to greet a neighbor who had just entered. '* I'm rather a poor hand at compliments," replied Mr. Effingham, " but really it is hard to do you the injustice, my fair cousin, of withholding them. Come ! no reply, for I see cousin Clare is going to say something more flattering than what you are about to utter." Clare laughed, and said, blushing slightly : 52 IN MB.. LEE'S BOX. " Oh, no 1 I was going to say only that Shylock realty frightened me." " It was very well done, much like Shuter at Castle Gar den," said Mr. Effingham, "how did you like it, cousin Hen rietta ? Come, your criticism." " Oh, what could you expect from a mere country girl like me ? Besides, there is Mr. Hamilton, my devoted ad mirer, coming to speak to me." Mr. Hamilton, the fox-hunter, entered and took his seat, and Henrietta was now engaged in a laughing and animated conversation. " How I envy them," said Mr. Effingham, applying to his nostrils, with a listless air, a delicate pinch of snuff, " they are so gay." " Why are you not gay, cousin Champ ? " said Clare, in a timid voice, " you have no reason to be sad." " No I do not say I have any reason. But I am out of sorts." " Why are you ? " Mr. Effingham leaning over the velvet cushion, and speaking in a tone audible to no one besides himself and Clare, replied : " I am out of sorts, because I am rusting." " Busting ! " C( Yes, more than rusting. I take interest in scarcely any thing I am wearied to death with every thing what is life worth ? Here are some hundreds of persons, and they all seem delighted with this play, which tires me to death I take no interest in it. Shylock and Antonio strut and spout without amusing me I am already weary, and every body else seems to be impatient for the reappearance of those wonders. Why are they so much amused ? For my part, I am sick of all this, and only stay," Mr. Effingham added, lowering his voice, " because you stay. The nearest approach to happiness I make, is in your presence." Clare blushed this time in earnest, and yet, gathering self-possession, looked into Mr. Effingham's face and smiled. '" How beautiful you are 1 " he said with profound ear nestness. " Oh," said Clare, the co?or of a peoviy, " you are jesting with me." IN MR. LEE'S BO*. SS " I am not jesting." " Well, don't say any thing to make m feel so a^ain I feel as if my face was as red as fire." There was so much childlike frankness in the tone with which these words were uttered, that Mr. Effingham felt his heart leaving him, and going quickly into the possession of the owner of the red cheeks. Yet strange to say, he felt no pain, but rather pleasure. " I really believe I am growing less tired of the play, and all, " he said to himself, with a smile : then added aloud : " I really think you could charm away my misanthropy and melancholy, if you desired, cousin." "How, pray?" " By smiling at me." Clare smiled : " There," she said, " be merry, then. Indeed, cousin, you could become gay again, if you chose. Do not determine to find fault with every thing and think every thing weari some. Seek novelty : you say that all here seem to take pleasure in the play, while you do not. They are pleased because it is new to them. I have never seen a play, and I am highly pleased. If you have been often to theatres, there is nothing strange in your thinking this poor one excellent though it seems beautiful to me. But you will find no velty and interest in other things. Try it, now, and see if my philosophy is not true." The softness and earnestness in the tender voice of the young girl, and the interest in himself betrayed by her tone, was so plain that Mr. Effingham felt his languid heart beat " I know but one means," he said. " What is that ? " " To have a companion." " A companion ? " His meaning suddenly flashed upor her, and she turned away her head. " To have the philosopher always near me" said Mr. Effingham, imprisoning in his own the hand which rested on the railing. The head was turned further away. " Clare ! dearest Clare 1 " he whispered, ' if you taka Buh a tender interest in my welfare why not " M ACTRESS AND GENTLEMAN. " Sh h h h I " came in a long murmur from the atfc dience. " True," muttered Mr. Emngham, turning away, " how ridiculous, here in the theatre 1 " Suddenly his eyes fell upon one of the actresses, and he almost uttered an exclamation. It was the unknown lady of the wood. CHAPTER X. ACTRESS AND GENTLEMAN. THE unknown lady was no gentle Virginia maiden, no "lady,' as she had said, with perfect calmness, at their meeting in the wood only one of the company of Comedians. Her singular expression when she uttered the words, " I think you will see me again," occurred to the young man, and he wondered that this easy solution of the riddle had not occurred to him at once. What was her name ? Mr. Effingham drew forth his bill, and saw opposite the name of Portia, Miss Beatrice Hallam. " Ah, yes," he said, carelessly, " the same we were spe culating upon, this morning. Let us see how Portia looks, and what change the foot-lights work in her face." He sat down in the corner of the stage upon a wicker chair, and scanned Portia critically. Her costume was faultless. It consisted of a gown and underskirt of^-fewn- colored silk, trimmed with silver, and a single band of gold encircled each wrist, clearly relieved against the white, finely-rounded arm. Her hair, which was a beautiful chest nut, had been carried back from the temples and powdered, after the fashion of the time, and around her beautiful, Bwan-like neck, the young woman wore a necklace of pearls of rare brilliance. Thus the costume of the character defied criticism, and Mr. Effingham passed en to the face and figure. These we have already described. The countenance of Beatrice Hallam wore the same simple, yet firm and collected expression, which Mr. Effingham had observed in ACTRESS AND GENTLEMAN. 55 their first interview, and her figure had the same indefinable grace and beauty. Every movement which she made might have suited a royal palace, and in her large brilliant eyea Mr. Effingham in vain sought the least trace of confusion. She surveyed the audience, while the Prince of Morocco was uttering his speech, with perfect simplicity, but her eyes not for a single moment rested on the young men collected at the corners of the stage. For her they seemed to have no existence, and she turned to the Prince again. Thai gentleman having uttered his prescribed number of lines, Portia advanced graciously toward him, and addressed him. Her carelessness was gone ; she no longer displayed either indifference or coldness. She was the actress, with her role to sustain. She commenced in a voice of noble and queen- like courtesy, a voice of pure music, and clear utterance, so to speak, such as few lips possess the power of giving forth. Every word rang and told ; there was no hurry, no slurring, no hesitation ; it was not an actress delivering a set speech, but the noble Portia doing the honors of her beautiful palace of Belmont. The scene ended with great applause the young woman had evidently produced a most favorable impression on the audience. But she seemed wholly un conscious of this compliment, and made her exit quite calmly. A buzz ran through the theatre : the audience were dis cussing the merits of Portia. On the stage, too, she was the subject of many comments ; and this continued until Lance lot made his appearance and went through his speech. Then Portia's reappearance with the Prince was greeted with great "applause. Mr. Effingham leaned forward and touched the young woman's sleeve. " Come," he said, with easy carelessness, and scarcely moderating his voice, "come, fair Portia, while that tire some fellow is making his speech, talk to me a little. We are old acquaintances and you are indebted to me for direct ing you home." " Yes, sir," said Beatrice, turning her head slightly, " but pardon me I have my part to attend to." " I don't care." " Excuse me, sir but I do." 89 4CTRESS AND GENTLEMAN. " Reaily, madam, you are very stiff for an actress. Is it so very unusual a thing to ask a moment's conversation ? " " I know that it is the fashion in London and elsewhere, ir, but I dislike it. It destroys my conception of the char acter," she said, calmly. Mr. Emngham laughed. " Come here and talk to me," he said, " did you not say we should meet again ? " " Yes, sir. And I also said that I was not a lady." " Well what is the meaning of that addition?" " It means, sir, that being an actress, I am not at liberty to amuse myself here as I might were I a lady in a drawing- room. Pardon me, sir," she added calmly, " I am neglect ing what I have engaged to do, play Portia." And the young woman quietly disengaging her sleeve from Mr. Effingham's fingers, moved away to another por tion of the stage. " Here is a pretty affair," said Mr. Emngham to him self, as he fell back, languidly, into the chair, from which, however, he had not deigned to rise wholly when addressing the young actress, " what are things coming to when an actress treats a gentleman in this manner. I really believe the girl thinks I am not good enough for her : ' Pardon me, sir ! ' was there ever such insufferable prudery and affecta tion ! No doubt she wishes to catch me, and commences with this piquant piece of acting. Or perhaps," added the elegant young gentleman, smoothing his frill, " she fell iu love with me the other day, when we met, and is afraid she will betray herself. Not talk when I desire to talk with her, indeed and yonder all those people have seen her cavalier treatment of me, and are laughing at me. For tunately I am proof against their jeers come, come, let us see if Miss Portia will treat me as badly next time." Portia entered next with the Prince of Arragon, and while that gentleman was addressing the caskets, Mr. Emngham again applied himself to the task of forcing the young woman to converse with him. " Why did you treat me so, just now ? " he said, with abrupt carelessness. " How, sir ? " " You refused to talk to me." ACTRESS AND GENTLEMAN. 57 " I had my part to perform." " That is no excuse." " Besides, sir," added the young woman, surveying Mr Effingham with an indifferent glance, " I know you only very slightly." " Know me only slightly," cried Mr. Effingham, affecting surprise. " A chance meeting is very slight acquaintance, sir ; but I offer this as no apology for refusing to do what I am now doing converse with you on the stage." " Really, one would say you were a queen speaking to a subject, instead of an actress " " Honored with the attentions of a gentleman, you would add, sir," she interrupted, quite calmly. " As you please." " Pray, speak to me no more, sir I forget my part. And the audience are looking at you." " Let them." " I see some angry faces," said the young woman, look ing at Charles Waters, " they do not understand the fashions of London, sir." " What care I." " Please release my sleeve, sir that is my line." The gallery uttered a prolonged hiss as Portia disen gaged her arm. Mr. Effingharn turned round disdainfully, and looked up to the gallery from which the hiss came This glance of haughty defiance might have provoked an other exhibition of the same sort, but Portia at that moment commenced her speech. Thereafter the young woman came no more near Mr. Effingham, and treated that gentleman's moody glances with supreme disregard. What was going on in Mr. Effingham's mind, and why did he lose some of his careless listlessness when, clasping her beautiful hands, the lovely girl, raising hei eyes to heaven, like one of the old Italian pictures, uttered that sublime discourse on the " quality of mercy " ? and how did it happen that, when she sobbed, almost, in that ten der, magical voice, " But mercy is above this sceptered sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings * It is an attribute of God himself 1 " 58 ACTRESS AND GENTLEMAN. how did it chance that Mr. Effingham led the enthusiasts applause, and absolutely rose erect in the excess of his en thusiasm ? As she passed him in going out, he made her a low bow, and said, " Pardon me 1 you are a great actress ! " A single glance, and a calm movement of the head, were the only reply to this speech ; and with this Mr. Effingham was com pelled to remain content. He returned to the side of Clare, thoughtful and pre occupied. " What were they hissing for ? " asked Clare, from whom the scene we have related had been concealed by the projec tion of the wall, and the group of young men. Indeed, scarcely any portion of the audience had witnessed it, the gallery excepted, which overlooked the whole stage from its great height " Some folly which deserved hissing, probably," returned Mr. Effingham, wondering at his own words as he spoke ; " but here are the actors again." The play proceeded, and ended amid universal applause. Mr. Hallam led out Portia, in response to uproarious calls, and thanked the audience for their kindness to his daughter. Beatrice received all the applause with her habitual calm ness ; and, inclining her head slightly, disappeared. Mr. Effingham's eyes dwelt upon her to the last, and even Clare spoke to him in vain. " Bah ! she's a mere scheming jade 1 " he said, at last, disdainfully, and almost aloud ; " come, cousin Clare, the chariot is ready at the door. Take my arm." And so the audience separated, rolling, well pleased, to their homes. But why did Mr. Effingham preserve such inexplicable silence in the chariot? Why did Henrietta tell him that the performance must have made him sleepy ? Why did he push his horse angrily as he galloped back from Biverhead to Effingham Hall ? Was he thinking of that strange Portia ? MR. EFF1NOHAM CRIT. JISES THE COMEDY 59 CHAPTER XI. ME. EFFmGHAM OEITICI8ES THE COMEDY, BETRAYING GREAT CONSISTENCY. THAT night Mr. Effingham paced his room for more than an hour in moody thought, troubled and out of humor, it seemed, at something which had recently occurred. He kicked out of his way every obstacle, and betrayed other unmista kable evidences of ill-humor. At last, this annoyed state of mind took to itself words and he muttered : " An actress, forsooth, to so treat a gentleman ! making him the laughing-stock of every body by her insolent airs of superiority ! As if it were not a high compliment for me to address her at all a common Comedienne! One would really say that it was presumption in me to speak to one so much my superior. ' Pardon me, sir I have my part to attend to ! ' and then those stupid country bumpkins around me tittering ! Let 'em ! I thank heaven that their mirth does not affect me how insolent it was ! And that hiss from the knaves in the gallery. Presume to hiss a gen tleman ! And who caused all this ? By heaven ! she shall repent her insulting hauteur. Who is this woman who con ducts herself in such a manner toward a gentleman ? Some low woman, the daughter of that vulgar fellow Hallam : no lady, a common actress 1 Suppose she did act well, and I don't mean to say or think she is not a superior artist. Common justice requires me to acknowledge her genius. But what of that ? Her attitude in the trial scene was fine ! " continued Mr. Effingham, thoughtfully, forgetting for a moment his indigna tion, and returning in thought to the theatre. " How tender and noble her countenance ! what music in her voice ! Never have I seen such purity and truth upon the stage. By hea ven ! she's no common actress 1 and I had to tell her so a she went out ! But how did she receive my high compliment," he said, returning to his grievances, " how did that respectful address, ' You are a great actress,' affect her ? She looked at me as carelessly and indifferently as if I had said ' good morn ing,' and inclined her head with the eoldness of a 60 MR. EFFINGHAM CRITICISES THE COMEDY. speaking to her subject. Damn my blood ! " said Mr. Effing ham, with unusual vehemence, " I'll make her repent it, and she shall suffer for causing me this annoyance. It is ridicu lous, pitiable, silly : I, Mr. Champ Effingham, of Effing- ham Hall, to annoy myself about a common actress to b treated with contemptuous indifference by a woman of hei grade 1 " And Mr. Champ Effingham, of Effingham Hall, sent an unfortunate cricket which stood in his path, flying across the room. The cricket struck against a table which supported a tall silver candlestick, and all came down with a crash. The incident served the purpose of a partial vent to the young man's irritation, and after some more growling and impreca tions he went to bed. He made his appearance at the breakfast-table on the next morning two hours after the squire had left it, and received a remonstrance from Miss Alethea on his late rising, with great indifference. Entering the library there after, he found the squire, who had just returned, reading the " Virginia Gazette." " Good morning, Champ, lazy as usual, I see," said the squire, good-humoredly ; " but you were late returning from Riverhead, which is a good excuse. How did you like the play ? we have not met, you know, since." " I was charmed with it," said Mr. Effingham, "all but Portia acted their parts excellently, I thought." "All but Portia /" Mr. Effingham nodded. " Why," continued the squire, " I thought her acting excellent." " Poor, sir poor very." " What fault did you find come, Mr. London critic ?" " It was overacted." " How ? " " It took up too much room in the piece." " Why Portia is a chief character in the play." " Yes but not the only one." " You are very critical." " I always was." " And what other fault did you find ? Was Miss Hallana MR. EFFINGHAM CRITICISES THE OOMEDT. 61 " No not ugly, exactly but dreadfully affected and stiff." " I do not agree with you." " You liked her, then ? " " Exceedingly," said the honest squire ; " I thought her a young woman of rare beauty ' " Bah ! " And great talents." " Well," said Mr. Effingham, " tastes proverbially dif fer. I thought her abominable." " Were you not speaking to her at one time ?" "Speaking to Portia?" " Yes. I could not see very well through the group around her, but thought I saw her speaking to you." " She did speak to me " " Do you know her ?" " At least she says we are not acquainted." " Here's a mystery 1" " Not at all. I met her some days since riding out. She had lost her way, and I directed her to Williamsburg." " I hope you treated her with courtesy." " As courteously as a subject could a queen, and got snubbed last night for my pains," said Mr. Effingham, with a bad affectation of indifference. The squire laughed, which caused Mr. Effingham to frown. " Most insulting treatment," he said. " Come, come your ideas are too English and not sufficiently Virginian," said the squire. " This young wo man is not degraded by her profession ; and though not exactly a lady, is worthy of respect if she conducts herself properly. For my part, I was vastly pleased with her, and I believe every one but yourself who witnessed her acting thought as I did." " Well, sir," said Mr. Effingham, " I am sorry to find we disagree. In my eyes, her acting, costume, voice, and general style were inappropriate, stilted, and in bad taste." " You are offended at her refusal to converse with you," laughed the squire, " and so are a prejudiced witness. Hey 1 " he added, looking through the window, " there's the person come vr t dine." 62 MR. EFFINGHAM CRITICISES THE COMEDT. Mr. Effingham was glad to be thus relieved frjm th dilemma into which he had fallen, and he greeted the parson with a bow, due to him as deliverer. " A fine morning, squire," said Parson Tag ; " how does your worship find yourself after the lato sitting last night?" " Quite fresh sit down. How did you like the acting ? " Every body is asking that question now." " Well, well," said the parson, dubiously. " It was toler ably good, but much of it was overdone overdone, sir, much overdone." " WhaJ; part ? But excuse me for a moment. I have a word to say to Alethea, and must have your horse taken : you will stay to dinner ? " " No, I think not. I have an engagement but perhaps well, I suppose " The squire, well accustomed to this formula, was already out of the room, and the first thing he did was to order the parson's animal to be led away, as he would spend the re maining portion of the day at the Hall. " You said the play was overdone, I believe ? " said Mr, Effingham, lounging in an easy chair, and drawling out his words. " What part, please inform me, reverend sir ? I re peat my respected governor's question." " All was overdone especially the part of that young wo man, the daughter of the manager." Miss Hallain ? " " Yes, young sir." " Who acted Partia ? " " Precisely. I never saw a greater failure it was wretched." " What do you know of acting ? " said Mr. Emngham, with indignant disdain, which expression did not escape Mr. Tag. " You are somewhat abrupt, sir," he said ; " but, never theless, I will answer you. In my former worldly days, I frequented playhouses much, and have thus some knowledge of thsm." " And you think Portia's part was overdone ? " " Yes." " And wretched ? " MR. EFF1NGHAM 3RTI CISES THE COMEDY. 63 " Exactly." " And a failure ? " " Perfect." " Then, reverend sir," said Mr. Effingham, with insulting carelessness, " I beg leave to inform you, that you know noth ing about acting. I have never seen a more beautiful ren dering of the character. Miss Hallam whom I highly esteem, sir, and should be sorry to hear any one insult ! ia an artist of rare genius ! Her conception and execution are alike uncommon and admirable. If there are persons who are ignorant of what acting exacts, and who do not know when it is of a superior order, so much the worse for them ! I repeat, sir, that any competent critic would have approved unconditionally of Miss Hallam's acting last night in the part of Portia, and I feel some surprise at hearing from you a criticism such as you have uttered. The acting of this young lady and she is a lady in every sense of the word ; for do not think that I am of the prejudiced way of thinking which the gentlemen so-called of this colony take pride in Miss Hallam's acting is of an order superior to any I have ever witnessed. Her costume, style, voice, and whole ren dering were worthy of the first comedians of the English stage. And permit me to say, that your former drilling in theatrical criticism, which you have alluded to, must have been very slight and incomplete, if, after attending the per formance with which every one was delighted last night, you failed to perceive that this young girl of eighteen she is not more, sir is destined to take a rank inferior to no artist who now adorns with her genius or decorates with her beauty and accomplishments that department of art, the histrionit profession ! " Mr. Tag was fairly overwhelmed. His feelings, while this storm of words was being poured out on his devoted head, might have been compared to those of a man whv-rse eyes are dazzled and his ears deafened by lightning uid thunders issuing from a cloudless sky. He could mustei no reply words failed him. He essayed once or twice to mus ter some appropriate indignation, but failed lamentably. The worthy gentleman was accustomed to bully as we now gay others, not to be bullied ; and Mr. Effingham having " stolen his art^' that art now failed him. 64 MR. EFFLNGHAM CRITICISES THE COMEDY. " Yes, sir," continued the animated and consistent en tic, " I shall make it my business to call upon Miss Hallam, and assure her of my high appreciation aud admiration of her brilliant genius. I know what acting is, sir ! and when we, the gentlemen of Virginia, are so fortunate as to secure a great comedienne, it becomes us to offer her the tribute of our applause ! Miss Hallam deserves it for I again repeat, that in style, dress, voice, and conception, she is far before any actress with whom, in my various experience, I have been thrown in contact." " Why, Champ 1 " cried the voice of the squire, at the door, " you are the most consistent of critics, and the most impartial of admirers ! You praise and abuse in the same breath." Mr. Effingham betrayed some slight embarrassment, upon finding that his enthusiastic tribute to Miss Hallam had thus been overheard, by one to whom he had spoken of her so disparagingly. But this soon disappeared, and the versa tile young gentleman replied with great coolness. " All chivalry, sir pure chivalry. I thought it my duty to espouse Miss Hallam's cause, when she was attack ed by so rough a tilter as the reverend gentleman here. Was I wrong, and would you not have done the same ? " This was very adroit in Mr. Effingham, as it diverted at tention from himself to the views of the parson. " The parson attack Portia 1 " said the squire ; " how so?" " I did nothing of the sort, your worship," said the crest-fallen parson, u I only expressed some dissatisfaction with a portion of her acting : for which crime, Mr. Effing ham has been for some minutes pouring out upon my head the vials of wrath." " Well, let us say no more," returned Mr. Effingharc, subsiding into indifference again ; " I'm tired of the subject, and will no longer afflict your reverence. Bring me some Jamaica," he added, to a servant who was passing through the hall : then to the parson, " we'll bury all differences in a flagon," he said, " 1*111 as thirsty as a fish." The parson brightened up, and, when he had emptied a fair cup of excellent Jamaica, was ready to forgive Mr. Ef fingham and all the world even think well of Portia. In THE OLD RALEIGH f AVEfcN. 65 due time, that is to say, about noon, dinner was announced and discussed honestly by all, except Mr. Effingham. That gentleman soon rose and ordered his horse, announcing hia intention of riding to Williamsburg, where he would proba bly spend the night. " Don't sit up for me, Alethea," he added, with a yawn. " Indeed, I won't," Miss Alethea replied. Mr. Effingham nodded indifferently, and sauntered from the room. CHAPTER XIL THE OLD EALEIGH TAVERN. THE " Raleigh Tavern " in Williamsburg had been se lected for a residence by Mr. Hallam and his company of comedians, chiefly on the ground that there was no other hostelry of any size in the good city at the period : and be fore the Raleigh Mr. Effingham drew rein. A negro took his horse, and, entering the broad doorway, the young man found himself opposite to the manager himself. " Give me some Jamaica," he said to the portly land lord, who bowed low to his well-known and richly-clad guest, " and you, Mr. Hallam, come here and empty a cup with me. I came to see Madam Portia. Where is she at the present moment? I wish to pay her my respects." So far from displaying any ill-humor at these cavalier words, the red-faced manager bowed as low as the landloi 1, and expressed his perfect willingness to drink with Mr. Effingham ; which, judging from his voice and appearance, he had performed in company with himself a number of times already. He marched up, accordingly, to the side board in those simple times the bottles were set out freely without any obstructing " bar " and pouring out an abund ant supply of the heady rum, swallowed it at a gulp. Mr. Effingham drank his own more leisurely, talking about the performance on the preceding night. " A fine house, sir 1 a most enlightened and intellectual 66 IHE OLD RALEIGH TAVERN. audience, such as I expected to find in this noble colony/ Bald Mr. Hallam. " What receipts ? " asked Mr. Effingham. " Nearly a hundred pounds, sir ; as much as the great Congreve's ' Love for Love ' ever brought me." " I should have thought the amount larger, cursed dust 1 I believe it has strangled me ! " " I saw you, sir, and your honorable party." " The devil you did ! that's strange, for Shylock natu rally took up your whole attention." " Shylock was too drunk," said Hallam, quite naturally " there he is, in the corner, now." " Let him stay there, then. You have not answered my question." " Your question ? " " I asked where Portia was. M " Oh, Beatrice 1 she is somewhere about." " I met and directed her on her way to town the othei day. Send up, and say that Mr. Effingham wishes to see her." " Certainly, sir." A messenger was dispatched to Miss Hallam's room, and in a moment returned with the reply, that she was busy studying her part. "She can see you, though," said Hallam, laughing; " follow me, sir." Mr. Effingham followed the fat manager, and a flight of stairs brought them to a door, which Hallam knocked at, and a voice bidding him come in, he threw it open. It afforded entrance to a small, neat room, the simple ornaments of which were in perfect taste ; the window of this room waf open, and at it sat the young girl, whom we have seen twic* before ; once, in the bright autumn woods, and again on the stage, in the character of Portia. Beatrice was clad in a handsome morning dress of dove color, and her fine hair was secured behind her statue-like head by a bow of scarlet riband. She leaned one hand upon her book, the other supported her fair brow, and her classic profile was clearly defined against the rich fall forest, visible through the window. At the noise made by the opening door she railed her THE OLD RALEIGH TAVERM. 67 eyes, and for a moment gazed in silence upon the intruders Then apparently resigning herself to her fate, she closed the book and rose. " I told the servant to say that I was engaged upon my part, father," she said, calmly, to Hallam. " I shall be badly prepared if I am interrupted, sir." <( Oh, plenty of time and with your genius, child, you can do any thing. She is as quick as lightning, Mr. Effing- ham," added the manager, discussing the young girl's talents in her hearing without a thought of any indelicacy in such a proceeding, " and when she catches hold of a role it's done." Beatrice was silent. " Come, now, talk with Mr. Effingham for a quarter of an hour, since he is an acquaintance," continued the man ager, smiling, " in that time you will lose nothing," And passing through the door, he descended into the lower part of the tavern. For a moment the two personages thus left alone sur veyed each other in silence. Before Mr. Effingham's bold and careless glance, Beatrice's eyes did not lower for an instant. " Well, Mr. Effingham," she said, at length, quite calm ly, " what would you have ? " " Simply, a little conversation with you, my charming Beatrice," said Mr. Effingham, carelessly. " I am busy, sir, very. I act Juliet to-night, and am now studying." " Oh, you can give me a few moments " " Well, sir," she said, sitting down and pointing to a hair. " Especially," continued her visitor, " as you refused to say any thing to me last night." " That is a reproach, sir ? " " Yes." " It is unjust, as you know. " " Now, sfte the difference of opinion," said Mr. Effing ham, smoothing his ruffles, daintily, " I think that nothing could be more just. I reproach you justly, because you have nothing but prudery to allege as an excuse for youi refusal." OB THE OLD RALEIGH TAVERN. " I told you, sir, then, as I now do, tlat conversation on the stage destroys my conception of the character I ain representing." " Bah ! all theory." The young girl seemed to he somewhat irritated by the disdainful expression of Mr. Effingham's voice. " Mr. Effingham," she said, " be pleased not to treat me like your servant. I am no common attach 6 of the stage, sir, such as you have met with, doubtless, in London frequently. I say this, sir, in no spirit of self-approval, but because it is true." " Why, Beatrice, you are really about to bowstring me, or put me to some horrible death, I believe." " See, sir," said the young girl, with noble calmness, " we are very nearly perfect strangers, and you address me as ' Beatrice,' as familiarly as my own father." " May the devil take it you quarrel with a mere habit. :l " Mr. Effingham," said the young woman, rising, and speaking in a tone of perfect calmness, " I quarrel neither with you nor any one; above all, I do not presume to criticise your habits, except when those habits, as in the present instance, concern myself." " Bah ! " repeated Mr. Effingharm with a laugh, " how, pray?" " You seem to think, sir, that it is my place to be thank ful when you address me intimately, and familiarly, as you have done." " What harm is there ? " " That question is an insult, sir ! " " May the devil take me, but you are fruitful in imagi nary offences, and insults offered you." " No, sir I do not exercise my imagination at all Your tone to me is disagreeable." " There it is again you are really going to bite me, I believe. Let us leave the subject, and discuss last night's performance. Your acting was really not bad." The proud lip of the young woman moved slightly. " Ah ! ah ! " said Mr. Effingham, laughing, " I see what you mean by that scornful look. I am a poor critic, you would say." " I say ittkimg, sir THE OLD RALEIGH TAVERN. 69 " I have no taste, you would say : though I fceg you to observe, that inasmuch as I have praised your acting, that is a false step in you." Beatrice repressed her rising anger, and bowed coldly. Mr. Effingham received this exhibition of hauteur witk. careless nonchalance, and picking up the volume which tho young girl had laid down on his entrance, said : " You act Juliet to-night? " " I do, sir." " I shall come." Beatrice made no reply. " I beg, now," continued Mr. Effingham, arranging one of his ambrosial drop-curls daintily upon his cheek, " I beg you will not put any of that ferocious feeling you now exhibit into Juliet. The character is essentially tender and poeti cal, and ranting would kill it." " I never rant, sir," said Beatrice, apparently resigning herself to the presence of her insulting visitor, and speaking in a tone of utter coldness. " That's right," replied Mr. Effingham, indifferently ; " be subdued, quiet, but intense, and all that. Juliet is deeply in love with Komeo, recollect, and love does not express itself by tirade. Do you think it suits you ? Come, answer me." " I have played it before, sir." " That is no answer." " Please leave me to study my part, sir time is pass ing." " Not before giving my views, Beatrice. I don't think you will act Juliet well. It requires a tender, loving na ture ; and you are minus the heart, it is plain ; and you will butcher the part." " Thanks for your compliment, sir." " Oh ! I never compliment, or any thing of the sort." * I am losing time, sir." ' Conversing with me, you mean ? " " Yes, sir." " The conversation, then, is very distasteful to you, pay charming Beatrice ? " " Yes, sir 1 " she said. M You hate me, perhaps ? ' ' 70 THE OLD EALE1GH TAVERH. The young girl made no reply. " Or, perhaps, your ladyship despises me ? " added M/. Effinghain, betraying some irritation. " I do neither, sir you are indifferent to me." These words were uttered with so much coldness, that Mr. Effingham's amour-propre was deeply wounded. He began to get angry. A " You are really a very amiable young lady," he said. ' Here I ride all the way from the country for the sole pur pose of seeing you." " And insulting me, sir, add." " And you receive me," continued Mr. Effingham, taking no notice of the interruption, "as if I were a common clodhopper, instead of a gentleman, paying you a friendly visit." ' Your friendly visits do not please me, sir." " I see they do not." " I am an actress, sir, and not of your class." " Bah ! who speaks of classes ? " " You yourself this moment, sir ! " " You choose to misunderstand me. I said that my visit was the friendly one of a well-bred man, not the imper tinent intrusion of a country bumpkin, like those knaves who hissed me in the gallery, or that clodhopper who presumed to bend his angry glances on me from the pit Mr. Charles Waters, I know him well the young reformer, forsooth ! " Beatrice's face flushed. " I saw no nobler countenance, sir," she said, coldly, " among all your aristocratic friends." " Ah I your cavalier, I perceive 1 " said Mr. Effingham, bitterly ; " really, I shall become jealous." " I do not know him, even, sir your scoff is unjust." " Your true knight, who wished to run a tilt with me for touching your arm ! Perhaps he has but now left you, and before going, devoted my humble self to the infernal gods for daring to address you." " I repeat," said Beatrice, indignantly, " that I have seen him but once, and on the occasion you allude to." " Well, I believe you. But let such impertinent bump kins beware how they criticise my actions in future, even by their looks." THE OLD RALElGtt TAV0RN. 71 Beatrice sat down, with a mixture of weariness and scorn on her beautiful countenance, and, taking up the book which the young man had laid down, began to study her part. This calmness seemed to enrage Mr. Effingham not a little, and he put on his cocked hat with a flirt of irritation. " Very well," he said ; " that means that you are weary of me I am not good enough for Miss Hallam she is too immaculate for me." " I have my part to study, sir." And she began to con her character in silence. Mr. Effingham swung his short sword round angrily and without further words went hurriedly out of the room. He brushed by Mr. Hallam, who was talking with Shylock, and, mounting his horse, galloped from the town towards the Hall, The manager's good-humored greeting as he passed had been completely disregarded ; and thinking rightly that something bad happened to cause this abrupt departure, ha went up to his daughter's room. " Why did the young man go so abruptly, my, child ? " he said. " Because I would not return him my thanks for visiting me," said Beatrice, bitterly. " Oh," said the manager, laughing, " you are too prudish, Beatrice. You should not complain of these visits, which are customary, and not strange, when you are acquainted as you are with Mr. Effingham, he says. Your aim in life, as you say you hate the stage so much, should be to marry well and I much misunderstand this young fellow, if he would not marry you in the face of the world, if he fancied." " I do not wish to marry him, or any one like him I " said Beatrice, her face flushing, and her beautiful eyes filling with angry tears. " You are mad ! he is, the landlord tells me, of one of the best and wealthiest families in the colony." " And because he is," said Beatrice, wiping her eyes, " he thinks he has the right to intrude upon me, and speak in any tone he chooses. Father ! " she added, passionately, " I am sick of this eternal persecution in London here ev*ry where. I shall go mad if I remain upon the stag?, 79 THE OLD RALEIGH TAVERN. exposed to this class of persons all my life my head is hot and burning now, my eyes feel like fire oh ! I wish I was dead ! " Passionate tears followed these words, and Beatrice covered her face with her hands, bending down and sobbing. The good-hearted old fellow, who really had his daughter's good at heart in all things, betrayed some feeling at this ex plosion of grief ; and betook himself to soothing the young girl, with gentle words, and caresses, and assurances of his own unchangeable love. " Come, come," he said, much affected, " I can't bear to see you so much moved. Don't think too hardly of this young man. He is thoughtless, perhaps, but does not mean any offence. There now ! " he said, caressing her disorderd hair, " don't cry, Beatrice. You shall forget all this to-morrow, when, as there will be no performance, we can go and have the sail upon James River, which you said you would like so much will you go ? " " Yes, sir," said Beatrice, growing calmer, " oh yes ! I want to get away from all this tormenting excitement, and breathe the fresh river air. I am happiest in the woods, or on the water. I won't cry any more, sir, and don't fear I will not act my part well. I don't like acting, and at times I feel a weariness and disgust which I cannot subdue : but I will not let any of my bad feelings interfere with your wishes. Indeed, I'll act very well, sir." " And don't be too angry at the young man he meant nothing, I know." " I have forgotten him, sir," said the young girl, with noble calmness. " A mere thoughtless youth, who admires you highly I aw that well, when you were speaking in the trial scene last night. Now I will leave you. Good-bye." " Good-bye, father kiss me, before you go." And Mr. Manager Hallam having retired, the young girl growing gradually calm, again applied herself once more to the study of her part, A LOYKK. FOX-HUNTER. AND IAMOK. 70 CHAPTER XIII. A LOVEK, FOX-HUNTEB, AND PABSON. OUT of Williamsburg into the forest through the forest and so into the open highway sped Mr. Effingham, as if au avenging Nemesis were behind him, and nothing but the headlong speed he was pushing his noble bay to, could pre serve him from the clutches of the pursuer. He made furious gestures, uttered more furious words. The ordinary languor and nonchalance of this gentleman seemed to have passed from him wholly, and a fiery, passionate man, taken the petit maitre's place. Going at this headlong speed, he very nearly ran over, be fore he was aware of their proximity, a party of gentlemen nf his acquaintance, who were riding leisurely toward the bachelor establishment of Mr. Hamilton, visible a few hun dred yards ahead. Mr. Hamilton rode in front of the glittering cortege, and became aware of Mr. Effingham'a presence, by having his horse nearly driven from beneath him. " What, the devil ! " cried jolly Jack Hamilton. " It's Effingham, racing for life 1 " rose in chorus, from the laughing horsemen " The devil, Champ ! what's the matter ?" asked Hamil ton, " have you made a bet that you will ride over us, horse, foot and dragoons ? " " Excuse me," said Mr. Effingham, regaining a portion of his habitual calmness, " but the fact is, Hamilton, I am angry enough to gallop to the devil, whom you have twice apostrophized so emphatically." " What's the matter ? " " lam mad." " Intellectually, or do you mean that you are merely out of temper ? " " Both, I believe." " Then, come and sleep with me, and have a with us in the morning." " No." 4 74 A LOVER, FOX-HUNTER, AMD PARSON. " Come, now." " I cannot." " Well, at least, let us have the cause of your fury." Mr. Effingham hesitated, but at last, overcome with raga, eaid: " That young actress has been assuming her airs ttwardi me, and has made me as you find me. There it is 1 I con fess I am out of temper." " What a confession it is I " cried Hamilton, laughing u I thought you never suffered yourself to be ruffled." " I seldom do." " And she offended you ? " " Snubbed me nothing less. It is really humiliating." And Mr. Effingham looked as if he believed what he naid : his face was flushed, and he looked gloomy. " How was it ? " asked the company. " Why, just thus. I went to pay her a visit, and com plimented her performance in Portia, highly. What reply did I receive, sir ? " said Mr. Effingham, indignantly, " why, an insult ! ' Please leave me I must study my part ! ' that was her reply. And when I declined to avail myself of the privilege, she went on studying, as calmly as if I was not present." " A perfect she-dragon, by George ! " said Hamilton, " but really, that was bad treatment." " Abominable ! " said the chorus. " She could not have treated a country clown more harsh ly," added Hamilton ; " how could she be guilty of such rudeness. She don't look like it I thought her very lady like." " All acting 1 " said Mr. Effingham. " Plainly." " She shall repent it," blurted out Mr. Effingham, " the insulting girl 1 I never saw greater rudeness and hauteur. A mere London commedienne of no talents, and bringing her stilted affectations to the colony." " Come, my dear Effingham, don't be angry. Here we are at the Trap my respectable bachelor residence : come in, and cool off in some Jamaica " " No, thank you I must get on. I am bad company. ' And, leaving the fox-hunters, Mr. Effingham rode on toward the Hall. A quarter of a mile from the house he A LOVER, FOX-HUNTER, AND PARSON. 7& met Parson Tag, jogging on his cob from the Hall home ward, with broad-brimmed hat, and knees and elbows pain fully angular. " Good evening, sir," said the parson, " you return soon : the dews of evening are scarce falling." " I thought you were at the Hall, sir, for the evening." "Why so?" " Because I was absent," said Mr. Effingham coldly. u We quarrel, I believe, always, and I thought you would re main, as I was away." Mr. Effingham's irritation and ill-humor must plead his excuse for this irreverent speech. " The quarrelling is on your side, not on mine, sir," said the parson, endeavoring to be dignified; "lam a man of peace." " Carrying out which character, you this morning attacked Miss Hallam, sir ! " " Really, you seem to have espoused that young lady's cause against all comers," said the indignant parson. " Tak^i care, young sir ; as the parson of your parish, it is my duty to warn you against the snares of Satan. This Jezebel will be your ruin." " Be pleased to speak respectfully of Miss Hallam, sir," said Mr. Effingham, threateningly, " when you address me on the subject of her character. Though not her knight, I hold myself ready to ' espouse her cause,' as you say, sir, even against the ' parson of my parish ! ' " " Here's a pretty mess," returned the pompous gentleman, descending to the vulgate : " you threaten me, forsooth ! " " No, sir : I acknowledge the folly of my words. You wear no sword, and are not responsible for thus slandering my friends yes, my friends, sir 1 I say again, that Miss Hal lam is one of my friends, and a young lady who has thus far conducted herself with immaculate propriety. Now, go sir, and laugh at me. I value your derision as I value your praise as nothing." And Mr. Effingham rode on as furiously as before, with out reflecting for an instant on the strange inconsistency of his conduct. Might not a small modicum of self-kaowledge have explained to him the truth of the matter ? But he was blinded by those dazzling eyes, and saw no inconsistency in his words. 76 HOW MR. E. STAINED HIS RUFFLES WITH BLOOD. CHAPTER XIV. HOW MR. EFFINOHAM STAINED HIS RUFFLES WITH BLOOD. TEN minutes' ride brought him to Emngham Hall, and, throw ing his bridle to a negro who ran forward to take it, he en tered the hall. Supper was soon served, and Mr. Emngham was plied with questions as to his abrupt return, and moody state of mind. These questions were received with very little good-humor by the young man, who was in a furious ill- humor, and he was soon left to himself. The squire was not present, having some writing to do in the library, whither a cup of chocolate was sent him. After supper Mr. Emngham sat down moodily, resting his feet on the huge grim-headed andirons, which shone brightly in the cheerful light thrown out by some blazing splinters, for the October evenings were becoming chilly. Miss Alethea, who sat sewing busily, after pouring out tea, endeavored in vain to extract a word from him. Little Kate, who sat in the corner near Mr. Emngham, on her own little cricket, paused in the midst of her work Carlo was going on bravely now to ask cousin Champ what made him feel bad, and was he sick ? The child was Mr. Effingham's favorite, and he was always ready to play with her ; but on the present occasion he replied that he was not sick, and did not wish to be annoyed. Kate looked much hurt, and Master Willie, who was pouring over a wonderful book of travels at the table, mani fested some disapprobation, on hearing his future wife thus rudely addressed. " You are not mad with me, cousin Champ ? " said little Kate, piteously. " No no ! I am angry with nobody," said Mr. Effing- bam, with some impatience, but more softly than before. Kate, encouraged by these words, laid Carlo down, and pouring some perfume from a bottle into her hand, stole up to Mr. Emngham, and said : " Oh, I know you've got a headache, cousin Champ I Let me put this on your forehead." He would have refused, but the little face was so tender, %nd the small hand so soft, that he could not. HOW MR. E. STAINED HIS RUFFLES WITH BLOOD. 7? " I have no headache, Katy," he said, " I am only an noyed no, I believe I am not even annoyed." And rising abruptly, he said to a servant : " Order my horse ! " The negro hastened out. " Why, where in the world can you be going at this hour ? " said Miss Alethea, writing busily. Mr. Effingham either did not hear this question, or deign ed to take no notice of it : a circumstance which caused Miss Alethea to toss her head, and preserve a dignified silence. " Well ! my horse ? " he said, as the servant re-entered. " Be round directly, sir, I told Dick to be quick." Kate stole up and took his hand. " Cousin Champ," she said, " it is getting cold. Won't you wear my white comfort ? I'll bring it in a minute." " No, no ! I don't need it." Kate tip-toed, and whispered in his ear : " I won't like cousin Clare, if she treats you badly." " Foolish child ! for heaven's sake let me alone ! " Then, seeing that the little face looked hurt and morti fied , he added gloomily : "I am not treated badly by any one, Kate : you attach too much importance to my moods. There : I had no inten tion of hurting your feelings, and I am not going to see any body in particular." " Did anybody ever ! " said Miss Alethea, raising her hands. " Apologise to a child, when my questions are met with insult." Mr. Effingham treated this apostrophe to the unknown personage, who finds himself called upon to express his sen timents on such astounding occasions, with profound dis regard, and went out into the night. A servant held his horse, and he vaulted into the saddle, and set forward at a gallop toward Williamsburg. " That woman will be my fate !" he muttered, between his clenched teeth ; and with a reckless laugh, " I see the abyss before me, and the mocking glances of the world are plain to me. I, a gentleman, to trouble myself about an actress 1 I suppose I will end by offering her my hand, and then comes the storm ! Married to an actress 1 for, by 78 HOW UK. E. STAINED HIS RUFFLES WITH BLOOD. heaven, if I wish to do so, I will do so in spite of fire and tempest ! They'll laugh when they read of my wedding I see them now, leering and smiling, and giggling : the well- bred gentlemen wondering how I could throw myself away BO, the eligible young ladies intensely indignant, at what? why, at the loss of a visitor and prospective husband. They would scout the idea, truly ! but I defy them to deny it a score of them. Marry an actress ! I am stamped with degradation for ever by it. Well, I'm not fool enough for that, quite yet ; but every bound of this horse is a step in my fate. Let it be ! " And digging his spurs into the animal's sides, he fled on through the darkness like the wild huntsman ; as furious and fast. The lights of the town soon rose on his sight, and clattering to the " Raleigh," he gave his horse in charge of an ostler, and repaired without brushing the dust from his clothes, or wiping the perspiration from his brow, to the theatre. The play had commenced nearly an hour before, and it was with great difficulty that the young man pushing by a number of ladies, his acquaintances could reach the stage, upon which some dozen or more gentlemen were standing or seated. In the middle box, his excellency, the Governor, and his household, glittered in silk, embroidery and gold. Just as he reached the stage, Juliet made her appear ance in the garden. Beatrice was the very impersonation of the poet's conception so tender, yet passionate ; bold, yet fearful, were her looks and tones, her gestures, and whole rendering of the part. Her dewy eyes burned with a steady and yet changeable flame ; were now veiled with thought, then radiant with passionate love, and like two moons, new risen, swayed the quick currents of the blood. The audience greeted her with enthusiastic applause, and Mr. Eflingham saw that the favorable impression she had made on the pre vious night had now been much heightened. In truth, nothing could be more splendid than her coun tenance, as she hastened to meet tin nurse, bringing her news of her lover : and Mr. Effinghaui, spite of his agitation and gloom, could not help hanging on her words and glances, drinking in the music of her rare and wonderful voice with greedy ears. A bitter smile distorted his features, how HOW MR. E. STAINED HIS RUFFLES WITH J5LOOD. 7 r J ever ; for with every burst of applause and no opportunity was allowed by the audience to escape them he felt more and more how insignificant he was to this young girl, ap plauded, caressed, overwhelmed with the intoxicating praise lavished on her from a thousand hands the incense ascend ing in her honor there before him. " What does she care for me ! " he said, bitterly ; " every body praises her all are delighted those fools, there, ar devouring her with their eyes, and think her an angel of genius and beauty from the skies. I tear my heart in vain.' And with passionate anger Mr. Effingham grasped his breast, and dug his nails into the flesh, until they were stained with blood. The rich lace ruffle, rumpled and torn, revealed in its crimson stain the excess of his rage. He made no reply to the laughing words addressed to him by his companions, and taking up a position almost behind the scenes, arrested Beatrice in her passage as she went out. " You do not see me ! " he said, abruptly. " Good evening, sir," said Beatrice, calmly ; " I was ab sorbed in my part." And she endeavored to pass on. " Stop," said Mr. Effingham, with a sneering laugh, " you are really too much in a hurry." " I must look at my next speech, sir I should have known it but for your interruption this morning." " You hate me do you not ? " he said, clasping her arm " No, sir please release me." " Ah ! you have merely contempt for me, madam." " Mr. Effingham," said Beatrice, raising her head with oold dignity, " I despise no one. Your words are probably ironical, as you ask me, an actress, if I despise you, a wealthy gentleman ; but I reply to you aa if you were in earnest. Now, sir, I must go." " Not until I have told you that you ar a heartless and unfeeling woman a nature of stone a coL.\ and unimpress- ible automaton ! " The young girl looked strangely at him. " You have despised the honestly-offer* heart of the modern world, as she was the torch, whose light glared on the crumbling props of old imperial Rome the Btar of the new era. See England, groaning through all her history with the fatal incubus of a privileged class, sucking 134 A TS1NKER OF THE YEAR Of GRACE, 1763. np all offices of profit or distinction ; a king, whose person il sacred who can do no wrong. Sec her still seeking for the true, the pure, the just; see those men of England plunging into war and blood to find the jewel beheading the king in the name of justice- embracing puritanism, because it clad itself in the robes of truth and purity returning to their king, when puritanism became bigotry love, hatred justice, a scoff and only to find in that son of the man they had be headed a worse curse than any yet ! For Charles II cursed the rising generation with corruption, unbelief, despair ; no longer levying tonnage like his father only destroying the honor of families ; no longer holding down the nation with a rod of iron only inaugurating that horrible comedy of the Restoration, which made all that is good contemptible the honor of men, the fidelity of wives, the faith of humanity in God. The poor, struggling nation bargained for liberty and toleration they received bigotry and licentiousness. Yes, yes, sir 1 this is the truth of that great revolution, and the English people therein embodied the history of humanity in all ages, every where. Yes, yes ! if any thing is true, this is true that men are not false and hateful, black from the cradle, foul from their first breath ! On this conviction alone do I base my hopes for the future of the race in' Europe, America, every where. That this land we live in will prove mankind able to think, to act, to rule, above all, to love, I have a conviction which nothing can deprive me of. The old world totters ; she is diseased, and though this dis ease may demand two hundred years to eat its way to the heart, yet it will finally attack the vital part, and all will crumble into dust. The new world lies bathed in the fresh light of the new age : here will the heart of man vindicate its purity; here the tiger will lie down, the serpent no longer hiss ; here, I feel that God will accomplish the po litical regeneration of humanity, proving the eternal truth of these poor words I have uttered I " The thinker paused, and leaning his brows on his hand, seemed to be buried in thought. The stranger was also silent, either from conviction or in order that he might mar- hal t'S thoughts for the struggle of intellects. But if this last were the reason of his silence, he was dcomed to dis appointment. WARLIKE PROCLAMATION PROM THE SQUIRE. . 35 His companion rose and said : " I fear I have wearied you, sir, and fear still more that you will think it discourteous in me to leave you, after thus taking up our whole interview in talking myself. But I have just recalled a business engagement at this hour the clock has just struck." " Well, well," said the man in the red cloak, who did not seem greatly put out by these words, " I cannot think hard of that. Your ideas, sir, have found in me an atten tive listener, and if I led you to suppose that I believed nothing good could come out of human nature, I miscon- veyed my meaning. Let us part, then, for the present we shall meet again, as my stay here will be prolonged for a week or two longer, and I count upon seeing you again. I do not fear a disappointment. We shall come together often in the future, I feel a conviction." His companion bowed his head in token of willingness and assent, and looking at the door, said : " Your room is No. 7, is it not? " " Yes that one opposite is occupied by a young gentle man from the neighborhood ; and that one next to me by the young actress, Beatrice Hallam, I believe. Mr. Effingham seems to be her very good friend." " Effingham ! " exclaimed his companion. " Yes, he has been an inmate of this tavern for two or three days don't mistake and enter his room for mine." Charles Waters could only bow his head : and turning away from the man in the red cloak, he went in silence down the stairs. The house seemed to stifle him ; and when he reached the open air he seemed suddenly to revive, for his face was suffused with blood. CHAPTER XXIV. WARLIKE PROCLAMATION FEOM THE SQUIML JUST as Charles Waters left the door of the inn, and while the stranger was still looking after him, with a curious ex pression upon his finely-moulded lips, the door of No. 7 . 36 WARLIKE PROCLAMATION FROM TflE SQU1H*. opened, and Mr. Champ Effinghara issued from it. Th young gentleman, who had just been refreshing himself with a cup of chocolate, served to him in bed was clad with his usual elegance and richness, and for a moment his eye dwelt on the coarsely-dressed stranger, who stood with the knob of the door in his hand, gazing, as we have said, after Charles Waters. The man in the red cloak surveyed him with great calmness, and some curiosity. An imaginative spectator might have fancied them the representatives of the old world and the new the past and the future the court and the backwoods. Mr. Effingham looked every inch the gentleman and courtier. The drop curls of his powdered peruke reposed ambrosially on his clear pale cheek, his lace ruffles at bosom and wrist were of spotless purity, his sur- coat of cut velvet, with its chased gold buttons, just lifted up the point of his richly ornamented sword, and his waist coat, silk stockings, cocked-hat, and jewelled hands, com pleted the vivid and perfect contrast between himself and the rude-looking, coarsely clad stranger. Plainly the court and the wilds, Europe and America stood face to face. The man in the red cloak having apparently satisfied his curiosity, made a slight and very awkward bow, which Mr. Effingham returned with negligent carelessness, and then re-entered his chamber, with a smile on his grim fea tures. Mr. Effingham descended. The reader will recollect that he had been at the tavern now for some days : the manager had regularly enrolled him as a member of the " Virginia Company of Comedians,' 1 and availing himself of the privileges of his membership, Mr. Effingham had met Beatrice daily, in the theatre, in the tavern, every where. He was no longer a chance visitor, an occasional torment to be borne with, and endured patient ly, in consideration of his going away soon ; he was now her shadow, and in the young girl's own words, he " drove away all the sunshine from her life." At rehearsal she had seen daily his reckless and mockiug smile, glittering and gloomy, follow her every movement at the inn, when he condescend ed to appear at the common table, she had been transfixed by his burning glances in all places and at all times he had obtruded himself with his ironical and yet sombre mile ; a smile which seemed to say audibly, " You defied WARLIKE PROCLAMATION FROM THE SQUIK.B. 137 me, scorned me, thought yourself more than a match for me and I have foiled you and conquered you, by superior will and reckless carelessness." Whether Mr. Manager Hallam was conscious of Bea trice's unhappiness of Mr. Effingham's treatment of his daughter we are not able to say. At least, he took no notice of it, and was always ready to echo the young man's jests, and drink with him as long, and as deeply as he desired. " At the Hall the storm was rising, and ere long it was destined to fall upon the devoted head of Mr. Effingham. Miss Alethea had deeply regretted her violence, and earnest ly prayed for him, and that he might return to them again. She saw too late that her injudicious words had driven him away, and this she confessed to her father, with tears ; but that bluff gentleman had pish'd and pshaw'd, and told hei that she was too soft-hearted, and that she was not to blame he would see to the matter 1 The rest of the household soon found out the dreadful fact that Mr. Champ Effingham had abandoned his home for the young actress, and the very negroes, following the wont of Africans in all years, discussed and commented on " Master Champ's " wild conduct. Will reflected upon the matter, with a dreadful feeling of alarm, and fear, and admiration, for the rebel and Kate sorrowed in quiet, wiping her eyes frequently, as she bent over Carlo, and sometimes getting up from the table, and hurrying out, with no imaginable cause for going away, unless she had tears to hide. She loved Mr. Champ Effingham dearly much more fondly, I am compelled to add, than my respected ancestor deserved and wept for him, and every night and morning joined her hands together and asked God to bless him, wetting the pillow all the time with her tears. As 1 have said, this was by no means the spirit of the squire : he was indignant, he felt outraged, he knew now all about the matter, and felt excessive dissatisfaction at Mr. Effingham's conduct, as he called it. It never occurred to him that his own youthful career had been by no means immaculate, and without regard to Mr. Champ's peculiarities of mental organization, he determined to bring the rebel to subjection." Thus far, the MS. from which those events were drawn ; the extract may serve to explain the appearance of a mounted fervant at the door of the Raleigh, where Mr. Effingham 138 descended, after his meeting with the stranger. It was Tom, who, with many smiles, presented to his master a missive, directed, in a large, firm hand : " To Mr. Champ Effingham, at the Raleigh Tavern Williamsburg." Mr. Effingham frowned, tore open the letter, and read it, with a flush upon his brow, which froze the smiles of the shining African. Having gone through it, he crumpled it furiously in his hand, scowled upon the negro, hesitated, in evident doubt as to what course he should pursue, then bidding the servant wait, hurried to his room. The letter was in these words : u EffingJiam Hall, Thursday Forenoon. " MY DEAR CHAMP I have heard of your conduct, sir, and have no intention of being made the laughing-stock of my neighbors, as the father of a fool. No, sir ! ^ I decline being advised and pitied, and talked about and 'to by the country on your account. I know why you have left the Hall, sir, and taken up your residence in town. Alethea has told me how you insulted her, and flouted her well-meant advice, and because she entreated you, as your sister, not to go near that young woman again, tossed from her, and fell into your present courses. I tell you again, sir, that I will not endure your conduct. I won't have the parson condol ing, and shaking his head, and sighing, and, when he comes in the Litany to pray for deliverance from all inordinate and sinful affections from all the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil have him looking at the Hall pew, and groaning, until every body understands his meaning. No, sir 1 If you make yourself a fool about that common actress, you shall not drag us into it. And Clare Lee ! have you no regard for her feelings ? Damn my blood, sir ! I am ashamed of you. Come away directly. If you are guilty of any thing unworthy toward that young woman, I will strike your name from the family Bible, and never look upon your face again. Remember, sir; and you won't be fool enough to marry her, I hope. Try it, sir, and see the consequence. Pah ! a common actress for my daughter the wife of the representative of the house of Effingham, after my death. 'Sdeah, sir 1 it is intolerable, abominable ; ad I command you to return at once, and never look upon WARLIKE PROCLAMATION FROM THE SQUIRE. 139 that young woman again. For shame, sir. Am I, at my age, to be made a laughing-stock of, to be jeered at by the common people, at the county court, as the father of the young man that played the fool with the actress ? No, sir. Leave that place, and come and do what you are expected to do, called on to do take Clare Lee to the Governor's ball. I inclose your invitation. Leave that woman and her artful seductions. Reflect, sir, and do your duty to Clare, like a gentleman. If it is necessary, I repeat, sir, I command you to return, and never see that girl again. " EFFINGHAM." Mr. Champ Effingham read this letter with those mani festations of wrath and indignation which we have described, and as we have said, hurried to his apartment, bidding the servant wait. Once by himself, he tore his unfortunate frill furiously, and shook his clenched fist at the representation of himself in the mirror. " Dictation ! I am a child ! " he said. " I am to be whipped in, like a hound, because I choose to come and spend a few days in town here, and to be ordered about, as if I were a negro. I am, forsooth, to come back to the Hall, and humbly beg Alethea's pardon, for leaving her so ab ruptly, and hear the servants tittering behind me, and go, like a milk-and-water girl, to escort Miss Clare Lee to the Governor's ball 1 Curse me, if I will submit to be lashed into obedieno -. like a dog, and Miss Clare Lee may find some other escort. I will go to that ball with Beatrice Hal- lam, and I will act next week." With which words, he sat down and wrote : " I have received your letter, sir, and decline returning to Effingham Hall, or being dictated to. I have passed iny majority, and am my own master. No one on earth shall make a slave of me. I have the honor to be, " CHAMP EFFINGHAM." Mr. Effingham read this note over, folded it, sealed it deliberately, stamping the wax with his coat of arms, and summoning a servant, ordered him to deliver it to the negro at the door. Then rising, with a mocking laugh, he went toward Beatrice's room- 140 MR. EFF1NGHAM WISHES TO ESCORT CHAPTER XXV. MB. EFFINGHAM BEQUESTS THAT HE MAT HAVE THE PLEASUB1 OF ESCORTING MI38 HALLAM TO THE BALL. MR. EFFINGHAM knocked at the door of the young girl'a apartment, but being in doubt whether he heard her voice, was about to retire. He decided, however, after a moment's reflection, to enter, and opening the door, which yielded to his push, found himself in presence of Beatrice. She was sitting at the window, and leaned her head upon her hand, which lay upon the sill. She did not move when Mr. Effing- ham entered, and a second glance proved to him that she was asleep. For a moment, Mr. Effingham gazed at the beautiful head bent down, the forehead moist with the dews of sleep, the small hand hanging down, from which the volume of Shakspeare, she had been reading, had fallen to the floor. None of these things escaped him, and for a moment he paused, silent, motionless, his eyes becoming softer, his brow less gloomy. Then the shadow returned ; thought, like a hound, again struck the trail, for a moment lost, and the eye of the young man assumed its habitual fire, his lips their curl of scornful and gloomy listlessness. Beatrice stirred in her sleep and awoke ; it might have been supposed that the glittering eye fixed on her face, bad not permitted the sleeper to continue insensible to the pre sence of the visitor. She opened her eyes and sat up, placing her hand, with an instinctive movement, on her dis ordered hair. Mr. Eflingham approached her. " I knocked," he said, negligently, " but was uncertain whether you answered or not, so I entered. How is Miss Beatrice to-day ? " " I am not well, sir," she said, resigning herself to he* fate. "Not well?" " I am worn out, sir." " Worn out ?" " Yea, sir ; the exceedingly late hours I have kept IaU ty, have injured m. M MISS HALL AM TO THE BALL. 14 1 " All imaginary ; you are accustomed to them." Beatrice made no reply to these words, which Mr. Effing- ham uttered with careless indifference as he sat down. " Have you been to the theatre, this morning ?" he added. " Yes, sir." " Rehearsal ? " " Yes, sir." " Well, that wore you out. That fellow, Pugsby, is enough to put any one to sleep, he's so somniferous." " He did not come." " And so after rehearsal, you came here ? " " Yes, sir." " And went to sleep ?" " I tried to study, but could not." " True ; there is your Shakspeare on the floor." Mr. Effingham picked the volume up with a yawn, and politely restored it to the young girl. " By the by," he said, " when shall we appear together ?" " I don't know, sir." " Come, now ; wouldn't you prefer me as your vis-a-vis in acting to Pugsby ? " " It is perfectly indifferent to me whom I play with, sir." " Amiable, at least ! But we are going to play together soon." " Are we, sir ? " " Yes, madam, the duchess 1 By heaven, you must have been born in a court, or you never could have caught the imperial air so perfectly 1 ' Are we, sir ? ' " continued Mr. Effingham, mimicking the frigid tones of the young girl's voice ; " the devil 1 you carry acting into private life ! " " No, sir ; I am not sufficiently fond of it." " You hate it ? " " I do not like playing." " You would prefer quiet domestic happiness, eh ? " " Yes, sir." " Then, marry me," said Mr. Effingham, with perfect coolness, " I have half ruined myself for you." Beatrice looked at him fixedly. " Your great pleasure in life is to scoff at me, Mr. Ef fingham," she said, calmly. 142 MR. EFFINGHAM WISHES TO ESCORT " No, by heaven 1 There's my hand. Take it. I am just in the mood to-day to follow any whim which seizes me." Beatrice was silent. " You won't accept me, then ? " said Mr. Effingham. " Well, that is wrong in you. Effingham Hall yonder comes to me, and you might indulge your dreams of rank and sta tion to any extent, as we are of tolerably good family." " I have no such dreams, sir." " Well, then, your dreams of domestic happiness, but now discoursed of." Beatrice was again silent ; and Mr. Effingham burst into a harsh laugh. " Ah, ah 1 " he said, " you don't reply, but I know very well what the expression of your ladyship's face signifies. You mean, Madam Beatrice, that you would have very little domestic happiness as the wife of reprobate Mr. Champ Effingham ! Hey ? Come, now, let us chat like tender friends, as we are. Is not that your thought ? " " I do not think we should be happy together, sir ? " "Why?" " We are not congenial." " Bah I we were cut out for each other." " No, sir ; indeed we were not." " We were I Come, now, I'll prove it We are both hypocritical " " Sir 1 " " Both exceedingly worldly and unamiable " " Mr. Effingham ! " " And we love each other devotedly. Could better matches be found ? " " You are in a bitter humor this morning, sir," said Beatrice. " I ? Not in the least, as I believe I have replied to similar charges on previous occasions. I never was in more charming spirits. I have just had a little correspondence which raised my spirits amazingly. Just fancy my respected father writing me word that if I did not give you up, never Bee you again, the paternal malediction would descend. Think of it." " Oh, sir ! did your father write that about me ? " said Beatrice, suddenly losin^ her frigid indifference. MISS HALLAM TO THE BilX. 143 Yes. '* Advising you to come away from this place ? " " Advising ? not in the least ! commanding me." " Oh, sir 1 then obey that command ! Kecollect he is your father ! Remember that you will cause yourself to be talked about, and I shall be the cause of all this ! I shall be the means of distressing your father ! Oh, sir, abandon me; leave the company which you have so rashly united yourself to ; do not cause me the misery of standing between father and son ! Be reconciled, sir I Oh, do not stay here, sir ! " Beatrice had risen, in the excess of her emotion, and stood before the young man now pleading for mercy mercy for himself! Her eyes were full of earnestness and emo tion, her words impassioned and tearful, her hands clasped before her in an attitude of what seemed irresistible entreaty. Mr. Effiugham leaned back, and looked at her with a mocking smile. " You are really exceedingly handsome," he said, " and upon my word the gentlemen, and even the ladies of the colony, might show some cause for not liking you, and think ing it very naughty in me to come near you. Talk about me ! you think my infatuation for you will make me talked about ! My dear Miss Beatrice, don't be hypocritical. You know well that I am at present the most interesting topic of conversation in the colony of Virginia. I fancy I can hear the tittering the delightful gossip about my unworthy self, every where here, in the upper country, south side, every where. Didn't you see how they stared at me, night after night, in the theatre ? And some of the moral and irreproachable young ladies would no longer return my bows, if their re spected parents would permit them to quarrel with so illus trious a nobleman as myself. Talked about ? Bah 1 let us be easy, madam ; we are both the scoff of Virginia ! " " But your family, sir," cried Beatrice, " much as you affect to despise general opinion " " My family will not care much for me a little worry, and when the matter ends in some diabolical way, some an noyance : that is all ! Come, don't talk of my family 01 of any of these matters. Let us speak of acting." " Oh, sir ! I am sick. You have made me feel so badlj by what you have said." 144 MR. EFFINGHAM WISHES TO ESCORT, ETC. Mr. Effingham's laugh was the perfection of recklessness and scorn. " Bah ! " he said, <; let us talk of business matters. I am going to act Benedick soon, and you shall play the par* of your namesake. Can you act it ? " " Yes, sir but I do not wish to again," said Beatrice, sitting down, overcome with emotion. . " You must not have a voice in the matter it suiis me, madam, and with all possible respect, I shall make my debut in ' Much Ado about Nothing.' What an exceedingly apposite piece to appear in ! It will be a practical epigram upon public sentiment the very title 1 " " Will you really act, sir ? " " Yes : that will I ! nothing can prevent me." " Then I am the most unhappy of created beings," said Beatrice, tearfully. " Oh ! to be the occasion of this alter cation between father and son ! " " That is all arranged : and all will go on well now. We will have a delightful time at the ball." " What ball, sir ? " " Have you not heard ? Why, the Governor's. I am going to take you. You will then have an opportunity of seeing all the gentry of this noble colony." Beatrice looked at the young man with astonished eyes. " You would escort me, then, sir ? " she asked coldly. " Certainly." " You must not, sir." " I will." " Oh, no, I will not go ! I cannot go, sir I am not in vited, sir." " Pshaw ! I am, and of course I can bring any lady I fancy." " Mr. Effingham ! " said Beatrice, wildly, " I am not a lady ! I will not accompany you, and be the occasion of a new and more distressing sorrow to your family. No, no, sir I will not ! " and the young girl's face flushed. " Well here's my respected friend and manager : good morning, Hallam," he added carelessly, as that gentleman entered, smiling and rosy ; " here, I have been talking to Madam Beatrice about the ball." " At the Governor's, sir ? " IN WHICH A PISTOL FIGURES. 145 Yes." " He wants me to go, father, and I must not," said Bea trice, covering her face. Hallam stared ; and his incredulous glance asked the young man if he really thought of such a thing. This mean ing was so plain, that Mr. Effingham burst into laughter, and said : " Yes, Hallam ! I am going to escort Madam to the ball, and be her most devoted cavalier. Now talk to her about it, and remove her scruples I must go and take a look at the streets of this great town." And bowing, he went out. The scene which ensued between the manager and his daughter is not one of those which we take pleasure in de scribing. Art cannot compass all things. Hallam saw the means of attaching the young man to Beatrice for ever by this ball, for his appearance there with her would be regarded as his public defiance of all the powers of society : and this social prejudice, he felt convinced, was all which prevented Mr. Effingham from marrying Beatrice. It was necessary thus to overcome her scruples, and he did overcome them. Beatrice, at the end of an hour of passionate pleading, fell back, weak, nerveless, overcome. She had consented to go to the ball. CHAPTER XXVI. IN WHICH A PISTOL FIGURES. MR. EFFINGHAM passed the whole of the day succeeding this interview in a state of mind more easily imagined than de scribed. The reader will not have failed to perceive that his reckless, and scornful indifference, his mocking laughter, were but the mask which concealed a profound emotion rf pain and depression. Proud, headstrong, and passionate, he had nevertheless experienced a sinking of the heart even in the midst of his violent passion, on reading the bluff gentleman's letter and ill-advised as that letter undoubtedly was, he already bitterly regretted the tone of his reply. The conse quence of these conflicting emotions was frightful : he tossed about, gesticulated, astounded the members of the Virginia 7 146 IK WHICH A PISTOL FIGURES. company of Comedians by replying to the simplest observa tions with insult, and betrayed every indication of a mind ill at ease, and charged with " that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart." His brow was gloomy, his eye fiery, his walk hasty and by starts. So the day passed, and the morning of the next. In the afternoon he went to his apartment, and sitting down, leaned his head gloomily on his hand. Where would all this end ? That abyss he had imagined to be awaiting him, after the first interview he had passed through with the young woman, now seemed to open visibly before him. He had left his home defied his friends abandoned all that made life tranquil and happy for what, for whom ? For a woman who scorned him, and did not take the trouble to conceal that scorn ; for a beautiful demon, who met all bis advances with indifference or disdain, and, strong in her weakness, defied him with looks and words. If he had abandoned all that happy life for some angel of love and purity, whose heart was a treasure grand enough to console him for all the blasts of obloquy or the winds of scorn, there might have existed some reason which would have calmed him. But no! she hated him scorned him could not bear his presence 1 He rose, and with clenched hands stood looking at his sneering and unhappy visage in the mirror over the fireplace. There he stood, young, handsome, graceful; clad in the costume appertaining to his rank of gentleman; the brow untanned by sun or wind, the hand white and jewelled, not brown, and hard and knotty with rude toil ; every thing in the image reflected from the mirror betrayed the enviable position in the world which the young man sustained. The plain gold ring upon his finger was the gift of Clare years ago, when tt ey were sweethearts ; the beautiful cravat he wore, with its gold and silver flowers, was worked by the child at the Hall ; the diamond pin in his bosom was a birth day present from his father lastly, the snuffbox peeping from his waistcoat pocket had been given him by Lord Botetourt when he had admired it one day in England. All this flashed through the young man's mind ; and then, with a mental effort as rapid and comprehensive, he IN WHICH A PISTOL P..: URES. 147 surveyed his future. What would that future be ? Young, high born, wealthy, heir to the estate of Effingham and re presentative of that stately house, all honors and pleasures were open to him, did he but sit down and wait quietly. No exertion was necessary the future was assured. Would that be his future ? Would he go on in life surrounded by friends and tender relatives gladdened by the smiles of true-souled companions, the tender love of gentle woman and so passing his early youth, arrive at a middle age of in fluence and honor ; his old age finally to come to him, bright with all that makes it fair and attractive " as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends ? " Would he keep up the honors of his ancient house be a worthy representative of his honorable name ; would he find in that gentle girl whom every one loved, the companion of his joys and sorrows, the light illuminating his existence to its close ? Was this his future, he asked himself, with a bitter curl of the distorted lip could this be his destiny in life ? No ! that was not for him ; he had made his election thrown away the goblet of limpid and healthful water, to grasp the bowl foaming with its fiery and poisonous draught. The Circe had taken him captive he was no longer human ; no longer had any power over his will; felt that he wo aid not, if he could, abandon the shore upon which he had cast him self away. No ! that bright and happy future was not for him he had forfeited it. Effingham Hall was closed to him Clare despised or pitied him friends had deserted him he had stopped at the Siren isles, and never would sail forth again for ever. The name of Effingham would die if he had to uphold it he would be stricken from the annals of his house nothing remaining of his name and life but a sad and shameful recollection 1 Again he gazed steadily at his sneering and unhappy image in the mirror upon his pale cheeks, fallen away so quickly, upon his bloodshot eyes, his colorless, mocking lips, and the point to which his thoughts had carried him, was reflected in his visage so faithfully that a groan issued from his inmost heart. Then his eye fell upon a pistol, lying on the table, and he took it up and gazed gloomily at it : a harsher, more mocking smile, wreathed his proud lip, and, cocking the weapon, he murmured the first words of th soliloquy in Hamlet. 148 IN WHICH A PISTOL FIGURES.. " Yes," he said, " I know, now, what my lord Hamlet meant, when he asked that question of his soul : Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them 1 ' " Then, looking with gloomy curiosity upon the murderous instrument, he said, with a sigh which resembled a groan : " Yes, now I understand those words : " To die ! to sleep I No more! and by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to ? ' Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished 1 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love 1 ' " There he stopped, with an expression painfully affecting ; and, sitting down, he covered his face with his hand, and was silent for a time. Then, the hand was taken away, and the head rose again and on the lips the same mocking smile played with terrible meaning. He looked again at the pistol, and, with a sneer, placed the muzzle to his forehead. " It is plain that I am a comedian," he said, bitterly ; "I go for authority to plays ! Well, now, if I were to play the tragedy to the end imitate the Moor ! Is it not easy ? This little instrument ends all, at once ! " and his finger touched the trigger. Suddenly a tap at the door startled him, and hastily un cocking the pistol, he thrust it into his bosom, and said, harshly and gloomily, " Come in ! " The door opened softly, a light step was heard, and little Kate Emngham entered the apartment. Kate, smiling and fond ; her fair hair falling on her shoulders in long girlish curls ; a tender, loving light in her mild, soft blue eyes ; the little hands stretched out to greet him ; her face, and form, and smile, and very dress redolent of home, and that happiness which the weary heart but now looked back upon, as the wrecked mariner clinging to the floating mast, about to be ingulfed in the dark waves, launches a last thought back to the sunshine and pure joy of his far inland home 1 HOW MR. EFFINGHAM'S ROOM WAS ILLUMINATED. CHAPTER XXVII. HOW IE. EFFINGHAira ROOM AT THE RALEIGH TAVERN WAS ILLUMINATED. IN a moment the child was in his arms, clasped to his heart. The fresh, bright-eyed little face though now those eyes were bathed in dews of happiness lay on his bosom, and two hot tears from the dry, weary eyes of the young man, rolled down, and fell upon the child's hand. For some minutes no word was uttered. Kate spoke first, and said, earnestly : u Oh ! I'm so glad to see you, cousin Champ indeed, indeed, I am." " And I am as glad to see you, Katy," he said, turning away ; but no longer with that painful expression of mock ery ; " you came in like a sunbeam ! I was so gloomy." And again the poor, weary eyes were bathed in moisture, and the man's tears mingled with the child's. " Come," he said, at length, " how is it possible you are here?" And as he spoke, the young man caressed fondly the bright locks of the little head. " Oh ! " said Kate ; " I just came by myself. I was so sorry, cousin Champ, when you went away, and have been crying about it often since I couldn't help it. For you know you have always been so good to me. I couldn't help loving you dearly, and crying when you left us. Then papa got angry, and told cousin Alethea you had not done right ; and then, when the parson came, he abused you, and papa quarrelled with him, and he's going away. Papa said no one should abuse you, and that you were not half as much to blame as they chose to say ; and then went away to the library, and didn't come back to tea." " But, Katy," said Mr. Effingham, turning away, " this does not explain how you " " Oh 1 I am coming to that at once, cousin Champ. You know I love you dearly and I couldn't bear to think you were here all by yourself, and not happy. So as cousie 150 HOW MJl. EFFINGHAM: S ROOM WAS ILLtJBHNAll>. Alethea was coming to town in the chariot, me and Willie thought we'd come, too, and cousin Alethea said we might." " Is Alethea in town ? " " Yes, cousin Champ ; she's down at the store, buying a cake mould, and Willie was looking for a new whip. So I just slipped out and ran up here, and asked if you were here, of a gentleman though I don't know if he is a real gentle man wearing such a funny red cloak. He laughed, and was very good, and said you had just gone up to ' number 6,' and I came up, and saw the figure on your door, and tapped." " Heaven sent you, Katy," said Mr. Effingham, pressing his tremulous lips to the child's forehead. " God knows what might have happened," he added, in a murmur. " What did you say, cousin Champ ? " " Nothing, dear." " What is this hard thing under your lace ? " said the child, whose arm had struck against the concealed weapon. " Nothing, nothing 1 " he said, hastily. And rising sud denly, he went to the open window, and hurled the pistol to the distance of fifty feet. Then returning, after seeing it fall into a pile of rubbish in the yard of the tavern, he took the child in his arms again, and leaned his weary head upon her shoulder. " "Sou don't seem to me well, cousin Champ," said Kate, tenderly, and endeavoring with the tact of a grown woman, to come to the subject which she wished to reach, without offending Mr. Effingham. " I don't think you are well, in deed I don't, and they can't take very good care of you in this place. I don't like it it don't seem clean and nice. And then I'm sure you haven't got any body who can bathe your forehead as nicely as I can. Please come and go back with us, cousin," added the child, earnestly. " You can't think how happy it would make me, and all indeed I would cry for joy." " I can't make you cry, dear," said Mr. Effingham, with a fond look. " Well, then, I'll laugh." " I can't go now." " But you are sick." " No, no." HOW MR. EFFINGHAM'S ROOM WAS ILLUMINAIKD. 151 " Indeed indeed, you're not well." " Perfectly, dear Katy but I am as glad to see you as if I wanted you to bathe my forehead." " You don't seem to think that, cousin," said Kate, sigh ing, and looking wistfully at him, " or you would not leave us so long." " Why, I have not been here a week." " That's a long time a long, long time indeed 1 " Mr. Effingham softly smoothed the bright head. " I was much longer away, when I went to England,'* he said, " and you did not write me a word to return, dear. You did send me enough of love, however." " Yes, but I love you more now : you didn't take much notice of me when I was a little chicken, running about the Hall and then, and then, cousin " " What ? " You know, you had to go England " " You mean " " Yes, dear cousin Champ," said Kate, with a tremulous but earnest voice, " I mean that you needn't have come here. Don't be angry with me, please." " Angry with you ! " " For I love you so much. I don't think you ought to stay here now, indeed, you would be better at the Hall. Come now," she said, with an earnest pleading look, which made the little face inexpressibly lovely, " go back with me ! won't you ? Oh 1 I'll be so good if you'll go back ; and so will Willie for I will make him. Think how happy we would be, dear cousin Champ indeed we can't be happy at all, while you are away. I can't." And the little head drooped, the fair curls falling down, and veiling the child's cheeks. Mr. Effingham was silent, but he unconsciously clasped the small hand lying on his own more tightly, as if some invisible and hostile force were pulling him the other way, and in the child lay his only hope of resistance. " You can't think how your being away has made me feel indeed, you can't," continued the child, in a low voice, and glancing at his face with wistful, dewy eyes ; " you know I never liked any body I loved to go away, and after papa, I love you better than any body in the world. Ever since 152 HOW MR. EFFINOHAM'S ROOM WAS ILLUMINATED. you went, and papa got angry, I have felt as if I was going to fall sick I was so sorry ! Papa didn't look like he waa well either, and sometimes I think I saw cousin Alethea looking sorry. When Tom was packing up your portman teau, I thought you were going away, and put in it " " Did you put that Bible ' " Yes, cousin Champ for I knew you would like to read out of my little Bible." Mr. Effingham rose, and going to his dressing-table, took the small volume from his portmanteau. " Hero Katy," he said, turning aside his head as he spoke, " I have not time to read it now." " Oh, but keep it ! " " No I don't wish to." " Not when I ask you to, cousin Champ ? " " No no not now," said Mr. Effingham, with a shadow on his face. Kate looked inexpressibly hurt, and two tears which she could not restrain, rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Effingham strode up and down the apartment passed his hand wearily over his forehead, gazed wistfully at the child, and the book she held, and then away from her again. He stopped finally before the window, and looked out. Then he felt a little hand, warm and soft, take his own ; and turning round, the child was again in his arms, pressed to his heart. " Katy," he said, with a troubled voice, " I cannot keep your Bible now I have not time to read it and some one coming in here might take it." Mr. Effingham's face clouded. The thought had oc curred to him that some one of the rude, jeering actors might touch it and at that moment he felt as if he would preserve it from such profanity at the hazard of his life. " Keep it, dear," he added, tenderly, " I will read it if I ever when, I mean, I come back to the Hall. Now, don't ask me to take it back any more, Katy indeed, I cannot." The child put the volume into the pocket of her frock, with an expression of quiet, uncomplaining sorrow, which was very touching. " I'll promise to read it every day, when I get back, dear," said Mr. Effingham, " now don't feel badly." HOW MR. EFFINGHAM'S ROOM WAS ILLUMINATED. 153 " Oh ! if you would only come back," she said, hiding her head in his bosom, and crying, " Oh ! cousin Champ 1 if you would only come back ! Oh, please do please leave this place, and don't be angry with papa any more. They said you came to see to see a lady, cousin Champ You know you've seen her now, and if she is good, and I know you would not like her if she was bad if she is good she wouldn't have you to distress us to come and see her ! Oh, where is she ? I'll go and tell her myself, if you'll let me, how much we want you to come back to us, and I knoM you will not think I am presuming. Now, do let me go >-- I'm sure she will not be angry with a little child like me where is she, cousin Champ ? " Mr. Effingham held the child upon his lap, overcome with gloomy and yet hopeful thoughts. She looked into his face, and saw the troubled expression. " Oh, come come ! " she said, in an earnest, pleading voice, " indeed you are not well. Oh, cousin Champ, you will not refuse me your pet please come now cousin Champ we'll all go back so nicely in the chariot and won't you ? " He looked at her for some minutes in silence, and said : " Katy, do you believe in guardian angels ? " " I don't know if you mean " " Then, do you believe in angels ? " " Yes ! oh, yes ! " " And in heaven ? " " Yes : mamma is in heaven, and papa," she said. " What do you think it is like?" he continued, gazing on the tender face, " a great city of pearls, and diamonds, and gold ? Come, don't be surprised at my speaking so abruptly. Do you think there is really a heaven, and angels ? " " Oh, yes, cousin Champ and I'm sure it is not made of gold and diamonds I mean I don't think it is. I think it's a place where we all love each other more than we can on earth and God, too." " Can we love more than we do on earth ? " he said, thoughtfully. " Oh, yes I believe we can and then we will not have any thing in heaven to make us sorry. We won't be sick, .54 HOW MR. EFFINGHAM S ROOM WAS ILLUMINATED. and grieved, and all, but be happy, and love God for evoi and ever." Mr. Effingham made no reply ; he only murmured to him self. " Angels are good like little children before they gel bad," added Kate, earnestly ; " there's a verse about ' the Kingdom of Heaven,' and it's being filled with good people, like little children.. Must I show it to you ?" fa No, no I believe not," said Mr. Effingham, " I don't know that reading the Bible would do me any good. I be lieve what that verse says already, dear," he added, looking with moist eyes at the child, " and I meant that when I asked you about heaven ; ' Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them not for of such is the kingdom of heaven.' Is not that the verse ? I knew it was. Well, I wish I had died at your age." " Oh 1 " said Kate, in a low voice, " I am not good enough I'm very bad." " You are heavenly in comparison with me." " Oh, cousin Champ ! " " I am well, well," he said, suddenly checking himself: and he murmured, " Why should I deprive myself of this child's heart." " Indeed, indeed, you are not well," said Kate, gazing with a long, sad look, on the troubled and gloomy face, " and I think something has grieved you," " No, no" " Let me read a little to you, please I know you'll like" " No, no ; I'm not fit to hear reading now, dear," he said, but more softly, and with less decision in his tone. Kate noted this change, with that marvellous quicknesd of children, and said : " Oh, yes ; let me read you just a little about heaven. When I read it, I never feel sorry afterwards ; and, if I am lick, it makes me feel almost well and happy. Sometimes I think about my being a little child, without any father or mother any real father, I mean, though papa is my father and I feel like crying ; but I read a little in my Bible, and think that papa and mamma are in heaven, and that, if I am good, I'll go to heaven, too ; and, then, I feel as if it MOW MR. EFFINGHAM'S ROOM WAS ILLUMINATED. 155 wasn't much matter whether I felt sick and badly or not, so I kept myself good ; for I will see them in heaven, if I obey God." The weary and storm-tossed soul listened to these simple words, and felt a strange emotion at his heart, as if that heart had been frozen, and was slowly melting. " For you know," Kate went on, earnestly, " this world ia not a good place, and we can't be very happy here, though some things are very sweet and pleasant. We have to suffer a great deal here, and we must get mighty tired. But we ought not to cohaplain when we have heaven to think of, where all will be happiness and joy. We feel wrong towards people very often, at least I do, and people behave badly to us, and make us suffer ; but we ought to bear all this, when we think of living and loving dearly in heaven, for ever and for ever. Oh 1 let me read what St. John says about lov ing each other and God : I always loved to read what he says." And, without waiting for a reply, the child opened her little Bible, and read, in a low, subdued, earnest voice, some verses, which the young man listened to in silence. Kate closed the book, and leaning her head on his shoulder, said : " That sounds to me so sweet, that it makes me happy." " Yes, yes," murmured Mr. Effingham, covering his eyes " Do you like to hear me read ? " she asked, wistfully. " Yes," he murmured again. " Then," said Kate, with an expression of entreaty, which lit up her tender little face, like a light from heaven, and putting her arm round his neck as she spoke " then come and go back 1 Oh, please come and go back, and I'll read to you whenever you want to hear me ; and, oh ! we'll be so happy, cousin Champ ! I can't be happy while you are here, and I think that you are not well, may be, and haven't any body to do little things for you. Don't stay in this place, and be all by yourself. I'm sure cousin Alethea's sorry if she said any thing to make you angry; indoed, I know she is for she said to papa that she ought not to have said something to you. Papa is dreadfully distressed at your going away, and, indeed indeed " (here the child's voice faltered) " I shall be so unhappy so so Oh, cousin Champ,do come and go with me ! Oh, please don't stay ! You can't find any body 156 HOW MR. EFFINGHAM'S ROOM WAS ILLUMINATED., to love you as much as we do, and till you come back the Hall will look dark to me." The little arm around his neck drew him toward the door; the beseeching voice went to his heart, and melted all his pride, and hardness, and stubborn coldness; the half jest he had uttered about his guardian angel, seemed to become a heavenly reality to be there in the person of that child, entreating him to go away with her. " Oh, come 1 " cried Kate, clinging closer and closer to him, and turning her moist, tender eyes upon his own ; " come with me, cousin Champ come back with us oh ! you are coming. I knew you would. You wouldn't refuse me, I know." And she placed one hand on the door to open it. Before she could touch the knob the door opened, and a servant appeared on the threshold. " A gentleman to see you, sir ; ask him up, sir ? " he said, bowing. Mr. Effingharn hesitated, and was silent. It might have been imagined that he feared to leave the child to go be yond the reach of her voice, the brightness of her eyes. " Well, well," he said, after a moment's silence, " who ever it is I will see him. Stay here, dear wait till I come back I will return directly. Say I will be down immedi ately," he added, to the servant. Then stooping, and pressing his lips to the child's fore head, he said, tenderly and softly : " Stay till I return, Katy ; I will soon send this gentle man off, whoever he may be. I cannot lose you so soon, and I think, before you go if I do not go with you you may read me some more." Kate looked inexpressibly delighted, and this expression of joy seemed to touch and please Mr. Effingham extremely. He threw a last fond glance on the child, and saying again that he would be back in a moment, went out and closed tho door. Kate sat down overcome with joy and pride : her smile seemed to illuminate the whole apartment, dimming the very radiance of the sunlight. Ten minutes passed thus, when suddenly a knock at the door made her heart throb ; and rising quickly to her feet, she said, before she was aware of it, " Come in 1 " ENTER SHYLOCK, AND HIS SHADOW. 157 CHAPTER XXVIII. ENTEB 8HYLOCK, AND HIS SHADOW. THE door opened, and two men made their appearance. We say men : it would be sacrificing too much to courtesy to call them gentlemen ; for neither in their dress, features, nor ex pression, was there any thing whatsoever remotely entitling them to that distinction. He who came first was that wor thy who had acted Shylock on the opening night, at the theatre near the capitol ; and the reader may possibly recol lect Mr. Manager Hallam's criticism of his performance, delivered in the presence of the worthy himself, on the next morning, at the Raleigh. His present state was not materi ally an improvement upon his condition that night, and having dined not very long before, his spirits were naturally in an elevated and generous condition. When Mr. Pugsby had emptied his pint of rum or his bottle of port a delicacy which he did not usually indulge in, however he felt at peace with all the world, and ready to embrace the whole of mankind. His companion was a lean, cadaverous gentleman, whose favorite characters were " Shallow," " Slender " the apothe cary in " Romeo and Juliet," he had been assisting Mr. Pugsby in emptying his last bottle. Kate beheld the entrance of these worthies with great alarm ; though her womanly little air of dignity did not de sert her. Perhaps it was rather distaste than alarm which she felt, child as she was, for certainly no contrast could have been imagined less to the advantage of the stage worthies. Kate, clad in her rich and tasteful little costume of silk and velvet with her bright eyes and rosy face, looked like a flower, a picture, something beautiful, rich and rare, to be approached with reverence, and regarded with love and ad miration : she seemed out of place in the rough apartment, as some masterpiece of Titian, framed in gold, would look hung up in a wide garret, with a ceiling of dirty rafters. She had the beauty and tenderness of childhood : purity and gentleness enveloped her like a oloud. None of these things appertained to the worthies who now entered, inasmuch ai 158 ENTER SHYLOCX, AND HIS SHADOW. they were extremely rough and common specimens of human ity, with bloated faces, and unsteady gait, and sleepy-look ing eyes, which rolled, and winked, and leered, as authentic tradition relates of the ancient worthy Silenus. Shylock hesitated for a moment on the threshold, and exhibited a species of inane surprise, at finding a child, in stead of his brother-comedian, Mr. Effingham, in the apart ment. " Hum ! " said Shylock, by way of signifying that he was about to speak. This expressive monosyllable wag echoed by Shallow, who, to save himself the trouble of thinking, generally repeated or coincided in, the observations of his friend. " Stand and unfold thyself," continued Shylock, striking an attitude, and facetiously pretending to consider Kate a ghost. " Unfold yes, unfold," echoed Shallow, stretching out his cadaverous hand as his friend did. " Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned ? thou comest in such a questionable shape, I'll speak to thee ! " continued Shylock, " hey ? come, speak ! " Kate felt as if she should sink into the floor, and was so frightened that she could scarcely restrain her tears or com mand her voice. " Come, come, pretty damsel 1 " exclaimed Shylock, with some impatience, and descending into prose, " come, why don't you answer? Who are you? Why are you here, instead of that jolly minion of the moon, that lad of metal, hight Childe Effingham ? " " Oh, sir ! " said Kate, with a trembling voice, and re treating as the leering tragedian approached her, " Oh, sir, I am Mr. Effingham I mean, he is just gone, sir." " That is no answer." " No answer," echoed Shallow. " A subterfuge." " Perfect." " And subterfuges are a deadly sin," said Shylock, whose words unconsciously flowed into a metrical shape. " An awful sin," said Shallow. " So now perpend, young damsel," continued Shylock, approaching the child, who shrank back, " either thou dje't ENTER SllXLOCK, AND HIS SHADOW. 155 presently, or do'st relate to me the marvel strange, why thou art here all armed in complete no, thou hast no steel ! Speak ! what art thou ? And if thou do'st conceal the least small thing " Shylock drew out the knife which he was accustomed to whet upon his shoe, when Antonio was to be sacrificed, and flourished it with deadly meaning. Kate shrank further back and turned pale. " Oh, sir, you frighten me 1 " she said. " I'll eat thee whole ere the leviathan hath swum a league " Kate fell into a chair. " Come," said Shylock, putting up his knife, " I'll be merciful, if I am a Hebrew vile, and thou, fair lass, a Chris tian." " We'll be merciful," said Shallow. " Therefore, unfold unfold, I say ! " continued Shylock, " art thou base, common, and popular ; or, high and mighty, like Prince Hal ? discourse. Whence art thou ? " Kate murmured, with a throbbing heart : " From the Hall, sir." " What is thy name ? " " Catherine, sir ! " " Well, Catherine, listen : thou shalt go below, and bid the tapster draw a measure of rum, which thou shalt bring to us. We are noble gentlemen, come hither to see Prince Hal, that noble bully. Do'st thou understand ? " " Oh, sir, I cannot 1 I don't know " " Do'st thou reply ? " " Oh, sir, don't come near me, I do not like you 1 " " Not like me ? Well, I will be calm I Go bid them draw the ale ; do'st hear, thou varlet vile ? " Kate's indignation began to conquer her fear, and, child as she was, in the midst of such persons, her face flushed with anger, at the word vile. " I can't go, sir," she said. " Cannot ! sayest thou ? Why, ' cannot' ? " " I do not know any body here, sir," she replied ; " please let me pass out." " Never ! thou shalt pass over my dead body, rather." " And mine," said Shallow. " Oh, I must pass ! " cried Kate, endeavoring to leave (he room. 160 KATE AND BEATRICE. " Stand back ! ill met by moonlight, proud Titama . But thou shalt not go hence." " I must, sir ! " said Kate, endeavoring to pass again, and nearly crying from fear and indignation. " By heaven, thou diest ! " And uttering these words, Shylock moved with unsteady gait to shut the door. But Kate was too quick for the worthy, and ran through, brush ing against him as she passed. Shylock made a grasp at her, and caught the ribbon of her little hat, tearing the covering from her head. The next moment he would have reached her and brought her back by main force, but just as she was about to fall upon her knees, in despair, the door opposite opened, and a young woman, evidently attracted by the noise, appeared upon the threshold. " What is this ? " she said. " Oh, ma'am ! that man won't let me go ! " cried Kate, " he has frightened me nearly to death. Oh, don't let him take me from you 1 " And clinging to the dress of Beatrice, she shrunk from the infuriated Shylock. Beatrice, with a single word and a look, closed the door in the face of that worthy, and she and the child were alone together. CHAPTER XXIX. KATE AND BEATRICE. FOR a moment the young girl and the child were silent ; Beatrice knew not what to think of the scene, and Kate was indulging in a hearty cry. At last she dried her eyes, and stopped sobbing by degrees, and looking at Beatrice, said : " Oh, ma'am, I'm so thankful that you saved me from that horrid man I " " How did he come to annoy you, my child ? " said Beatrice, looking affectionately at the sweet little face. " Oh, he came in, and and because I wouldn't go and get him something for I couldn't, you know. Oh, he frightened me so ! " and Kate began to sob again. Beatrice wiped the child's eyes and got her a glass of water, all the time soothing her with kind words. 161 " Don't speak if it makes you cry," she said, softly. " Oh, I am not frightened, now ! " " You are quite safe here." " Am I quite ? " " Yes, that rude man will not presume to come into this room, and were he to do so, I would send him from it with a single word." And Beatrice, with a disdainful motion of her hand, seem ed to wish to dismiss so insignificant a subject. Kate look ed at her attentively, for the first time, and said ; " Do you know him ? I think you are too pretty and good to know that rude man." Beatrice turned away. " I am sorry that I am obliged to know him," she said in a low tone, " but how did you come to be pursued by him ? It was disgraceful ! " added Beatrice, with a generous flash of her proud, brilliant eye. " I was waiting a minute for cousiu, who had gone down *o see a gentleman. He left me in his room, and I was so frightened when those rude men came in. I am not used to such people, you know ; papa don't have any visitors like them, and the gentlemen that come to the Hall are always kind to me. Oh, he drew out such an ugly sharp knife, and threatened to kill me 1 " added Kate, very nearly beginning to cry again. Beatrice looked at her attentively : some re collection seemed to be struggling in her mind. " Strange 1 " she said, " I seem to have seen this child be fore somewhere- where was it ? " And she pressed her forehead, and seemed to be buried in thought. Kate looked at her, and said, timidly: ' I am afraid ma'am, that you were busy when I came in." " Yes, I was my child but that is nothing." " Were you sewing ? what a pretty handkerchief I " And remembering the scene she had just passed through, Kate used the embroidered handkerchief she had taken up to admire, for the purpose of drying a rebellious tear. " I was not sewing," said Beatrice, with a look of weari ness, " I was studying. But you have not told me, my child, how you came to be in the Raleigh." " Oh, cousin Alethea, and Willie, and me, can^e to town and" 162 KATE AND BEATRICE. " Then you do not live here : but I forget you spoke of the Hall, and there are no halls here." " Oh, no : a hall is a house in the country." " And you came to see your cousin a gentleman who wears a red cloak ? " " Oh, no ! he's not my cousin " " Ah ! " said Beatrice, her eyes suddenly dazzled with a rapid lightning-like thought, " your cousin what is his name the Hall ? " " Cousin Champ is his name, and we all live at Effing- ham Hall. My name is Catherine Effingham but papa is not my father." Beatrice sat down, murmuring. " Effingham ! Effingham always Effingham 1 Yes at the theatre ! " Kate misunderstood these half-audible words, and said . " Did you ask if Effingham was our name, ma'am ? Yes ; and I know papa will be mighty thankful to you and cousin Champ too. He's a dear good fellow, and I love him dearly." Beatrice remained silent, and turned away her face in order that the child might not see the painful and gloomy expression which dimmed the eyes, and took the tender smile from the lips. " And you were in yon in Mr. Effingham's room were you, my child ? " she murmured, at last. " Yes ; and cousin Champ had just gone down to see a gentleman. He told me to wait till he came back." " Is he fond of you ? " asked Beatrice, why she scarcely knew. " I know he is 1 " exclaimed Kate, with a bright smile shining through her moist eyes. " And you love him ? " " Oh, dearly ! he is so kind and good 1 " They were almost the very words which had escaped from the lips of Beatrice after her interview with Charles ; and the recollection of that interview now came to efface the bitter expression which followed little Kate's words. The bitter smile only glanced, then flew away. " Did your father bring you to town, my child ? " she asked, pressing her hand upon her heart to still its throbbing. " Oh, no 1 " said Kate, " papa is not pleased with cousin KATE AND BEATRICE. 163 Champ." Then regretting this speech, she added " that is I mean, ma'am cousin Champ went away from the Hall, and hasn't been back." Beatrice could not look at the child. " And is he angry ? " she said. Who ? papa ? " " Yes," murmured Beatrice. " No, I don't think papa is much angry ; but he don't like cousin Champ to be here." " Why ? " said Beatrice, in a low voice, and like a despair ing soldier turning the weapon in the wound. " He came to see some lady here, and papa and cousin Alethea do not like " " No, no not a lady " There the young girl stopped, overcome, panting, avoid ing the child's look, her head drooping, her forehead burning. " I don't know who it is," said Kate, " but I think cousin Alethea said it was that young actress we saw act in the ' Merchant of Venice.' " " Do you not recollect her? " murmured Beatrice. " Who Miss Hallam ? Oh, yes 1 She wore a lovely fawn-colored silk, and was very pretty." " I did not know I was so completely changed," said the young girl, turning away and smiling painfully. Then she said aloud : " And so Mr. Effingham your cousin came to see the actress, and his family are displeased ? " " Yes, ma'am, we all want dear cousin Champ to come back. I don't think he ought to come here to see an actress She is not good enough for him, and oughtn't to distress us. " Oh, it is an unjust punishment ! it is unjust 1 " mur mured Beatrice, with tears in her eyes : but Kate neither saw the tears nor heard these bitter words. " I came to tell cousin Champ to-day he was too good for her but I didn't like to," continued Kate, not observing the change in the countenance of Beatrice ; " we read some in the Bible, though, and cousin Champ 'u. ?st promised to go back with me " " Did he 1 " " Yes, ma'am." Oh, take him back 1" 164 KATE AN3 BEATRICE. Kate was somewhat surprised at these venement woidfl ( but said : " I think he is going with us. I don't think he would leave us, all who love him so, for a common playing girl." " Oh, it is unjust it is unjust I " repeated Beatrice, in an inaudible voice. " I have not deserved it ! " " She's very pretty for I believe it is Miss Hallam," continued Kate, " but she is not good enough to marry cousin Champ, you know." Beatrice rose wildly, and said, with passionate tears in her eyes : " She would not marry him ! she does not wish to ! I am that actress 1 I am Beatrice Hallam ! He has made my life miserable and wretched ; he follows me, persecutes me, and will not leave me ! Oh, I am not to blame I am not ! I do not deserve so much unjust blame no, no 1 It is cruel in you to make me suffer so ! oh, it is cruel ! " And hiding her face in her hands, the young girl trem bled and shook with passionate sobs. Kate was so much startled and alarmed by these passionate words that she stood for a moment motionless with surprise and astonish ment. Then her tender little heart overcame every thing, and running up to the beautiful girl who had been so kind to her, she took her hand, and, sobbing, said : " Don't cry ! please, don't cry 1 I didn't mean to be so rude indeed, I am ashamed and sorry oh ! please don't cry I " And Kate herself cried, as if her heart would break. Beatrice suffered the little hand to imprison her own, and slowly raised her head again her eyes full of tears. " Pardon me, my child," she said, with noble dignity and calmness, " I did not mean to blame you I could not help speaking abruptly and shedding some tears for indeed I am not to blame. My lot is very unhappy, for I cannot even ask a little child like you to love me." And her humid eyes dwelt with great softr ess and ten derness on Kate's fresh little countenance, over which large tears were chasing each other. " I am glad I was near to save you from that rude man,' continued Beatrice, rising, " and that is my only reward- my own feelings. I ask no other " SHOWING HOW A LOAF Of BAEAD MAY BE USED. 166 Kate would have fallen into the tender arms, for very weakness and emotion. " No,'* said Beatrice, gently repulsing her, " I am an actress. Come ! " And she went toward the door. At the same moment it opened violently, and Mr. Effingham stood before them. CHAPTER XXX. SHOWING TO WHAT USE A LOAF OF BKEAD MAT BE PUT. THE young man entered grasping his sword which he had drawn half from the scabbard. " Ah ! " he said, with a deep sigh of relief: then turning upon Beatrice, he said : " I have to thank you, madam, for robbing me of my visitor ! " And his haughty eye flashed, as' he put his arm round Kate, and drew her away. Beatrice made no reply but Kate cried out. " Oh ! cousin Champ ! Don't speak so to her 1 She was so good to me." " Good to you, Kate ! What do you mean ? " " Those horrid men ! Oh, they frightened me so I " Mr. Effingham looked from one to the other, to ask an explanation. " What men ? " he said. " The men that came into your room." " Men in my room ! Who ? " " I don't know, indeed, cousin Champ, but they behaved very badly to me." " Behaved badly to you ! " said Mr. Effingham, his brow flushing with haughty fire. " Oh, it was nothing," said the child, becoming alarmed at the storm she had aroused, " they only frightened me a little 1 " Suddenly Mr. Effingham looked at the child's hair still disordered and rumpled for the worthy Shylock, in pulling away her hat, had naturally dragged the well-brushed hair from its place. Mr. Effingham observed this at a glance, and said, with a flashing eye : 166 " Where is your hat, Kate ? " Beatrice rose. " I can tell you what has taken place in a moment, sir,' she said, calmly ; " it is nothing more than happens almost every day only disgraceful, you know, sir. Mr. Pugsby annoyed your young relative, and the child came to my apart ment for refuge. I gave it to her, that is all ; and now, sir " Mr. Effingham did not wait to hear the end of the sen tence. His eye burned fiercely, and hurrying out with the child, he said, hastily: ;< Come, Katy, let us go to the carriage : I must put you in : I can't go to-day to the Hall. Ah, when you are once safe, we'll have a settlement " " But my hat, cousin Champ ? " said Kate. Mr. Effing- ham's teeth ground audibly, but before he could make a reply, a voice behind him, loud and familiar, said : " Here's your beauty's hat where the devil are you going " It was Shylock, who came along the passage behind, and turning, Mr. Effingham saw the child's hat in his hand. A flash as of lightning blazed from the young man's eye, and to abandon Kate's hand, throw himself upon the leering worthy, clutch him by the throat, and hurl him headlong from the landing-place to the bottom of the stairs, was the agreeable employment of a single moment. But this did not satisfy Mr. Effingham's rage; and motioning the child to remain behind, he sprung down the steps, and ar riving at the bottom just as Shylock, in a violent rage, rose up, he shouted wrathfully : " Draw, you dog 1 draw ! you wear a sword 1 Damn my blood, I'll have your heart's blood !' And drawing his sword, the young man would have plung ed it into Shylock's breast, had not the jolly host thrown him self between the combatants and received the thrust in a huge loaf of bread h* was lugging into his larder. This incident BO far delayed further employment of the weapon, which had completely passed through it to the hilt. The crowd then oarted the infuriated combatants, and this consummation was one for which Shylock seemed devoutly grateful. Having Wily frightened the child for fun, as that worthy said, after- SHOWING HOW A LOAF 3f BREAD MAt BE USED. 167 wards, Mr. Effingham's sudden attack upon him had taken him completely by surprise : and his blood had scarcely time to rise. So it was they were parted, and Shylock, mut tering curses and threats of vengeance, retreated to his apart ment. Mr. Effingham, with insulting disdain, called after him that he should have an opportunity to right his wrongs at the sword's point, though he might be excused from match ing himself against such a cowardly villain ; and so this little interlude ended. Kate, sobbing and agitated, had put on her little hat, and now, with Mr. Effingham's hand in her own, left the inn. At the threshold they ran against Master Will, who, breathless, his face flushed, his mouth open, was running to ask if any one at the Raleigh had seen Kate. " Here I am, Willie," said the child ; " I'm not crying, you know only laughing." And Kate, after this abortive effort to show that nothing had happened, burst into a passion of tears. Mr. Effingham, with a short and curt greeting to Will, went on to the place where the carriage stood, and placed the child in it. Miss Alethea had felt much less anxiety about Kate than Will, and was still making her purchases. Will ran in to tell her that Kate was found. Mr. Effingham was going away in silence, after pressing the child's hand, when, sobbing, she said : " Oh, won't you kiss me ? you are not angry with me, cousin Champ ! " And tears choked the tender, distressed voice deep sighs shook the little frame of the child. Mr. Effingham jent over toward her, but, suddenly resuming his erect attitude, said, gloomily : " No, no, Katy ; I cannot kiss you. No ; do not think of me in future ; and never come near the Raleigh again Have you your Bible ? " " I believe so," sobbed Kate. " Good," he said, in the same quiet, gloomy voice ; " I will love you dearly as long as I live, but I can see you no more. Good-bye," and, turning away, he muttered, " The die is cast ! " 163 . WHAT MR. EFFINGHAM MEANT, WHEN CHAPTER XXXI. WHAT ME. EFFINGHAM MEANT WHEN HE SAID THAT THE DH WAS CAST. LET us now endeavor to explain why Mr. Effingham acted so strangely toward the child, refusing to kiss her at parting, and exhibiting that singular solicitude about her Bible's safety, in the little pocket. The explanation of these mat ters will be found in that interview with the nameless gen tleman, whom Mr. Effingham left Kate to go and see. When the young man descended, he saw, seated in the ordinary, waiting for him, his friend, Jack Hamilton, the fox-hunter. A family tradition, supported by the family Bible, averred that this gentleman's name had originally been John, but this was not generally credited, so com pletely had the sobriquet by which he was almost universally addressed, come to be regarded as the name given to him by his sponsors in baptism. The face which Mr. Hamilton re joiced in, was, perhaps, remotely responsible for this altera tion in his patronymic ; and it seemed almost impossible to feel that he should be addressed by any other name than a nickname. He was a hearty, laughing, honest-looking fellow, with frank, open eyes ; a nose, which seemed to be everlast ingly engaged in snuffing up the odors of broils and roasts, or critically testing wines ; a voice, which greeted all, high and low, with nearly equal friendliness, cordiality, and heartiness. Mr. Hamilton was richly clad, but down his velvet pantaloons ran a long red stain, the blood of a fox he had followed to the death on the preceding day. Mr. Effingham greeted him with unusual cordiality, and his languid, indifferent, petit maitre manner seemed to have entirely disappeared at least, this was the observation made by his friend. " You were busy, were yob not ? " said Hamilton ; " any friends ? " " No, no ; I'm very glad to see you, my dear fellow." " Well, that's understood, or, it would be understood," eaid honest Jack Hamilton, ' if my visit was a mere drop- ping-in, as I passed by, to use the new slang which is be- HE SAID THAT THE DIE WAS CAST. 169 coming fashionable ; but I came to say something to you, Champ. Come, let's take a stroll." " I would but really " And Mr. Effingham thought of Kate. " Oh, you need not fear being detained any time, scarcely. Come, we cannot talk here." And, putting his arm through Mr. Effingham's, the fox- hunter led him away. " Well, well," said the young man to himself, " Katy can amuse herself for a few minutes, until I return ; and I must know what brings Hamilton to see me. He evidently has something on his mind." They strolled out into the square, in the centre of the town, and found themselves thus insulated from the ears, if not from the eyes, of the community. Hamilton stopped, and said : " I came to talk about this ball, Champ." " What ? at the Governor's ? " " Yes." "Well, my dear fellow?" "These actors, here, and the people at the tavern, are saying " " That I am going to it ? " " Yes." " With Beatrice Hallam? " " Yes." " Well, they had the right to say so I announced my intention to do so," said Mr. Effingham, in a gloomy and hesitating voice. " The people at the tavern have been talking through the town about it," continued Hamilton, " and so it got to the gentlemen in the neighborhood, and created quite a sensation." " It seems that every thing I do creates something of that description," said Mr. Effingham, gloomily. " But, really, you must confess that this " " Deserves to create a sensation, you would say : is it not so ? " ' Well, Champ, I'll be honest with you, and say that I think it does." Mr. Effingham passed his hand thoughtfully and wearily 8 170 WHAT MR. EFFINGHAM MEANT, WHEN acrose his brow. A struggle seemed to be going on in h t mind. " If I fancy going with this young woman, I will go," he said, at length. " You have not determined, then ? " said Hamilton, dis playing great satisfaction at these words. Mr. Effingham mused. " I had determined," he replied, " but I do not know now if I shall go I think not." " Delighted to hear it ! really now, Champ, you must permit me to say that you are too good a fellow to throw yourself away upon that young girl, though I grant you she is pretty. I suppose, though, you are running after her as we run a fox, for the glorious excitement of the chase. Up and away 1 ride all day and night ! no matter if you break your neck, you gain the excitement and glory ! " Mr. Effingham's countenance displayed still the struggle going on in his mind. Then a bright light cleared away the gloom and doubt, and his features became serene and soft once more. He had thought of Kate, and now said : " Jack, I don't think I will go. No, I will not 1 " " By George, I'm delighted to hear it 1 " " You're a good friend ! " " I hope so ; we have run many a fox together." " Yes, yes ! " " Don't you remember the gray rascal we ran from Cote's to the ford ? what a day we had and Tom Lane has not got over his dislocated shoulder to this day." " Those were fine times, fine times ! " said Mr. Effing- barn, cheerily. " And you remember, by George ! " said Hamilton, laughing heartily, " I recollect it as if it was yesterday 1 You remember when we swept by the Hall like a parcel of wild devils, Tom Lane came near running over your little cousin what was her name ? I think it was Kate ? " " Yes, yes I " said Mr. Effingham, with a soft smile. " A lovely little creature, and as good as she's pretty ; I saw her at the Hall the other day, when I went to see my good friend, Miss Alethea think of a bachelor, confirmed and obdurate like myself, having lady friends 1 the child took my eye mightily, and I do believe she recollected the old times before you went to England 1 " " Happy times, happy times 1 " said Mr. Effingham HE SAID THAT THE DIE WAS {AST. 171 returning to his youth again, as the fox-hunter brought tha past back to him with his familiar, honest voice, his frank eyes, and laughing reminiscences. u Yes, they were happy enough," said Hamilton, " and you thought so then, I know, judging from the foolish things you were guilty of about Clare Lee. By George, she was a perfect little angel, and is yet ! " Mr. Effingham's head drooped. " I remember when we all used to go to gather applefl. I was a young man, then, but just as young as the youngest, and your favorite practice was to hold up the corners of her silk apron, until that black monkey, Joe, threw down enough to fill it" Mr. Emngham smiled. " And as the little apron slowly got full, it weighed down more and more, and naturally you came closer to pretty Clare ; and somehow your face struck against her own, the lower portions thereof 1 and ah, Champ, my boy, you were a wild fellow then ! " And Mr. Hamilton laughed heartily. His companion smiled, with dreamy eyes and tender lips, thinking of his boyhood and of Clare. " After that, you took it into your head to go to Eng land, and came back the perfect dandy you are," continued honest Jack Hamilton, with refreshing frankness. " Yes, yes ! " said Mr. Effingham, smiling. " And snubbed us." " No, no I " " And swaggered about like a lord, and talked literature like a wit what a wearisome thing literature is ! And you altogether deteriorated ! Come, now, deny it ? " " I'm afraid I cannot," said Mr. Emugham, thinking of Clare. " Still our family we are distant kin, you know our family comes of too good a stock to degenerate, and I don't thiuk your foreign journeyings, have hurt you much. The folks all about stand up for you, and have one eternal ob servation, which makes me yawn, about your ' sowing your wild oats.' They always shake their heads when my name is mentioned, and hiut that my crop is always being put in, and never reaped and disposed of." " You're better than X am, Jack," said his friend 172 WHAT MR. EFFINGHAM MKANT, WHKN " The devil ! no compliments ! If some folks heaid thai, they would dissent most emphatically 1 " " Who ? " " All sorts of people, even down to that little chick we were talking of, Kate. By George, sir, you should have heard the eulogy she pronounced in your honor, on the visit I mentioned I made to the Hall ! " " What ! little Kate praised" " Yes, I should think so : the private impression of any stranger who had heard her, would have been that her illus trious cousin united in his single person all the graces, attrac tions, and virtues of the greatest sages and heroes of modern and ancient times. Of course such extravagance couldn't deceive one who knew you as well as I did 1 " Mr. Effingham found himself laughing delightedly, and murmuring, " Darling Kate ! " " Well, now, I'm glad to see that my well-meant advice is not needed," continued Hamilton. " You will not go to the ball with Beatrice Hallam ? " " No no ; I think I shall go back to the Hall to-day." " Good ! Take a seat in my turn-out ! I'm glad you are not going there for there would have come no good from it. Those fellows are very hotbrained." " Who ? " " Oh, I was just thinking of what a party of fellows were saying of it," said Hamilton, not reflecting upon his words, or being at all conscious how injudicious they were. " They talked so that I thought I would co'ine and see you." " What did they say ? " Mr. Effingham asked, with an imperceptible clouding of the brow. " Oh, don't mind them. They got to talking, and said nothing but what was foolish they said that your going with Miss Hallam was out of the question and I agree with them." " How out of the question ? " " Why, ridiculous. ' " Ridiculous ? " " Come 1 my dear fellow, don't think of them." " But what did they say ? who were they 1 " asked Mr. Effingham, feeling his anger rise at what he regarded aa an impertinent piece of interference with his private affairs HE SAID THAT THE DIE WAS CAST. 173 " I will not tell their names," said Hamilton. " Well their words, then." " Their words ? " " Yes ; what did they say of my going to the ball Come, tell me, Hamilton." " Well, as I came to tell you, I will," his friend replied thoughtlessly ; " they said it was wrong." " Wrong ! " " Yes, and ridiculous." " Is that all ? " asked Mr. Effingham, with a curling lip. " No ! " said Hamilton ; " they got to saying after the third bottle, that they would not permit it by George ! There it is out, fool that I am ! But when did I ever fail to make a fool of myself ! " And conscious, too late, of his indiscretion, Mr. Jack Hamilton regarded his own conduct with profound contempt and indignation. He was not far wrong, if this were on the score of discretion : for his last words completely aroused the devil of pride and obstinate wilfulness, which had been put to sleep by those familiar reminiscences of youth and home, and Clare's tenderness Kate's, too. " Not permit me to attend the ball with Beatrice Hal lam ! " said Mr. Effingham, with disdainful pride. " By heaven ! I will know who dared to say that 1 " " I will not tell you," said Jack Hamilton, stoutly. Mr. Effingham's hand grasped the hilt of his sword. " I have been insulted 1 " he said, " None was meant." " None meant!" " I tell you, Champ ; they had all been drinking, and did not know what they said." " No man shall insult me, and say he was intoxicated ! I will not take such a lame excuse, 'Hamilton." " Come, now challenge me," said his friend, coolly. " No ; I shall apply to the proper parties for redress." " Of course, I am responsible, Champ. Come, run your short sword through me, and let out the foolish mind which has made me act so childishly ! " " Hamilton, you have acted as a real friend," said Mr. Effingham, with a frown. " I hold that no friend should hear another spoken of in such terms, without informing him of the assault upon his honor " IT4 WHAT MR. EFFINCJH.iM MEANT, WHEN ' What assault is there here, in the devil's name ? " " They said that my conduct was ridiculous " " A mere joke ! " " And they the paladins of respectability and chbalry they would not permit me to go to the Governor's ball- to escort Miss Hallam thither. By heaven ! I'll make them repent it." " Champ, you are as furious as a Spanish bull you see red at a moment's warning ! Come, moderate your anger.' " I am not angry ! " said Mr. Effingham, furiously. " Not angry ! " " No I am indignant, though ; and I will show these excellent gentlemen that my actions or intentions are not such as concern themselves. I shall find the paladins 1 " " How will you ? " " Why, I will go to that ball with Miss Hallam, and if any gentleman in the room looks sideways at her or at me, I will call him to account for it. Your bottle critics will not fail to expose themselves ! " And Mr. Effingham's lip curled with anger and scorn. " Presume to criticise my affairs thus ! " he continued, indignantly, " I am then a child who is to ask permission of these worthy gentlemen these potent, grave, and reverend signers if I chance to feel a wish to escort a lady to a ball ! Yes, a lady, Hamilton ! for by heaven ! I tell you, that Bea trice Hallam is as pure and high-souled as the noblest lady in the land 1 I know her well, and to my cost ; and I tell you that she is the pearl of honor, delicacy, and truth. You may smile, and I know well what causes your mirth. You are thinking of my wild words, that day when I met you going out of town. Well, I was angry that day, because Miss Hallam had received my familiar addresses with proper coldness had repulsed me. She was right and I honor her for it If she scorns me again, I may hate her, and taunt her ; bat at the bottom I respect and honor her. You look at me ironically 1 well, say I do love her say I am infatu ated about her better men have made fools of themselves ! whether that be true or not, one thing is certain, I shall allow no man to make a fool of me ! " And Mr. Effingham put his cocked hat on with a move ment which betravcd his anger arrd indignation: he had HE SAII "5HAT THE DIE WAS OAST. 175 taken it off during this speech to wipe his brow, moist with perspiration. For a moment Hamilton said nothing. " Well, Champ," he replied, at length, " I repeat that I was a great fool to tell you this, and I still hope you will re gard these hasty words I have reported to you I did it in the most friendly spirit in the light they should be re garded as the mere idle talk of young men. Come, dis miss your anger, and go back with me. Forget what I have said, and let the matter end." Mr. Effingham shook his head, with a frown. " It will end otherwise," he said " You will not go to the ball ? " " Yes, I will." " With Miss Hallam ? " " With Miss Hallam." " It will be a dreadful thing for you : you will be laughed at all over the colony." " Let them laugh ! " said Mr. Effingham, dsidainfully. " You may even get a dozen duels on your hands." " Oh, very well ! very well ! I wish some little excite ment. I have a good deal of time on my hands. I think it highly probable that some chevalier will espouse the cause of outraged society, and avenge its accumulated wrongs upon my insignificant person if I do not give an account of the chivalrous gentleman myself! " added Mr. Effingham, with a scornful pride., Hamilton saw that he had raised a storm beyond his power to quell, and with mingled sorrow, and self-upbraiding, very unusual with him, led the way back to the tavern in silence. " Well," he said, as they reached the door, " I have used my best efforts to persuade you to give this up, Champ : you are determined, I see, and I know it is useless to say any more. I have only to add, that as you are alone, and the enemy is numerous, I shall hold myself prepared to espouse your side in any thing which may arise of a hostile character. Good day." And the honest fox-hunter, refusing to receive Mr. Effing- ham's assurances of regret, for any thing that he might have said, and declining to enter the tavern, parted from him, with a shake of the hand, full of cordiality and friendship. Mr. Emngham for a moment looked after him with friendly rv ) 76 IN WHICH PARSON TAG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS. gard, then the old gloomy expression usurped its former place upon his visage, and he ascended to his chamber. Kate was not there, and he hurried out to look around for her. He heard voices in Beatrice's room Kate's, he thought; and hastening to the door, opened it just as they were issuing forth as we have seen. What ensued thereon, we have related. CHAPTER XXXII. IN WHICH PARSON TAG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS. " IN former pages of this true history, I had occasion to set down a few reflections upon the feelings of my worthy an cestor, Mr. Effingham, when, having been repulsed by the young actress, he rode back to the hall. I come now to say a few brief words of Mr. Charles Waters, another of the characters whose mental development it is my duty to ad vert to. Charles Waters was, as the reader will have per ceived, by nature a student and thinker. Unused from his very childhood to the amusements and employments of his associates, his character had assumed a peculiar mould. To strong feelings he united a cool and self-possessed intellect, and this intellect he had trained by bard study, and long and profound thought. Accustomed to live thus in the past and future, not in the present or if at all in the present, only so far as to examine its bearing on that future he had grown up without experiencing any of those sensations which men generally become acquainted with when they are thrown in contact with the fairer sex. In other words, he had passed his majority without experiencing what is universally known by the name of love. His character had thus become serious, and his countenance habitually wore an expression of thought ful quiet. He seldom laughed, and scarcely ever joined in the rough, jovial converse of his father's guests the boatman Townes and others and though he was greatly beloved by this class of persons, and respected also, this personal popu larity was rather to be attributed to his well-known good ness and nobility of character than his social traits. He IN WHICH PARSON TAG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS. 177 had visited the theatre, as we have seen, on the opening night, in compliance with his father's request, not from any motion of his own. His father had imagined that his cheek was pale, his eye mournful, his health injured, by those in cessant explorations into the ruins of systems and nations ; the play, he thought, would be of service to him ; and he had gone, and admired Beatrice Hallam, and felt some in dignation when Mr. Effingham annoyed her and nothing more. Then he had preserved that young woman's life, and there is much of significance in this fact. We experience warm regard toward those we have greatly served a young girl is never afterwards wholly indifferent to the man who has preserved her life. He had felt the truth of this, and required no urging on his father's part to go and inquire how Miss Hallam had borne her accident. We were pre sent at that interview, and were witnesses of the pleased surprise he betrayed at the exhibition by Beatrice of such fresh and virgin innocence and childlike enthusiasm. Ho came away, as we have seen, thinking of her, and thereafter for many days neglected his books, and felt at his heart the new and strange emotion I have spoken of. Then impelled by the desire to see again that enchanting face, hear again the fresh voice, so pure, and loving, and musical, he had gone to town persuading himself that business required his attention there, and at the office of the ' Gazette' encoun tered his friend, who, at the conclusion of their interview, had conveyed to him the intelligence that number seven was occupied by Mr. Effingham. We have seen how his face flushed and his breast labored as in a close atmosphere. He had intended to visit the young girl, but business called him away, and when he had dispatched it, the evening began to draw on, and he was obliged to return homeward. He re turned, then, with that one thought in his brain that one sensation in his heart. Persecuted for this was plainly persecution on Mr. Effinghain's part loved and followed, for this, too, was as plain Beatrice became more dear to him than ever. His breast heaved, his eye flashed, his haughty lip trembled, and he passed a sleepless night think ing of her. Then for th,e first time he started at his own feelings, and he felt his heart throb. He would be her pro tector from that man, who had, on the first evening of her 178 IN WHICH PARSON TAG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS. Appearance, annoyed and insulted her ; he would watch over her, find if he really persecuted her yes, and if necessary, avenge her ! Then he stopped, like a horse at full speed suddenly checked by his rider. Where had his imagination borne him what was he dreaming of? What interest had he in this young girl ? say that he had preserved her life, would not any courageous man have done the same ? She was grateful to him for that, there the matter ended ; the service rendered, the thanks returned, what were they fur ther but strangers ? What was he to the young actress ? The young actress ! What could she be to him ? She waM a bird of passage with gorgeous wings, and magical singing, caressed, applauded, swaying all hearts and he, what was he? An obscure man, without name, or wealth, or birth; his station repelled her, as her profession repelled him. A thousand thoughts like these chased each other through his mind during the two or three days which fol lowed his interview with the stranger; and then, drawn as by a magical influence he sought Williamsburg again he had an object, too, as will be seen. Thus, the writer of the MS. : Charles Waters entered Williamsburg, and, thoughtful and absent, took his way along the main street toward the Raleigh. Suddenly, as he walked on rapidly, he found himself stopped by an obstruction. He raised his head, and found himself in the presence of the man in the red cloak. That gentleman was conversing with no less a personage than Parson Tag ; and when Charles Waters joined them, the parson was about to pass on. He scowled upon the homely-clad man, bowed with patronizing conde scension to the stranger, and with head borne magisterially erect, went down the street. " There goes one of the lights of the age one of the pillars of the church," said the stranger, with his habitual coolness, but smiling as he spoke, " the good Parson Tag I The worthy gentleman is indignant to-day, having, from his own account, just quarrelled with his wealthiest parishioner Squire Effingham." His companion raised his head at this name : and this movement did not escape the stranger's keen eye. " Yes," he added, " there seems to have been some little private matter in tb" busine&s. The squire has a son, my IN WHICH PARSON TAG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS. 179 neighbor at the tavern No. 7, you know and this son, it appears, has been making himself the subject of discussion, for presuming to experience an honest friendship for the young actress, Miss Hallam." The stranger did not fail to note the troubled and gloomy look of his listener, as they walked on toward the Raleigh. "Well," he continued, "the parson took the liberty of condoling with the worthy squire on thereprobacy of his son and, thereby, excited the rage of his parishioner. High word followed the squire declared, indignantly, that he would permit no one to insult his son in his presence that it was a mere youthful freak on his part and that the Christian religion made it incumbent on all men, especially parsons, to exercise a little of the spirit of forgiveness, or affect the same, if they had it not. Tolerably plain, you observe, that intimation of his excellency, the squire. The interview ended by the parson's getting enraged, and declaring he would no longer live in a parish which was cursed with so unreason able a member and by the squire's replying, with a bow, that his holiness should be called elsewhere, as the parish had long desired. These are pretty nearly the facts of the interview, I suppose sifted from the rubbish and now, it seems to be understood that the good Parson Tag goes to the Piedmont region, and a Mr. Christian an excellent name takes his place. ' A mere milk-and-water family visitor,' says Parson Tag. Ah, these parsons, these parsons ! " And the stranger shook his head, in a way which signi fied that the representatives of the established church were far from occupying a distinguished place in his regards. Charles Waters had listened to this account with a troubled expression, which did not escape the stranger. The name of Effingham evidently excited some painful emotion and he remained silent, until they reached the Raleigh. He inquired for Miss Hallam. She was not at the tavern, but would probably come in soon. He turned away. He was diverted from his absorbing thought, by feeling the arm of the stranger in his own. " Come," said his companion, " as I suppose you will wait, in view of the fact, that a lady is in the question let us sit down here on the porch, the sun is warm and pleasant. Perhaps we may wile away a tedious moment. I leave thil place to-day, and may not see you again for years." 180 IN WHICH PARSON TAG APPBAS.S AND DISAPPEARS. Charles Waters sat down by the stranger. " What a singular race these parsons are," said the man in the red cloak ; " come, dismiss your meditations, companion, and listen to me. What do you think of them ? " " There are many worthy, not a few unworthy," said his companion, absently. " True : but as they are an important element of our society, it seems to me that the proportion of the unworthy is too great." " Yes, sir : they are a very influential class," said the other, endeavoring to banish his thoughts. " And wealthy." " Many I believe are." " They love their tobacco salary but after all we can not complain of them. They are necessary, just as it is necessary to have a class that rules and a class which obeys." " That is true in a very limited sense, sir." " Why, we of the lower orders must look up to the gentlemen : fustian cannot rub against velvet. The wealthy gentleman and the poor laborer cannot associate with each other. One rolls in his chariot, the other digs in the field, and admires the grand machine rolling on with its liveried coachman, and glossy four-in-hand. The necessity of the thing is as plain as the fact, that we envy these lords of creation." " We should not, sir." " Pshaw ! whether we should or not, we always will envy and hate them. We are poor and obscure ; they are distinguished and wealthy. Could a clearer case be made out ? " Charles Waters looked at his interlocutor with the same expression, as on a former occasion, when the stranger had Baid, " All men are false." " To envy those fortunate possessors of wealth and ease, sir, is neither liberal nor true philosophy," he said. " True, there are classes, and must ever be, in some form ; but the poor are not, and should not be the enemies of the rich beyond all, they should not base such enmity upon the ground that the gifts of fortune are unequally divided. What a world we should have if that ^vere so ! We havo WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK CAUGHT. 181 here in Virginia all grades of wealth and rank, from that negro yonder rubbing down his horse, to Governor Fauquier in his palace. We have first, the rude ignorant servant indented for a term of years, and almost an appendage of the glebe almost as much a slave as the negro. Then the coarse overseer, scarcely better. Then the small merchant, factor, and the yeoman, plain in manners, often very ignorant but a step higher. Then the well-to-do farmer. Lastly, the great landed proprietors, with thousands of acres and negroes, wearing velvet and riding in chariots, as you say. Well, now sir, apply your philosophy ! Let the well-to-do farmer hate the great wealthy gentleman the common yeoman hate the farmer and the gentleman the overseer hate all three and the indented servant, following the example of his bet ters, hate all four of them, where would the clashing of these complex hatreds, these inimical and bitter envyings, have their termination? No, sir," said Charles Waters, raising his noble head, and speaking in that earnest and persuasive voice, which it was hard to resist being moved and convinced by even by its very intonation " No, sir : believe me- - these harsh and bitter feelings retard the advance of our race, rather than forward its destiny. No sir no 1 hatred is not the element of progress, as envy and uncharitableness are not the precursors of liberty 1 " CHAPTER XXXIII. HOW THE MAN IN THE BED CLOAK THREW HIS NET, AND WHAT HE CAUGHT. THE stranger was silent for some moments, then, drawing his old red cloak around him, he said : " Liberty ! Well, that is a great word ; but, unfortu nately, it is also one of those nobly-sounding terms which fill the ears only, never jonveying to the brain much more than a vague and doubtful meaning. What is liberty ? True, I ask you to answer a hard question ; but you have drawn it upon yourself, companion, by your anomalous and contradictory statement* " .82 WHAT THE iAtt IN THE RED CLOAK CAUGHT. " How contradictory, sir ? " said his companion, losing his absent-mindedness, and looking earnestly at the stranger. " Why," replied the man in the red cloak, coolly, " nothing could well be more paradoxical than your views. You agree that there are classes here, and elsewhere, sepa rated by unreasonable distinctions, holding, as regards each other, unjust positions. You do not deny that we we, the common people are the mere hewers of wood and drawers of water for our masters, and, when I chance to say what ia perfectly reasonable and natural, namely, that we must hate and envy these dons, why. you answer, ' No, no ; envy and hatred are not the elements of progress, the forerunners of liberty.' I say, they rule us ! the wealthy gentlemen, the house of burgesses, the English parliament why not hate and envy, and, if necessary, match ourselves force for force against them, and see if we cannot achieve this noble end you speak of liberty ! " u Because force the blind force of envy and hatred, striking in the dark, and without thought is the mere movement of the brute, who closes his eyes, and tears, with out seeing, whatever comes beneath his paws. No, sir ! before we can overturn parliaments, and dictate laws, we must mould public opinion." " Public opinion ? What is that ? " " It is the great unseen power which governs the world." " Oh yes ; the opinion of kings and autocrats. Now I understand." " No, not of kings and autocrats of common men, the masses ! The calm, just judgment, formed in silence, and without prejudice, of those men and things which figure on the great stage of life. Not the mere impulses of envy and hatred, any more than the jealousy of rank, but the cool, deliberate weighing of events and personages in the scales of eternal justice." " Fine words. Well, then, you would not overthiow the present state of things ; or, perhaps, you are well content with the social organization of this colony. We must not hate, we must not envy all is for the best 1 " " No, sir, all is not for the best ; far from it." " It seems to me that we are wandering in our ideas, and liable to misunderstand each other. Let us see, now explain. WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAfc CAUGHT. 183 You are more or less dissatisfied with the present position of things ; but you like the gentry, the Established Church, you admire the traditions of feudalism, and revere his gra cious majesty King George. Eh? Come, let us know if you do not ? " " We must have misunderstood each other, indeed, sir. I would overthrow or, at least, materially change all that you have mentioned." " What, the gentry the church the king ? Treason ! ' " That cry does not daunt me, sir." " Beware ; I shall inform on you, and his majesty will send for you to come and visit his handsome residence, called the Tower." " Let me explain, briefly, what I mean, and meant," said his companion, too gloomy to relish these pleasantries of the stranger. " You have misunderstood me wholly you would say that I am an advocate of the present, with all its injus tice, its wrong, its oppression ; and, that, because I am not willing to go and turn out proprietors of great landed estates, at the point of the bayonet ; shatter those splendid mirrors, which reflect gold, and velvet, and embroidery, with a pistol's muzzle ; organize the lower class, with bludgeons, hay-forks, cleavers, knives, and scythes, against the gentlemen, who roll in coaches, and eat from gold and silver plate you would say, that, because these revolutionary proceedings, the off spring of envy and hatred, are not to my taste, I am an ad vocate of those oppressions, those bitter wrongs, inflicted on the commons by the gentry. No, sir ! I am not an advo cate of them; I know them too well. I have studied, as far as possible, with a calm mind, an unbiassed judgment, this vestige of feudalism which curses us, and I have found, every where, as in the old feudal system, wrong, oppres sion, a haughty and unchristian pride of rank, and birth, and wealth " " Good, good," said the stranger, no longer interrupting his companion. " An unjustifiable pride ! an unchristian arrogance, scorning charity, humility, all that Christ inculcated, as so much weakness ! " continued the thinker, in his noble and earnest voice ; " I find it here, as I find it in the history of England, of France, of Germany, of the whole feudal world ; !4 WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK CAUGHT. among the gentry of to-day, as the nobles of the middle age ? Q-o back to that middle age see the great lord passing in his splendid armor, and surcoat of cloth of gold, on his glos sy charger, followed by his squires, his men-at-arms, while the battlements of his great castle ring with trumpets, greet ing his return : see the serf there in the shadow of the wall, with the ring around his neck, with his wooden shoes, his goatskin covering swarthy, with his shaggy beard, his brow covered with perspiration, as becomes the villein, his cere bral conformation, as he takes off his greasy cap to lout low to his master, like the head of the wolf, the jackall, the hyena. That serf is no longer a man he is a wild beast, with strong muscles and sinews like rope, who will fight well in the field, and be cut to pieces cheerfully, while his master reaps undying renown, covered by his proof armor of Milan yes, he will fight and toil, and go home and kiss his chil dren in their mud hovel but he is not a man : his lord is a man how can he be of the same race as that splendid and haughty chevalier, honored by kings and emperors for his deeds of chivalry, smiled on by fair ladies every where, like the noble dame who reigns in yonder castle with him. True, the serf has legs and arms, and his blood, strange to say, is much the color of the great seigneur's but they do not be long to the same race of animals. They both feel it are convinced of it. When my lord passes, see the back bent down ; the eyes abased, as in the presence of the God of Day the dog-like submission, when harsh words are uttered by the seigneur to his animal. The serf does not dream of there being any impropriety in all this it is a part of the order of things that he should be a wild beast, his lord a splendid, noble chevalier, glittering with stars, and clad in soft silk and velvet. He always submits : he is a part of the glebe, the stock like the horse, the hound, the hawk. Does the seigneur wish some amusement for his noble guests ? the boor comes, and with another of his class cudgels away in the court-yard, until he is covered with bruises, and falls or conquers : and the noble lords and ladies, glittering like stars in the balcony, throw largesse to the knaves, who lout humbly, and go down to their proper place the kitchen. " There is the past, sir ! look at it ! " WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK CAUGHT. 185 The stranger nodded. fi You don't like feudalism," he said. " It makes me shudder, sir." " How ? why it's dead ! " " No : it is alive." " Alive, say you ? " " To this very day and hour." " What ? in full force ? " " No, sir not in full force : far from it. But in a de gree, at least, it exists." " Hum ! you are a metaphysician." " No, sir, I am practical." " You are a dreamer 1 " Waters sighed. " I thought you dreamed as I did," he said. " Perhaps I do who knows ? " Waters was silent. " Define your idea," said the stranger. " I understand you to say and we won't discuss the subject that this thing we call feudalism which has come in for so much abuse from you, still exists in a degree ? Come ! let us see how it looks in Virginia." " We have but the shadow thank God, the edifice has crumbled in part : but the flanking towers remain, and that shadow still lies like gloom upon the land. See how human thought is still warped and darkened by it how rank and unwholesome weeds possess the earth ! " " Hoot out these weeds, then begin ! Hurl down these towers which shut out the sunlight, your historical reading must have told you of the Jacquerie ! " " Yes, sir ! and I have seen -how that rising led to worse evils than before, for hatred was added to contempt. No, to attack this still vigorous remnant of feudalism, something besides hammers and pickaxes are necessary ; gunpowder, even, will not blow it into atoms 1 " " What, then ? " The winds of Heaven ! God will strike it ; he has thrown down the donjon keep, where captives gnashed their teeth and cursed and blasphemed in darkness ; he will alsc 86 WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK CAUGHT. level with the ground what remains of the great blot upoi the landscape 1 " " Figures, figures 1 " said the stranger ; " come, let us have ideas 1 " " By the winds of Heaven the breath of God I mean those eternally progressive steps of mind, which go from doubt to certainty, from certainty to indignation, from indig nation to revolution ! " " Very well ; now we get on firm ground again. We meet and shake hands over that toast, ' Revolution ! ' " " Understand me ; revolution is not a slight thing. It levels many valuable things, as the hurricane and the tem pest of rain sweeps away much more than the accumulated rubbish. Revolution, sir, is the last thing of all the tor nado which clears the poisonous atmosphere, cannot be loosed every day or year, for the land is strewed with ruins by it. The slow steps of public opinion must be hastened, the soil prepared for the seed, the distance made plain, the body armed then, if it is necessary, the conflict." " Ah, you come back to your ideas upon education, sir ? " " Yes ; I would unfetter the mind." " Enlighten it ? " " Yes, sir ; I would teach the great mass of the people, that God made this world, not man ; that wrong and oppres sion is not the normal state of human things ; I would point out all th> falseness, I would point to the lash-marks on the back ; I would, if necessary, pour brine into those bleeding furrows ! " " Yes, and drive to madness to what you deprecate, mad violence 1 " " No 1 for minds would be enlightened, men would see and seeing, they would wait. I would have them know when to strike ; I would organize in their minds an oppo sition, quiet, stubborn, unbending, never-sleeping ; a confi dence in time, faith in the ultimate intervention of God using them as his instruments." " You generalize too much," said the stranger ; " let us come now to Virginia, at this day and hour. Let us see what are the great abuses. Speak 1 " " First, an established church, which dictates religious opinion forces itself upon all the community, armed with the terrors of the law-" WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLCAK CAUGHT. 187 " Yes, that is just ; and I promise you something will l*e said soon about the twopenny-act. Well, the church I What else ? " " The offspring of that feudalism I have spoken of aristocracy I " " Yes, ' power of the best ; ' that is, the wealthiest. What next ? " " Laws, without representation ! " said his companion, compressing in these short words the great popular griev ance of the age. " Ah ! " said the stranger, with a grim smile, " there is something in that, too. What more ? " " What more ? Is it not enough, sir, for the Established Church to wring from you, whether you conform or not, support for its ministers to stuff itself and its tenets down your throat ? is it not bad enough for the house of bur gesses to legislate for the great landed proprietors alone, who form the body, ignoring the very existence of the com mon man, who has no vote ? is any thing more needed to make us slaves, than laws passed in the English parliament, crushing our trade, our very lives, without representatives of us there in council ? " " I confess that seems to me quite enough," said the stranger ; " and this great, oppressive, intolerant church this haughty arrogance of rank lastly, that English law lessness, seem to me to constitute a case of mortification gangrene to be burnt out by the hot iron of revolution ! " " No ! it has not gone far enough yet ; let us advance step by step. At present we contemplate that great, intole rant, bigoted establishment with respect and awe ; we bow to the grand chariot, doffing our caps ; we search in our minds for what will justify that oppression of Parliament J we are not convinced that this great triple wrong is a wrong. We doubt ; let us scan the matter calmly dispassionately investigate the nature of things ; let us educate our minds, we common people, and with the calm, unobscured eyes of truth, test the error. We will not say to the parsons, ' Off with you, you are the vermin of a rotten system, you shall not tyrannize over us 1 ' No, let us, with the Bible in our hands, and God in our hearts, say, ' We come to try you, we coma to know whether you are false and bigoted, or true au4 188 WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK CAUGHT. " Yes," said the stranger, " and those worthy gentle men, who procured benefices by marrying the cast-off mis tresses of lords, will, with one voice, for about the space pf two hours, cry, ' Great is Diana of the Ephesians 1 W are holy, pure, and immaculate ! ' What, then ? " " Reason ! the light of education still ! flooding the whole system, lighting up every hidden crypt ! " " Good ! And you would apply these fine ideas to the aristocracy, too ?" " Yes. I would have men scan that system also ; not strike it blindly ; I would have them come with the law of nature in their hands, the evangel of truth and justice, and say, ' Show us what you are. Show us if you are really our natural and rightful superiors. Show us whether those titles you derive from kings, are like the authority of those kings, derived, as they say, from God, and so, just and right. Show us if you are really superior beings, because you de scend from the knights of the middle age we inferior to you, your born slaves, because we draw our blood from the serf who tilled the glebe below your grandsire's castle walls. Show us if this mysterious sentiment of awe we feel in your presence, is direct from the Deity, planted thus in us to make us keep our places ; or, whether it is the mere tradition of the past, the echo of injustice, the shadow of that monstrous oppression of the dark ages, yet lying on our souls ? " " Very well and what then ? " said the stranger. " Why, these worthy gentlemen would reply, ; Friends, the distinction of classes is absolutely necessary; some must rule, others obey ; some wear fustian, others velvet ; some must ride in coaches, and eat from gold plate, others jog along in the dust of the highway, eat their brown bread and swill their muddy ale. Order is heaven's first law. Come, now, and listen to this splendid passage from Shakspeare, about degrees in a state ; it is there, in that volume with a gilt back iu the gothic book-case don't muddy the carpet with your dirty brogues, or stumble over that damask chair in reaching it. Very welL Now, listen ! Can any thing be more just than these views ? Some must be great, others small ; one must vote, another be denied that privilege. We are gentlemen, you commouors. Can any thing be plainer, WHAT THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK CAUGHT. 189 than that we should have the offices and honors, live easily, and sustain our proper rank, while you till the glehe, and leave your interests in our hands ? ' That is what they would say what then ? " " Reason, again 1 " said his companion ; " reason, turning away from the dazzling pageant, stopping the ears to shut out the rumbling of the coach and six, forgetting the past and questioning that great evangel of right open in their hands reason, which should weigh and test, and try the whole system by the rules of a stern, inexorable logic." " I admire your logic ! and you think that it would ap ply to English legislation on Virginia matters ? " " Yes ; I would remonstrate, petition, debate with Par liament; I would exhaust every means of testing and over throwing this cruel and bitter wrong ; I would ask for light ask nothing but that right should be made manifest I would go to the foot of the throne, and say, ( Justice, justice, nothing but justice, as a British subject as one laboring under wrong 1 ' " The stranger's lip curled. " Well, your system is now tolerably plain," he said. " You would go and ask the parsons to tell you if they are in truth, pure and immaculate you would ask the gentry if they really are the distinguished gentlemen they pretend to be you would fall at the feet of King George, and sue for leave to argue the matter of taxation with his gracious Ma jesty ! Very well. Now, suppose it is a very extrava gant supposition, I know, and springs, no doubt, from my irreverent, incredulous, and obstinate prejudices suppose, I say, that the worthy parsons thus adjured, as to their purity, were to tell you that they were the salt of the earth, and that your question was an impertinence ; suppose if you can suppose such an incredible thing that the wealthy gentle man tells you that he is your born lord, and that he will commit you in his quality of justice of the peace, for misde meanor, should you intrude upon him again with your wretched folly ; suppose his gracious Majesty were to re move your humble petition with his royal foot, bidding you begone, and learn that when money was wanted to sup port his splendor, you were to sweat and pay it, and be silent on pain of being whipped in by armed soldiers ; sup- 190 IN WHICH BEATRICE A.ETURN8. pose these disagreeable incidents greeted your philanthrope exertions what then ? " " Then, revolution ! revolution, if that revolution waded in blood ! " cried his companion, carried away by his fiery thoughts, and losing all his calmness and self-control ; " revo lution, with God for our judge ! history for our vindication If, after all their sufferings, all their wrongs, all the injusticft of long years, of centuries, the prayers of humanity were thus answered revolution ! A conflict, bitter, desperate, unyielding, to the death ! A conflict which should root out these foul and monstrous wrongs, or exterminate us ! A revolution, which should attack and overwhelm for ever, or be itself overwhelmed ! That is the hurricane I spoke of, sir 1 If God decrees it, let it come 1 " CHAPTER XXXIV. IN WHICH BEATRICE RETURNS. WITH head erect, brows flushed, eyes clear and fiery, lips still agitated by the tumult of thought, the speaker was silent. His eyes then turned toward the stranger. A singular alteration seemed to have taken place in his features, and the expression of grandeur and majesty which illuminated the rugged features, usually so cold, was start ling. The stranger's expression was so noble, his eye so bright and proud, his whole manner so completely changed, that his companion found himself gazing at him with an astonish ment which he could not suppress. " Pardon me, sir," said the man in the red cloak, in a voice of noble courtesy, strongly in contrast with his habitual roughness ; " pardon me for the manner in which I have seemed to sift your opinions, and provoke a collision of your ideas with my own, in this and our former interviews. It ia one of the bad habits which I acquired in a country store, and I find myself now its slave since the temptation to open and study that grand volume, human nature, wherever I find it, has become irresistible. In your case, I have been IN WHICH BEATRICE RETURNS. 191 instructed and interested ; and though I say with a frank ness which you may consider rude, that I have thought most of your thoughts before still, sir, permit me to return you my thanks for an honor and a pleasure." The haughtiest nobleman in the world would not have found in these words, uttered by the coarsely-clad stranger on the rude tavern porch, to a man of the people like him self, any thing to cater to his laughter or amusement ; for the man in the red cloak seemed no longer to be coarsely dressed ; his pronunciation no longer appeared vicious and incorrect ; the very porch of the tavern seemed to be trans formed by his magical voice and look into a palace portico. " In all your views I concur," continued the stranger, " and your ideas are mine. God himself placed us in the condition we both find ourselves in, that mind might speak to mind, freely, sympathetically, with that frankness and plainness from which Truth springs, armed, ready for the conflict." " Yes, sir," continued the stranger, with that high and proud look which his companion had observed once in a former interview. " Yes, sir! this Virginia of 1763 is in an unhappy state ! Social organization to-day, with the in fluences that environ it, is one of those phenomena which occur but once in a century. On all sides murmurs, mut- terings as of an approaching storm ! Men doubtful of the ground they walk on new ideas dazzling them old institu tions crumbling the hand upon the wall tracing, in fiery letters, the mysterious future that future crammed with storms groaning like a womb which holds the destiny of humanity ! The heavens are dark, the ways we tread devious and full of hidden snares. England, our tender mother, might say, who planted them ? For England, from whose loins we sprung, has cursed us ! like a stepmother, she has struck, with a bitter and remorseless hatred, those who would be her children 1 She cursed us with this race of Africans who are eating us up and ruining us, and some day, in the blind convulsions of her rage, she will taunt us bitterly for asking what we do not grant ourselves for de manding freedom, when our arms are holding down a race human as ourselves ! Let her gnash her teeth in impotent and irrational complaint ! let her complain, we will not ; 192 a* WHICH BEATRICE RETURNS. for God decreed that she herself, black with crime and in justice, should be the means of bringing hither this race, that in the future Christianity should dawn on that vast con tinent of Africa that land where the very air seems tainted with paganism where the very palms which wave their long plumes on the ocean breeze seem celebrating some horrible rite ! No ; this is not the head and front of the accusation which, in the name of justice and humanity, we bring against England. She has thrust upon us her despotic regulations. She has contracted suffrage. She has given to Lord Cul- peper the whole territory from the mouth of the Rappa- hannock to the sources of the Potomac enthroned him a prince and king over us ! She has crushed our commerce by navigation laws which are so odious and unrighteous that jhe very instruments of her tyranny shrink from enforcing them ! With a blind, remorseless hatred a policy destitute of reason as it is foul with injustice and wrong she has bound on this poor laboring brute, Virginia, burdens which crush her, under which she staggers, groaning, and tearing herself with rage, terror, and despair ! She has made for herself a gospel whose commandments are ' Thou shalt steal ' ' Thou shalt bear false witness against thy neigh bor' 'Thou sbalt have no other god but George II I.' She has gone on from wrong to wrong, from injustice to injustice, until like those unhappy creatures whom the gods intend to strike, she has grown mad, lost her brain, her reason, braced herself to rush upon an obstacle which will hurl her back, as a wave of the ocean is hurled back from the cliff of eternal stone ! Yes, sir, that empire rushes upon what will tame her 1 Already she speaks of an act decreeing that a stamp shall be placed upon every instrument written or printed of human affairs. Journals, deeds, conveyances pleadings in law, bills of lading on the marriage contract, and the bill for the headstone nothing to be operative without that stamp ! Well, sir, that act will make the cup filled with the bittor and poisonous draught run over that law will make the infuriated animal, thrown on her knees, rise up, and then, sir, God alone knows where things will end 1 You wish to wait and let the old world pass away by virtue of its in herent decay, its immemorial rottenness you would have the crumbling monument of wrong fall slowly, stone by tN WHICH BEATRICE RETURNS. 193 tone, as the winds and rain descend upon it year after year ! Such will not be the event, sir ! The tornado you spoke of will bring down that godless monument, at one blow, with a crash that will startle nations ! And do not think that this is not as legitimately God's act as the slow ruin you advocate. That Great Being unlooses the hurricane of re volution as easily as he sends the zephyr to cool the cheek, each in its place ! the hurricane here ! You may even now scent the odor of the storm ! " And the stranger rose with such grandeur in his visage, such majesty in his attitude, such a clear fire in his proud eyes, which seemed to plunge into the mysterious future, and see with the vision of a prophet all which that future was to bring, that his companion felt himself overwhelmed, he knew not how, carried away in spite of himself. " It is coming ! " continued he, with indescribable gran deur in voice and countenance and attitude ; " the storm which will topple down the edifice of fraud and lies, which has so long shamed the sunlight ! in that storm old things shall pass away, and behold ! all things shall become new. The old world is decayed, she totters on the brink of the abyss pre pared for her : she rushes on, blindly, full of curses, and hatred the gulf yawns let her foot trip, she is swallowed up for ever ! " And the brilliant eye seemed to grow brighter still, the voice became more clear and strong. The rude visage of the speaker glowed as if the light of a great conflagration stream ed upon it. His stature seemed almost to grow before his companion's eyes, and become gigantic, his two hands to be filled with thunderbolts ! " Yes, sir ! yes ! " he exclaimed, " the storm comes ! the tocsin of a revolution is already being sounded ! Ere long the clash of arms will fall upon our ears, the sound of firearms and the roar of cannon. War and storm, tempest and hurricane, are waiting, like hounds held back by the leash, to burst upon this land. Let it come ! let the storm roar, the lightning flash, the waves roll mountain high God still directs that storm, and will fight for us ! Let the bloody dogs of war be loosed, let them dye their sharp fangs in blood, they shall not daunt u\ I repeat it, sir, let it come ! 9 194 HOW BEATRICE PRAYED FOR STRENGTH I, for one, will grapple with the monster, and strangle or b strangled by him I Liberty or death 1 " And the man in the red cloak, with a gesture of over whelming grandeur, stood silent, motionless, his eyes on fire, his hands clenched as though the struggle depicted by his brilliant and fiery imagination were about to begin. Charles Waters, carried away by his tremendous passion could make no reply, and they both remained silent. The stranger wiped his brow, and drew his cloak around him : then gazing on his companion with an expression of nobility and pride, which glowed in his eyes and filled them with light, said : " And now, sir, we must part. I go hence to day, hav ing yesterday been retained in an important cause in Hano ver county, Drought by the Reverend Mr. Maury against the collector. I am for the defendant, and must prepare myself for a hard struggle. Permit me again to thank you, sir, for many hours of your company. I repeat, that you have done me a pleasure, and an honor : for I find in you a mind clear and strong, competent to test, to sift, to grasp, to wield those new ideas which will change the world. Do not dream that we will pass through the years, directly fol lowing this, without convulsions and a conflict, such as the world has never seen. Prepare yourself, put on your armor, get ready ! For my part, I ask in that inevitable conflict, no better companion. These are no idle words, sir. I shall call upon you, and am well convinced, that my call will not be in vain ! " And bowing with lofty courtesy, the stranger entered the tavern. At the same moment the footfall of a horse at tracted the attention of Charles Waters, and looking up, he saw Beatrice Hallam, who had stopped before the inu, mounted as usual on her tall white horse. CHAPTER XXXV. HOW BEATRICE PEATED FOR STRENGTH TO RESIST HERSELF. HE rose and went toward the young girl, walking as in * dream. Those magical accents of the stranger's voice were TO RESIST HERSELF. 195 gtill ringing in his ears he almost thought he heard the roar of thunder, and the crashing of the sea the air almost seemed alive with lightning flashes. For thunder, lightning, and a stormy ocean, seemed to be the elements of that grand, fiery oratory. But he soon found this preoccupation put to rout by something more powerful than the grandest eloquence, the most overpowering oratory a young girl's eyes. Slowly, his great thoughts fled away from his mind the fate of Vir ginia was forgotten mind beat an ignominious retreat, and the heart knew of but one object in the universe, a fresh, bright face that smiled upon him, a mild, tender pair of eyes, that filled with happy light when they fell upon him. He assisted the young girl to the ground quietly : neither spoke, but their eyes were more eloquent than any words could have been. On their last meeting, Beatrice had has tened forward, exclaiming, " I am very glad to see you ! " and now, when day after day, and night after night, she had thought of him with inexpressible tenderness, and come to feel, indeed, that her life was illuminated by a new, unim- agined glory now she did not assure him that she was glad to see him. The human heart in 1 763 was much the same as at present, the reader will perceive. So without speaking, she passed in and he followed her, with no need of invitation in words : her eyes said all and they entered the little apartment which had witnessed so many memorable scenes. Then for the first time Beatrice taking off her little hat, and throwing back her beautifu. hair, which had become loose, said : "Oh, you have been away so long ! You promised to come often I " How could he resist that earnest tender voice how feel any more sorrow or disquiet how prevent his heart from beating more rapidly, as these soft words sank into it. " Indeed, I have not kept my promise," he said, with that gentleness and softness, which at times characterized his voice, " but fate has seemed to decree that we should not meet." " That was very naughty in fate ! " said Beatrice, with a winning little smile, " because we are good friends, yoi knaw." 16 HOW BEATRICE PRAYED FOR STRENGTH And the soft voice trembled with its depth of meaning. " Indeed, I can answer for myself," he said, sitting down. " And I do not think I need say any thing for my part," answered Beatrice; "you saved my life." And again, the tender eyes dwelt