THE QUAKER SOLDIER; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 BRITISH IN PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL NOVEL. 
 
 BY A NOTED JUDQE. 
 
 Complete in one large duodecimo volume of 569 page*, bound in cloth, for 
 One Dollar and Twenty-five Cents ; or in two volumes, paper cover, for $1. 
 
 Head the following Opinion of it by our Critical Reader. 
 It gives us great pleasure to announce to the reading public, this 
 new Historical Novel, called "The Quaker Soldier." It would be 
 impossible, in this brief notice, to give a fair idea of the book ; but 
 it may be said with safety, that it is one of the most thrilling ro 
 mances of the Revolution that has ever been written ; and we hesi 
 tate not to predict for it a popularity not surpassed by Cooper's 
 " Spy." The plot is one that commends itself to the reader, and the 
 characters are all naturally drawn ; while the descriptive powers of 
 the Author give to the whole an interest that continues unabated 
 through the whole story. One of the chief points of attraction is 
 the vivid portraiture of social life among the Quakers of Philadel- 
 ' '.. during the Revolution, and a full explanation of the political 
 ;ion they took, with regard to the War. 
 
 sarles Hazlewood, alias " The Quaker Soldier," is the only son 
 wealthy Quaker family, who is driven from home by his father's 
 tness. His experience, both at home and abroad, when he en- 
 ' on a high career of fame, and his adventures in Philadelphia 
 in the American Army, during the War, are full of exciting in- 
 *, and reveal to the readers that part of our history in a new phase, 
 ijor Ptobinson, the Tory Partisan; Solomon Isaakski, the Pawn- 
 *r; Mark Bartle, the Spy; Dr. Jones, the Fighting Chaplain; 
 Aiian M'Lane ; Charles Thomson, and General Conway, are indi 
 viduals around whose history are clustered a thick series of exciting 
 scenes, under every variety of form ; while the Battle of German- 
 town, and the incidents preceding and succeeding that memorable 
 event, are described with so much graphic power and minuteness, 
 that you almost fancy you see the fight. 
 
 The introduction of Col. Lynnford, a Continental officer of bravery 
 and great prowess, with his negro boy Toby, is done with happy 
 
 (xvii)
 
 XV1U THE QUAKER SOLDIEK. 
 
 effect ; and the heroines of the story, Kate Selwyn and Ellen Hazle- 
 wood, are. embodiments of so much female loveliness, that they in 
 sensibly arouse in you a more than common feeling as to their fate. 
 The history of the "Conway Cabal," and the secret movements of 
 various high officials while Congress was at Yorktown, are deline 
 ated with a master's pen ; and the character of the immortal Wash 
 ington is drawn with faithful truthfulness. 
 
 Many of the citizens of Philadelphia can follow the narrative from 
 beginning to end, with the reflection that the scenes occurred on the 
 spots where now is a populous city, while others will be attracted by 
 events which, in themselves, contain the elements of life. 
 
 We are satisfied that "The Quaker Soldier" will commend i*=> 1 * 
 to the grave student, as well as to the lover of light literature ; and 
 that all will feel themselves well repaid by its perusal ; and we ven 
 ture to say that the author will not stop writing with "The Quaker 
 Soldier." 
 
 From the National Magazine for March. 
 "It is rarely that a historical fiction of such merit makes its 
 ance. The Author does not give his name, but he is evidently a 
 a man of ability, and a historical student of the first class. Th> 
 of the tale commences with the entry of the British into Philadelphia, 
 and closes with their departure ; and we have in this interval a sories of 
 brilliant pictures of the times, such as no preceding novelist 1 
 passed. The events leading to the Battle of Germantown, and tL^ battle 
 itself, are narrated with a fidelity which proves the Author to be familiar 
 with every foot of the ground, as well as acquainted with many authentic 
 traditions never before in print. The book, indeed, is full of loc 
 The Pennsylvania Dutchman, for the first time in literature, is accurately 
 and graphically drawn. Nor is the Philadelphia Quaker less i- 
 delineated; for the novelist has caught, not only the formal dialect of the 
 sect, but the style, if we may so call it, in which genuine, olti 
 Quakers talked. This is high praise, we know ; but it is deserved. There 
 is a good deal of humor in the work ; in fact, the Author succeed? in this 
 line better than in pathos. We thiuk the dramatic portion of th 
 superior to the narrative. In some parts of the plot there is a hi. tie ex 
 aggeration ; but, on the whole, the novel is one of real merit, ami will be 
 appreciated by readers precisely in proportion to their intelligc 
 culture." 
 
 $gg* Copies of either edition of "THE QUAKER SOLDIER" 
 sent to any person, to any part of the United States, free of 
 on their remitting the price of the edition they may wish 
 publishers, in a letter post-paid. 
 
 Published and for Sale by 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHER 
 
 No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 
 To whom all orders must come addressed.
 
 CHKW'S HOUSETHE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN.
 
 THE QUAKER SOLDIER: 
 
 OB, THE 
 
 BRITISH IN PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 " The shout 
 
 Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray 
 Of dissonant Instruments, the clang of arms, 
 The shriek of agony, the groan of death, 
 In one wild uproar and continued din, 
 Shake the still air ; while overhead the moon, 
 Regardless of the stir of this low world, 
 Holds on her heavenly way." Southey's Madoc. 
 
 " The bayonet pierces, and the sabre cleaves, 
 And human lives are lavish'd everywhere, 
 As the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves 
 When the stript forest bows to the bleak air, 
 And groans." Byron. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET.
 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 , , c 
 
 T ' B -
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 * 
 
 PS 
 
 ZISI 
 
 CHAPTER PAQS 
 
 Introduction, ... ... xxv 
 
 i. Caleb Hazlewood, 31 
 
 n. Major Robinson at the Old Coffee-House, . . 42 
 
 in. Jack Preston and the Young Quaker, . . .54 
 
 rv. A Quaker Party in 1777, 66 
 
 v. Charles Hazlewood at the Quaker Party, . . .77 
 
 vi. Major Robinson a Prisoner, 88 
 
 vn. Solomon Izaakski the Pawnbroker, . . . .95 
 
 vin. Entry of the Royal Army into Philadelphia, . Ill 
 
 ix. Major Robinson Wounded, 126 
 
 x. Caleb Hazlewood and his Family, .... 135 
 
 xi. Major Robinson's Sickness, 147 
 
 xn. The Royal Army in Philadelphia, .... 162 
 
 xm. The Quaker Colonist and British Officer, . . . 177 
 
 xiv. Charles Hazlewood's History of his Life, . . 188 
 
 xv. Charles Hazlewood visits Persia, .... 208 
 
 f
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 xvi. Charles Hazlewood an Eastern Satrap, . . 224 
 
 xvii. Mark Bartle the Spy. The Hessians at the 
 
 Wissahiccon, 247 
 
 xvin. The Racket Ground at Germantown, . ' . 257 
 
 xix. Sir Charles Aston and the Young Quaker, . . 275 
 
 xx. The Camp at Skippack. Arrival of Col. Lynnford, 290 
 
 xxi. Dr. Jones, the Fighting Chaplain, .... 302 
 
 xxn. The Eve of the Battle of Germantown, ' '.'" . 316 
 
 xxin. The Battle of Germantown, ..... 334 
 
 xxiv. Chew's House. Colonel Lynnford on the Field 
 
 of Battle, . . . .'."..'. 348 
 
 xxv. Colonel Lynnford Wounded. Jacob Keyser, 
 
 the Mennonist, 366 
 
 xxvi. Allan M'Lane visits Lynnford. The Hessian 
 
 Foray, , 378 
 
 xxvn. The Attack on Forts Mifflin and Mercer, . . 391 
 
 xxvm. Howe and Cornwallis seek the Rebel Army, . 404 
 
 xxix. Lynnford's Boy Toby, 413 
 
 xxx. Colonel Lynnford and the German Farmer, . 429 
 
 xxxi. General Washington, ...... 442 
 
 xxxii. Toby and his Fiddle, ...... 454 
 
 xxxin. Valley Forge in 1778, 460 
 
 xxxiv. Congress at Yorktown. Colonel Lynnford and 
 
 Charles Thomson, . . . . . . 473 
 
 xxxv. The Conway Cabal, 485 
 
 xxxvi. Plot against Colonel Lynnford's Life, . . 493
 
 CONTENTS. xxiii 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 xxxvn. Colonel Lynnford fights a Duel with General 
 
 Mifflin, 505 
 
 xxxvni. Visit from Charles Thomson. News from Home, 521 
 
 xxxix. Abduction of Ellen Hazlewood and her Mock 
 
 Marriage, , . 533 
 
 XL. The Pawnbroker's Discovery, . . M . 545 
 XLI. The Rescue. M'Lane's Light-Horse, . , . 552 
 XLII. Charles Hazlewood's Return. The Denouement, 562
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 AFTER London and Paris, Philadelphia contests, 
 with our other great American city, the third rank in 
 Christendom. More than half a million inhabitants 
 vast domestic commerce still vaster handicraft and 
 manufacturing industry material resources not rivaled 
 on this Continent, if anywhere well entitle Philadel 
 phia to feel herself one of the great cities of the world. 
 Yet a short three quarters of a century ago she was a 
 provincial town of under forty thousand inhabitants. 
 This unparalleled growth has occurred in the lifetime 
 of many of us, under our very eyes ; and does not 
 astonish us as if it were a fact of history, seen through 
 the vista of distance. 
 
 Philadelphia is but one of many great cities which 
 have kept even pace until a civic cluster has grown 
 up, the like nowhere else seen now, nor ever, except 
 in the Magna Grascia of Ancient Italy. "Where else 
 in what single nation of modern times do we find 
 four such cities as Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, 
 and Boston, in such close proximity ? France has her 
 Paris, but where are her three other cities comparable 
 to ours? Austria has her Vienna, but what else? 
 Even England has no second city to contest the palm 
 with the second of our glorious galaxy. 
 
 (xxv)
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The rise of our great cities is but one chapter. A 
 lifetime ago reaches beyond the birth of the " Great 
 Republic." Within that brief period that single 
 point on the surface of history a great power has 
 grown up, indisputably of the first class among the 
 nations of the earth. Men have witnessed great em 
 pires formed gradually, like Rome and Russia; or 
 rapidly, like Alexander's, Genghis Khan's, and Na 
 poleon's ; but they were the gathering under one 
 government of nations already in being, without any 
 real increase of resources, and often with a loss. Ours 
 is a new creation, not a mere concentration ; ours is a 
 new power, created out of the raw material of national 
 greatness. "Where else does a single lifetime cover 
 similar grand results ? 
 
 We are not writing a treatise, but we must philoso 
 phize a word. The astonishing rise of our great cities 
 and of our national power, is the natural result of free 
 institutions under favorable circumstances. If man 
 were left to the free impulses of his natural energy 
 and industry, the earth would be full of similar devel 
 opments. Men are governed into national weakness. 
 But why have not other free nations grown like us ? 
 From special circumstances. Early Greece was free ; 
 but, instead of a national union, she formed a confede 
 racy like ours before the present Constitution, and 
 naturally fell into dissensions and wars among her 
 States, and eventual ruin. Our National Union is the 
 groundwork of our national prosperity. If New York 
 and Pennsylvania were merely allies, as Athens and 
 Sparta were under the Amphictyonic League, we 
 should not be long without a Peloponnesian war. 
 
 Another word. The Great Republic is the child of
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXvii 
 
 peace. She has carried on wars, but she owes none 
 of her greatness to them. Her mission is peace. Her 
 prosperity and her progress are founded on the arts 
 of peace. She has always stood, and still stands, among 
 the nations almost without an army and a navy. May 
 it ever be so ! But we doubt : we tremble for the 
 future. Our race is the aggressive Anglo-Saxon. 
 Though without an army, we are an armed nation. 
 No people on the earth has such military spirit, and 
 such material of military success. There needs but 
 the insane aggression of some European bureaucracy 
 to rouse the dormant military spirit to turn to war 
 like purposes those energies which have been so 
 matchless in the arts of peace. The fierce passion for 
 military glory once thoroughly roused, may never 
 again be stilled. The tiger had one lap of blood in 
 the Mexican war, and has been restless ever since. 
 That was a trifle in which few felt much interest. But 
 in a European quarrel, how easily could we throw three 
 hundred thousand men into Italy, or Hungary, or 
 Germany ! How easily could we rouse and arm the 
 republican masses of Europe! A truce to philoso 
 phizing. We sat down to write a kind of narrative. 
 It is an especial pleasure to contrast the position our 
 Eepublic occupies in the world now with the mean 
 figure it cut not long ago ; just as the successful mil 
 lionaire may recall the time when he was a pennyless 
 errand-boy. And also in reference to our native city, 
 we often ruminate on the humble periods of our his 
 tory. We have talked with men who saw the first 
 pavement laid down ; we were brought up at the feet 
 of those who saw the " British in Philadelphia ;" who 
 fought in the battle of Germantown, and laughed over
 
 XXV1U INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " the battle of tlie kegs." We liave reminiscences of 
 those times which have never appeared in print, and 
 probably never will. 
 
 In our day-dreams we have worked up those remi 
 niscences into many a little romance. We have often 
 taken an individual real sometimes, imaginary some 
 times and placing him in contact with the incidents 
 and the men of those times, have followed his fortunes. 
 Our public facts would all be true ; our incidents of 
 private life mainly so, though in novel connections, 
 and borrowed from real personages, to adorn our ficti 
 tious actors. Thus have we formed many a history 
 which has been forgotten. Not all, however. There 
 is one in our memory just now which we shall write 
 down, whether artistically or not we do not know, for 
 we are all unused to putting our fancies into words ; 
 but our readers will find out for themselves. We 
 shall write it down anyhow. 
 
 We beg of you, serious reader, if you touch our 
 narrative, not to call it unqualifiedly " a pack of lies." 
 It is a work borrowed from our fancy a work of 
 fiction ; but it contains more truths than half the his 
 tories you read. Our account of the " Battle of Ger- 
 mantown," for instance, is not only accurate, but the 
 most accurate yet written, being founded on the pub 
 lished histories, corrected by information from many 
 persons who were present. We might say the same 
 of other affairs. Our object has not been to write 
 history ; yet when historical facts were to be recorded, 
 we have tried to be historically accurate. Our object, 
 we frankly admit, has been a work of fiction ; call it 
 romance, or novel, or whatever name you prefer. We 
 have wished to carry you back to that humbler na-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tional period when your grandfather mine certainly 
 was a rebel against the British crown, with a reason 
 able probability of making an acquaintance, more 
 intimate than agreeable, with the royal hangman. 
 Such reminiscences of the "rebellion," viewed as it 
 appeared before success had sanctified it into a revolu 
 tion, having been the " sweetest of our sweet fancies." 
 Your tastes are the same we hope.
 
 
 THE QUAKER SOLDIER; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 BRITISH IN PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 
 
 THE twenty-fifth of September, in the year one 
 thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven, was a 
 memorable day in the annals of Philadelphia. The 
 city then the metropolis of the rebellious colonies 
 had been placed by the battle of Brandywine at the 
 mercy of the Crown ; the rebel government had fled 
 into the interior, and left it to its fate ; the Eoyal army 
 was encamped on the heights of Chestnut Hill, some 
 nine miles distant ; and their triumphant entry on this 
 day had been duly arranged and announced. Truly, the 
 twenty-fifth of September was to be a memorable day. 
 
 As the time of the grand entry was not precisely 
 known, the city had been all excited from early in 
 the morning. Men singly and in groups stood at the 
 corners, and on the street sides ; women and children 
 thronged the open windows and front porches, and 
 
 (31)
 
 32 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 doorsteps ; boys clustered on the trees and fences ; the 
 population was alive with expectation. Occasionally, 
 bands of impatient spirits, weary of waiting at any one 
 point, would rush along the streets, gathering numbers 
 as they went, hurrying nowhere in particular, but jos 
 tling and running over the more quiet spectators. 
 
 Thus the scene of expectation continued. But the 
 day wore away till mid-afternoon, and still there was 
 no sight of the Eoyal army. One by one the people 
 began to drop away, and the streets were becoming 
 gradually empty. At length, however at the time 
 we choose for the commencement of our narrative 
 the flagging hopes of the still lingering masses were 
 suddenly revived. A horseman, in the scarlet uniform, 
 appeared galloping into the city. At some distance 
 behind he was attended by a single follower, appa 
 rently a mounted orderly. But, half hidden by the 
 cloud of dust which rolled along with him, that single 
 follower was magnified into at least a troop, and the 
 whole army was thought to be at hand. The excite 
 ment at once became intense. " The troops !" " The 
 troops !" shouted and echoed in every direction, soon 
 brought the more loyal portion of the citizens again 
 into the streets. 
 
 The horseman, meanwhile, unaware or regardless 
 of the excitement he caused, continued onward at a 
 rapid gallop. His course was along that street, in the 
 prim geography of the right-angled city, termed 
 Second, then one of the principal thoroughfares, and 
 the route by which the Eoyal army was expected. 
 Those who took notice of such things as some of the 
 perceptive sex certainly did observed that he was a 
 very handsome man, splendidly equipped and mounted,
 
 CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 33 
 
 and that lie rode like a "good cavalier," while his 
 follower was almost equally well- mounted, though 
 much more plainly equipped. As we have said, the 
 horseman rode rapidly, taking heed of none, nor re 
 garding the excitement which arose at his coming, 
 and died away behind him. And thus he went on 
 ward until he reached the " Old Coffee-house," then 
 the favorite inn, as well as fashionable resort of business 
 and pleasure. There he baited, and throwing his 
 bridle : rein to his attendant, sprung lightly from the 
 stirrups. 
 
 " Major Robinson !" uttered by more than one of 
 the crowd, showed that the officer was recognized. He 
 was at once surrounded by an eager crowd, pressing 
 on him with inquiries ; but, with a few evasive answers, 
 he walked directly into the Coffee-house. No tidings 
 could be got from him, and the delay of his Majesty's 
 army still remained a mystery. 
 
 The crowds now began to give up hopes for the day, 
 and were soon retiring in earnest to their homes. Of 
 course every one had his own opinion as to the non- 
 appearance of the troops, and many sage conjectures 
 were exchanged on the subject. Some of the Whigs 
 for a few of them still remained in the city, though 
 those of mark who were not in the service had fled to 
 Beading and other interior towns began to crow over 
 their loyal neighbors in their disappointment. The 
 Tories felt chapfallen. The full flood of their exulta 
 tion was checked and thrown back. 
 
 Of the various little groups which were hastening 
 
 homeward, we shall especially notice one. It was 
 
 composed of three persons; an elderly Quaker, a 
 
 young one, and one middle-aged man, who evidently 
 
 2
 
 34 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 did not " belong to meeting." They were discussing 
 the topic which occupied everybody's tongue ; but 
 before we phonophize their talk, we will note their 
 appearance. 
 
 The elderly Quaker was a tall and portly personage, 
 six feet at least, and stoutly proportioned ; considerably 
 past his grand climacteric, bat so " well kept" that you 
 could not call him old. His snuff-colored coat, drab 
 breeches and waistcoat, and broad black beaver, all of 
 the finest material, though quakerishly-fashioned, 
 fitted him exactly ; while, to complete his costume, 
 you must add long silk stockings, high quartered 
 shoes, well blacked, and silver shoe-buckles, equally 
 well polished. On the whole, his personality was an 
 excellent specimen of the best class of Quakers ; an 
 illustration, too, of the curious fact that the Quakers 
 have the best complexions in our country, and are 
 the " best kept" men and women, and actually the 
 best dressed. His countenance was handsome, though 
 fuller and rounder than the ordinary American type, 
 which even at that early day had begun to become 
 thinner and more intellectual looking than the parent 
 race; and it showed a placid firmness, which those 
 who "have had affairs" with the Friends would inter 
 pret into inflexible obstinacy. 
 
 The younger Quaker was of some indefinite age 
 between twenty and forty. You have seen such men, 
 I do not doubt ; at twenty you think them old-looking, 
 at forty the reverse; and you have generally found 
 them men of marked character. Our young Quaker 
 was two inches at least under six feet ; broad-shoul 
 dered, deep-chested, long-bodied, narrow-hipped, yet 
 not heavily built. At a glance, you would pronounce
 
 CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 35 
 
 him a man both strong and active. He was not hand 
 some, however, unless you admire a prominent nose 
 and strongly-marked features. His face was the kind 
 which you would not fall in love with at first sight, 
 supposing you a young lady ; but which, supposing 
 you a man who has given and taken hard knocks, 
 you would look to with respect. Your wonder would 
 be, what that face, tanned and weather-beaten, and 
 marked with " the lines of fierce hopes," was doing 
 under that Quaker beaver. 
 
 The third personage was in the garb of the " world's 
 people ;" rather small, rather oldish, but remarkably 
 genteel; an " old beau" you would probably call him. 
 And so he was. His well-powdered head and well- 
 tied queue, his satin breeches and black-silk stockings, 
 and golden knee-buckles and silver shoe-buckles, and 
 three-cornered hat, were all exactly comme il faut in 
 the dandydom of those days ; and at present, if worn, 
 would designate a " gentleman of the old school," a 
 little older than any existing specimens. 
 
 The trio were walking side by side ; the elder 
 Quaker next the wall, and the younger outside, with 
 the old beau between them. In reply to some remark 
 of the other, the old Quaker was saying, " I tell thee, 
 George Selwyn, it matters not when his Majesty's 
 troops march in ; to-day, to-morrow, or next day ; the 
 rebellion is entirely suppressed." 
 
 "Is it certain? Altogether certain?" interposed 
 the old beau, who had been a Whig until the battle 
 of the Brandywine convinced him of the superior 
 merits of the Royal cause. 
 
 " I tell thee, yes. The rebel army is entirely dis 
 persed. George AVashington himself has fled over
 
 36 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 the Blue Mountains, and will never be heard of again, 
 unless he is taken. But I hope Government will deal 
 mercifully with him and the other misguided men 
 who have disturbed the peace of the Colonies. Gov 
 ernment was severe when the rebellion of '45 was 
 suppressed, but I hope there will be a more Christian 
 spirit now." 
 
 " I am afraid those will have to suffer who have 
 been so rash as to take up arms against his Majesty 
 God bless him!" said the old beau, taking off his 
 hat reverently. 
 
 " And those who gave the rebels aid and comfort, 
 who were Whigs at heart eh, neighbor Selwyn ?" 
 interposed the Quaker, stopping short and looking at 
 the other with a smile. 
 
 "Ton honor, Mr. Hazlewood," replied the other 
 hurriedly, "I am free from the taint of rebellion." 
 
 " Thou !" said the Quaker, in a tone which implied 
 a thousand contradictions. 
 
 "Do you doubt my word!" exclaimed the other, 
 angrily ; " a gentleman's word !" 
 
 " I suppose, George, thee will challenge me, if I 
 doubt thy word," replied the Quaker, laughing ; " but 
 thee certainly was a Whig once. We Tories thought 
 it strange that thou, a man of fortune, of high English 
 family noble family, in fact should join in with 
 these low fellows to oppose Government." 
 
 "I never did oppose Government," exclaimed the 
 other. " I defy any man to prove I ever did." 
 
 " Well, George, we'll not quarrel about it," replied 
 the Quaker ; " but, any how, thee was very thick with 
 Charles Thomson, and other noted rebels." 
 
 " I defy any man to prove I was a Whig," resumed
 
 CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 37 
 
 the other. "True enough, I did think Government 
 had no right to tax the Colonies without their being 
 represented, and I may have said so ; but I never ap 
 proved of arming against his Majesty God bless 
 him !" and he took of his hat again like a true old 
 Cavalier. 
 
 " And the right to tax the Colonies, what does thee 
 think of it now ?" said the Quaker, when the other 
 paused while taking off his hat. 
 
 " I think," replied the beau, " I think much can 
 be said on both sides of that question." 
 
 " But what does thee think of it, father ?" here in 
 terposed the younger Quaker, who had been hitherto 
 silent, though evidently manifesting ^interest in the 
 conversation. 
 
 "I think," replied the old Quaker, more sharply 
 than the occasion seemed to demand, " there are some 
 questions which need not be answered, and miglic as 
 well not be asked." The young man was taken aback 
 by this answer, and seemed for a moment embarrassed, 
 but rallied; and, as if resolved, since he had begun, 
 to continue the exercise of his tongue, he spoke to the 
 old beau. "George Selwyn, thee is actually not a 
 Whig?" Before an answer could be given, the old 
 Quaker interposed, 
 
 " Thee'd better not question neighbor Selwyn ; he's 
 been but recently converted by the Brandy wine, like 
 many others." 
 
 "Base cowards!" exclaimed the young Quaker, " to 
 desert a good cause because it is unfortunate." 
 
 "A good cause, my son? What does the:; 
 mean ?" 
 
 " I mean," replied the young man firmly, looking
 
 38 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 at his father, " that I think the cause of the Colonies 
 just." 
 
 " Tut, son, thee knows nothing about the contro 
 versy ; thee has been out of the country until two 
 weeks ago. Wait till thee knows before thee speaks." 
 
 " But, father, if I think the home Government has 
 no right to tax the Colonies, is it wrong to say 
 so?" 
 
 " My son, we are told to be wise as serpents and 
 harmless as doves. We Friends render to Caesar the 
 things which are Caesar's, and we stand by the es 
 tablished Government for conscience' sake. Thy ques 
 tion is an abstraction, which it is not profitable to 
 consider. Furthermore, my son, it is not now the 
 time to avow such sentiments as thine." 
 
 " I will be discreet, father. But does thee feel per 
 fectly certain that the rebellion is entirely repressed ?" 
 said the young man, with an expression on his coun 
 tenance which would have puzzled anybody not ac 
 quainted with his history. 
 
 At this instant the old beau exclaimed, " My Kate ! 
 Miss Hazlewood !" and skipped forward to meet two 
 young ladies who were approaching in the opposite 
 direction. It was only his own daughter, and one of 
 her friends, the daughter of our old Quaker. But the 
 beau was in his element; bowing as nobody bows 
 now-a-dayJs'/Ms'hat in hand for not to uncover to a 
 lady would have utterly shocked the preux chevalier 
 of a "lifetime a'gb" and complimenting, and "making 
 the amiable,- ;;|; <' 
 
 Those young ladies are figures in our reminiscences, 
 and we must give you an idea of their appearance. 
 Can we describe a lady ? Doubtful.
 
 CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 39 
 
 Ellen Hazlewood was a type of Quaker beauty, 
 some would say of female loveliness. Rather taller 
 than the middle height, regular features, clear, red, 
 and white complexion, a figure full, but gracefully 
 moulded voluptuously, we would say, were it not 
 that the contour was chastened by the perfect inno 
 cence of her face. Her whole expression so pure, so 
 unconscious even of its own loveliness, that you would 
 say it had never been soiled by an evil thought. Her 
 costume was the ordinary Quaker garb of the present 
 day, as it was of the times we are describing, as it has 
 been of the sect since its origin, when it was the dress 
 of the Anglo-Saxon middle-classes, as the " thee" and 
 " thou" was their general style of address ; but she 
 wore the Quaker garb without being disfigured by it, 
 which we hold for a true test of female beauty. 
 
 The other lady, Catherine Selwyn, was almost a 
 perfect contrast. Much smaller, a dark complexion, 
 irregular and not handsome features, eyes, eyebrows, 
 and hair of the darkest hue, hands and feet extra 
 ordinarily small ; a figure, however, exquisitely 
 moulded. At first acquaintance you would call her 
 ugly ; but when her face and eyes were lighted up 
 from within, you would find that she was nearly the 
 most beautiful and quite the most fascinating woman 
 you had ever seen; the woman to inspire a grand 
 passion of the pure Eros : the woman to lose a world 
 for. 
 
 While her father was bowing and speaking, Cathe 
 rine Selwyn's face kindled up, and the expression 
 changed several times, as if mirroring a rapid succes 
 sion of bright thoughts. 
 
 " I declare, pa," she said, as soon as an opportunity
 
 40 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 was given her, "your bow is perfect ; the best about 
 town. I wish you would teach it to some of the rising 
 generation Mr. Charles Hazlewood, for instance." 
 
 " Kate ! why, Kate !" interrupted her father. 
 
 " Indeed, pa," resumed she, " I am pert ; I know it ; 
 but I cannot help it. When funny thoughts come, I 
 must let them out. But do, pa, consider the scene. 
 There you stood, making the best bow in the world ; 
 your hat gracefully waved off your head, and grace 
 fully returned. There stood Mr. Hazlewood ; he did 
 not bow, nor take off his hat, but he nodded gracefully, 
 and he stood like a graceful man. But Mr. Charles 
 Hazlewood ! Excuse me, pa, if I do not say how he 
 looked." 
 
 It was a fact. The young Quaker, Charles Hazle 
 wood, did look, just then, amazingly unlike a graceful 
 man. When he first saw the ladies he started ; then 
 looked around as if seeking a hiding-place ; then stood 
 like an awkward school-boy, blushing and changing 
 countenance. But Catherine Selwyn, if she knew the 
 cause, as, wicked baggage ! she probably did, ought 
 to have been the last person to ridicule his awkward 
 confusion. 
 
 The old Quaker probably suspected the cause ; for 
 your old Quakers are not blind in such matters, and 
 interposed by inquiring what Catherine and Ellen 
 were doing in the street. 
 
 " On very serious business, I assure you, Mr. Hazle 
 wood," she answered. " We are going to a tea-party, 
 or some other merry-making, at Mr. Pennington's. 
 We ladies go at four ; and you gentlemen will come 
 at six, I suppose. We'll see you there, of course, 
 Mr. Hazlewood. The officers were to have been there
 
 CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 41 
 
 but have not arrived, and so the jubilee in their honor 
 must go on without them. I hope nobody will kill 
 the fatted-calf for them again." 
 
 " Hush, Kate !" said her father, looking timidly 
 around. 
 
 " Why, pa ?" 
 
 " You'll get yourself into trouble." 
 
 "Not by talk, pa. The tongue is a woman's 
 weapon ; and I cannot believe even the British officers 
 would be so ungenerous as to trouble me for using it 
 frankly. 1 shall try them, any how. If I hear them 
 talking of hanging "Washington, I will laugh at them 
 for braggarts." 
 
 " Fortunately, Kate, none will be there to-night but 
 Major Robinson." 
 
 " Walter Robinson !" exclaimed old Mr. Hazlewood, 
 interrupting him. " When did he arrive ? Where is 
 he?" 
 
 At the name of Walter Robinson the young Quaker 
 girl turned pale, followed by a flush of the deepest 
 hue, and for a moment seemed sinking down. There 
 was evidently a secret there.
 
 /* 
 
 =' 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 
 
 A WORD, now, of the officer who had alighted at 
 the Coffee-house. 
 
 Major Robinson was in command of a partizan 
 corps called the " Colonial Rangers," raised from the 
 Tory population of the Colonies, though on the regular 
 pay-rolls of the Royal army. From the unwillingness, 
 perhaps, of the better class of Tories to serve against 
 their own countrymen, troops of this kind were gene 
 rally mauvaiscs si/jets ; quite as ready to plunder and 
 burn and rob, as to fight ; and Major Robinson's com 
 mand was no exception. A very little more would 
 have made them regular banditti. Their commandant, 
 however, was an officer bearing the king's commission ; 
 and being of a very gentlemanly address, even stood 
 high in the service. "What his real character was will 
 appear hereafter. Against his appearance certainly 
 not a word could be said. 
 
 The host of the Coffee-house ushered him into a 
 private apartment, with that peculiar attention which 
 "mine host" pays only to one who is "every inch a 
 gentleman" in his appreciation. Major Robinson or 
 dered refreshments ; a bottle of Madeira at once ; 
 dinner as soon as possibly it could be ready, and the 
 best in the house. He then disencumbered himself of 
 his equipments ; his heavy silk scarf; his sword, with 
 (42)
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 43 
 
 its belt and scabbard ; a pair of pocket-pistols ; and 
 his massive silver spurs. Before he parted with the 
 sword, he glanced over the scabbard of black morocco, 
 half covered with silver mountings ; drew the blade, a 
 light cut-and-thrust too light for service, unless in 
 the hands of one who trusted more to skill than to 
 strength then laid the weapon down on a small 
 table, with the hilt carefully clear of the belt. The 
 pistols also were carefully scrutinized ; the primings 
 examined ; the bullets felt with the ramrod ; and then 
 they were carefully laid down beside the sword. The 
 scarf was thrown carefully though with great appa 
 rent carelessness over the whole, so as to hide the 
 weapons almost, but not entirely. The whole manner 
 showed that Walter Robinson was a man accustomed 
 to keep himself and his weapons ready for whatever 
 might happen. 
 
 Being disencumbered, the officer walked up and down 
 the room several times, pausing occasionally before a 
 small circular mirror to take a glance at himself. That 
 mirror had often reflected a worse figure and face. 
 Major Robinson would have passed anywhere for a 
 handsome man. Not half an inch under six feet ; 
 a face of Nature's finest fashioning, though almost 
 feminine in some of its lines; a person elegantly 
 formed, with grace in every limb and muscle ; broad 
 shoulders, relieved by a waist narrower than usual in 
 strong men. Add, what contributes not a little to a 
 man's personal appearance, that he had all the accom 
 plishments of the day, and " the habit of society," then 
 rare in the Colonies. He danced well, rode well, fenced 
 well, talked well ; and could flirt " like an angel," as we 
 once heard an old Frenchwoman say. He could turn
 
 44 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 over music ; could cut-out patchwork, or wind silk, or 
 thread a needle, or talk soft nonsense, or sing snatches 
 of tunes, or repeat ends of verses, or imitate musical 
 instruments, or look lackadaisical ; in fine, he was 
 the very pink of agreeable men. 
 
 Just now, however, his thoughts were not exactly 
 on carpet-knight accomplishments. After walking a 
 few minutes he began to show considerable impatience, 
 relieved at last by a small oath, which we shall nol 
 repeat. 
 
 " The fellow ought to be here ought to have beer 
 here as soon as I. Where can he be loitering ? Bu1 
 ha, that must be he !" While he was speaking thug 
 to himself a light knock at the door was given and 
 repeated, and immediately a person entered. 
 
 " Ha ! Captain Preston ! Come at last but late ?' 
 
 " Could not be helped, major ; had to take a round 
 to avoid observation." 
 
 " Where are the men ?" 
 
 "The place I cannot exactly describe, but I can 
 have them here in half an hour." 
 
 " I do not want them till after dark : be sure they 
 are in readiness then." 
 
 " Are we not always ready ?" 
 
 " I do not dispute it." 
 
 "But what is in the wind now? What special 
 duty for us to-night ? To forage among the rich Qua 
 kers ? I have marked several houses where I think 
 something can be got." 
 
 " Public duty to-night, Captain Preston." 
 
 "But, major but you've not asked me yet to 
 taste your Madeira," said the captain.
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 45 
 
 " Help yourself, of course ; then sit down until I 
 explain what I want done." 
 
 " Your good health, major," said the captain, pouring 
 out a glass of the wine, and taking a seat at the table, 
 near the bottle and wine-glasses. Major Robinson sat 
 down on the other side, and poured out a glass for 
 himself ; but took a gentle sip, with a genteel smack 
 of the lips, instead of the single gulph of his ruder 
 companion. 
 
 " I have information," resumed the major, "of several 
 noted rebels still in the town, and I know where they 
 will lodge to-night. I mean to ijab them." 
 
 Captain Preston gave a kind of smothered whistle, 
 and quietly said : " Will it pay, major ?" 
 
 " It is my duty, as a Eoyal officer, to arrest them." 
 
 " But will it pay ?" repeated the captain. 
 
 "I receive my pay in his Majesty's service, and that 
 is enough pay for me." 
 
 u Major, are you funning me ? You look serious. 
 Are you going to try the game of propriety once 
 more ? I'll not stand it ; I tell you, I'll not." 
 
 " What do you mean, Captain Preston ?" said Major 
 Eobinson, apparently excited. 
 
 " You know what I mean. I mean exactly this. I 
 do not care a fig for the Royal cause ; nor do you. We 
 serve the king, because it is a very good cloak for the 
 profitable business we carry on sttb rosa. In public, 
 put on what appearances you please ; but among our 
 selves, put on your own looks. You do not care for 
 the king's cause, or you would not allow us to plunder 
 the king's friends." 
 
 " Captain Preston, tell me when I ever countenanced 
 any plundering of the king's friends V"
 
 46 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 " Major, you receive regularly one-fourth the plun 
 der we get, the rest being divided among us ; and 
 you know perfectly it must be squeezed out of friend 
 and foe." 
 
 " You certainly do not tell me that what I have 
 been receiving from the corps as spoils of legitimate 
 warfare is plunder ; plunder, too, of the king's friends ! 
 Certainly you do not suppose that I could have been 
 aware of the fact ? Eemember, captain, I am a gen 
 tleman by birth, and an officer ; how can you suppose 
 I could countenance what would be no better than 
 robbery I" 
 
 " This is carrying the joke too far, major," exclaimed 
 Captain Preston, rising angrily from his chair. 
 
 " Sit down again, my friend, and hear a word of 
 reason. Do you remember the first time we ever met ? 
 I do. Soon after I took command of the Colonial 
 Eangers, in New York, we were involved in a skir 
 mish with a superior force of rebels. I was cut off 
 from the corps, and with my back to a tree was mak 
 ing the best fight I could against numbers. Do you 
 remember?" 
 
 "Yes; and how astonished I was to see our new 
 commandant so effeminate-looking turn out a gal 
 lant soldier." 
 
 "In my utmost strait I saw a tall man making 
 way through the enemy, wielding a musket grasped 
 at the muzzle, and striking down a rebel at every 
 blow. That man was Jack Preston. You saved my 
 life, Jack Preston; we cannot quarrel." The major 
 sprang up and grasped Captain Preston's hand. 
 
 " We cannot quarrel," said the captain, with more 
 emotion than you would have suspected, if you knew
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 47 
 
 his character. " You found me in the ranks ; you 
 made me a sergeant ; got me my commission as lieu 
 tenant, and as captain." 
 
 "Now listen to me," said Major Robinson, when 
 they had resumed their seats, and filled up the 
 glasses. 
 
 " Perhaps, Jack Preston, I am as bad as you are ; 
 as the corps generally ; but I try to persuade myself 
 otherwise. I have prejudices of birth and of associ 
 ating with gentlemen, which you have not. Do let 
 me try to deceive myself if I can. You feel free, as 
 the Quakers say, to do things which I can not call 
 exactly right. Take your own course; I have not 
 hindered you, and I shall not. But indulge me in 
 this. Do not tell me that any of the spoils you give 
 me is plunder of the king's friends." 
 
 " Well," said Captain Preston, with a laugh, " we 
 never plunder anybody but rebels, 'pon honor, major ! 
 And we plunder them because it is oar duty to weaken 
 his Majesty's enemies. Is that the right footing for 
 the corps to be placed on?" 
 
 " That will do," replied Major Eobinson. 
 
 " Now, major," resumed Captain Preston, " you will 
 tell me how the corps I do not speak of the com 
 mander but how the corps is to gain any thing by 
 nabbing rebels '/" 
 
 "Besides several members of Congress, there is 
 Allan M'Lean, and the fighting-parson, Dr. Jones : a 
 heavy reward is on their heads." 
 
 " If we can nab Captain M'Lean, that will be some 
 thing worth while." 
 
 " But, Preston, do not you see that catching any of
 
 48 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 these rebels will raise the credit of the corps, and 
 cover a multitude of sins." 
 
 " I see ; I see ; but are you sure of them ?" 
 
 " I have their holes all marked, as we fox-hunters 
 used to say. As soon as it is dark, you can post the 
 men so as to catch every one of them." 
 
 "I hope you will not detain us long on the ser 
 vice." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " We are tired, and wish to go to sleep to sleep, of 
 course. What else should our moral, orderly corps be 
 doing ? You do not suspect us certainly of intending 
 to use the present opportunity, when there is no police 
 and no patrols, to visit some of the well-filled Quaker 
 strong-boxes ; you do not suspect us, do you, major?" 
 
 The host of the Coffee-house now entered, followed 
 by a servant to lay a table for dinner. Captain Pres 
 ton accepted an invitation to remain, and the dinner 
 was duly served. Those were days when gentlemen 
 all gentlemen sat over their wine ; and the two 
 officers of the Hangers were certainly not averse to 
 the fashion. 
 
 " The ladies !" said Captain Preston, filling up his 
 glass after the cloth was removed, or rather running it 
 over ; that worthy, though not already drunk, being 
 somewhat in the vinous state. " The ladies ! Major 
 Kobinson ; the ladies, with all the honors !" 
 
 " The ladies ! the lady ! rather, I should say," re 
 sponded Major Robinson, who had sipped several 
 glasses in a gentlemanly way, and felt good-natured 
 and friendly. 
 
 " The lady ! Ha, major the lady ! Narrowed down 
 to one, I see?"
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 49 
 
 u Yes, captain, narrowed down to one one luscious 
 morsel, Jack Preston !" 
 
 " Who is it, major ?" 
 
 " None of my old affairs, Jack ; one I want to 
 marry." 
 
 " Pfu y marry ! You marry, major 1" 
 
 "She's rich, and her fortune will set me on my 
 feet." 
 
 " Money, not love, major ? All right. A man a 
 wise man may marry to get money ; but only a boy 
 and a foolish boy, too marries for love." 
 
 " Yes ; but I do love her! Oh, Jack Preston " 
 
 We cannot bring ourself to write down the sensuous 
 rhapsody which Major Eobinson a true worshiper 
 of the Anti-Eros poured into the ears of his even 
 more sensuous comrade. 
 
 " Besides, she's rich." 
 
 " Worth how much, major ?" interrupted Captain 
 Preston. 
 
 " Her father, old Caleb Hazlewood, a kind of left- 
 hand uncle of mine, has some hundred thousand 
 pounds ; and there is but one child, a son, besides 
 her." 
 
 "A brother to share the fortune. Is he man or 
 boy?" 
 
 " A man by this time, I suppose ; but I've never 
 seen him. Six years or more ago he went away, be 
 fore I came to the Colonies; and until lately has 
 been absent." 
 
 "You have never seen him, major; and, cousin 
 though he is, you of course care nothing about him ; 
 in fine, would just as lief he'd staid away altogether. 
 Not so ?" 
 3
 
 50 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 "Major, you must have the whole of that for 
 tune." 
 
 " How will I get it ?" 
 
 "I'll sell you his half for five thousand pounds." 
 
 " You ! How will you do that ?" 
 
 " No matter. Is it worth five thousand pound ?" 
 
 " What do you mean, Jack ?" 
 
 " Yes or no. Is it worth five thousand pounds ?" 
 
 " If I am to answer : yes." 
 
 " It is a bargain, major. You are to give me five 
 thousand pounds for the other half of your uncle's 
 fortune. Let me fill up our glasses on the bargain." 
 
 While the captain was proceeding to carry this 
 proposition into effect, after a light tap at the door of 
 the apartment, the host of the Coffee-house entered, 
 followed by our young Quaker, whom he introduced." 
 
 " Charles Hazlewood ! Major Walter Eobinson !" 
 
 " My cousin Charles !" exclaimed Walter Eobinson, 
 springing up with the utmost warmth, and extending 
 his hand. The young Quaker stood an instant irreso 
 lute, then coldly suffered bis hand to be taken ; but 
 his face was partly turned away, and his whole manner 
 impersonated aversion. 
 
 " My father has sent to invite thee, Walter Robin 
 son, to take up thy lodgings at his house. He says 
 his sister's son will always find an apartment ready 
 under his roof." 
 
 " He might have sent a more pleasant messenger," 
 muttered Captain Preston to himself. 
 
 "What does thee say?" said Charles Hazlewood, 
 who partly overheard the remark, low as it was
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 51 
 
 spoken, and turned round to the captain ; dropping, at 
 the same time, the hand of his cousin. 
 
 The captain was a little confused, for he had not 
 meant to be overheard, but rallied immediately ; and, 
 rising from his chair, answered : 
 
 " I will repeat the remark, since you wish it. Your 
 father might have sent a more pleasant messenger. 
 Are you satisfied now ?" 
 
 " I am satisfied that thou art a rude and unmannerly 
 person ; but my business is not with thee," answered 
 the Quaker, turning again to his cousin. 
 
 " But my business is with you, now ! How dare 
 you call a gentleman rude and unmannerly?" As 
 the captain spoke, which he did in an excited tone, he 
 laid his hand on the arm of the young Quaker, as if 
 to turn him round face to face. 
 
 " And how durst thou touch my person ? It is 
 assault and battery," said the Quaker, jerking his arm 
 quickly from under the hand of the other, and turning 
 full front toward him. The men stood looking into 
 each other's faces. Captain Preston was a much 
 taller man, and stoutly built ; but the Quakers are a 
 fearless race ; and Charles Hazlewood's eye met the 
 other's with a calmness which could not be mistaken. 
 The gaze of a minute or less satisfied the officer ; and 
 in a much lower tone he spoke : 
 
 " Mr. Hazlewood, you forget that we officers ar 
 obliged to resent such terms as you applied t< 
 me." 
 
 " And that we Quakers are not responsible person 
 in a military sense," interposed Charles Hazlewoou 
 " That's true. I was wrong. We Quakers shoul
 
 62 THE QUAKER SOLDIEK. 
 
 not apply terms which the usages of society oblige 
 officers to resent. I beg thy pardon." 
 
 " I am glad to hear your apology. I should have 
 been sorry to crop the ears of a respectable young 
 man nearly related to my commanding-officer," said 
 the captain, encouraged by the Quaker's apology. 
 
 "I tell thee, neighbor," said Charles Hazlewood, 
 nettled by this last remark, " it is thy turn now. Thou 
 owest me an apology for interfering in the way thou 
 did with me in the first instance." 
 
 " You expect an apology from me ? What, if I 
 don't make it ?" 
 
 " I shall think thee not a gentleman . a gentleman 
 always makes an apology when it is due." 
 
 " Do you say I am not a gentleman ?'' exclaimed 
 the captain. 
 
 " If thou refuse me an apology, I might say it." 
 
 " I do refuse. I will not make an apology." 
 
 " Then I say : thou art not a gentleman." 
 
 The captain turned hastily to a table where his 
 sword was lying ; drew it from the scabbard, and 
 strode back toward the Quaker, exclaiming : 
 
 " I must punish the insult : I will crop his ears. 
 Do not interfere, major !" 
 
 The Quaker, apparently not at all alarmed by the 
 rage of the officer, stood composedly watching his 
 movements ; adding, however, as sauce to what he had 
 said before : 
 
 " Now must I call thee coward also ; thou hast 
 drawn on an unarmed man." 
 
 Captain Preston approached with a grand flourish 
 of his weapon, as if he meant to frighten rather than 
 to hurt, and possibly such was his real purpose ; but
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 53 
 
 his downward cut seemed directed at the ear or the 
 head. The Quaker sprung lightly back ; dashed his 
 broad beaver over the point of the sword ; and at the 
 instant, while the weapon was entangled in the hat, 
 dealt a heavy left-hander on the pit of his opponent's 
 stomach. The officer fell heavily on the floor.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 
 
 DURING the colloquy between the Quaker and the 
 tall Captain, Walter Eobinson had been weighing the 
 invitation to his uncle's house. It was an important 
 matter, and must be settled at once. During his former 
 residence there, he had gained the good opinion of 
 everybody. By dint of the utmost self-restraint, by 
 concealing the greater part of himself, he had showed 
 a character not altogether out of place in a pious, well- 
 ordered household. His deficiencies were salved over 
 in the view of his uncle by his punctual attendance at 
 meeting on "first days," and his decorous behavior 
 there. At the worst, the good paterfamilias thought 
 of him as gay and worldly, but right at bottom ; and 
 likely to settle down some time into a staid business 
 man. This was the character Walter Eobinson was 
 aiming at; and insinuating, plausible, adroit at deception, 
 he acquired it fully. The real facts: his having spent 
 his ample fortune in England, to which he had been 
 taken young by his father a royal officer married in 
 the colonies to a beautiful Quaker girl his after pro 
 fligacy, his life as gambler, pimp, bully for women of 
 the town, his having fled the mother-country under sus 
 picion of murder, all were entirely unknown. As was 
 also the fact, that his present commission in the army 
 was the reward of disreputable services, formerly ren- 
 (54)
 
 JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 55 
 
 dered to an influential owner of half-a-dozen English 
 members of Parliament. In their ignorance of what 
 he had been, "Walter Eobinson not only passed muster 
 among his colonial relatives, but was looked on with 
 sympathy and interest; having come to Philadelphia, 
 he said, as a penitent, disgusted with the vices and follies 
 of London, and sorry for his own share in them. 
 
 Most especially did he gain the sympathy of his 
 beautiful cousin, with whom he held long talks on his 
 misfortune in kaving been exposed so young to the 
 temptations of the world, and having been carried 
 away by them on the superior pleasure he felt in his 
 present virtuous life on his hope to become some day 
 as good a man as her revered father. Add, that he was 
 two years in the house with her ; paid her those little 
 attentions, which she was unused to from others, be 
 cause the young men of her society were not accus 
 tomed to render them to any; read books with her, 
 walked with her, rode with her; shared in her sym 
 pathies, or affected to share. Add, that her young 
 heart was free, and the result may be imagined. That 
 pure girl loved Walter Kobinson not the real Walter 
 Eobinson, the debauched profligate; but the interest 
 ing phantom of virtuous penitence he had adroitly 
 substituted. On his part there was love also, so to be 
 called we suppose ; that kind of love which the satyrs 
 felt for the maidens of early Greece. Walter Eobinson 
 and his cousin were not exactly engaged lovers, but 
 there was a tacit understanding ; and her parents had 
 held many anxious family councils on the subject, 
 with the ultimate decision that, at the proper time, if 
 Walter should become a steady business man, no 
 obstacle would be opposed to the course of events. Of
 
 66 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 all this, however, Charles Hazlewood through his 
 absence was ignorant. 
 
 Such had been Walter Eobinson's position when he 
 left his uncle's roof to enter the Koyal service. Should 
 he accept the invitation, and return to reside there 
 again? He was strongly tempted; and yet, would he 
 not lose would he not run great risk of showing more 
 than he wished? The visits of his comrades, of the 
 officers of his corps some accident, might develop too 
 much of his real character. That invitation was tempt 
 ing, but it must be declined. So he at length resolved 
 after deliberating, unusually long for him, during the 
 scene between his cousin and Captain Preston. He 
 was roused by the violent demonstrations of the captain, 
 and proceeded, rather deliberately, a friend of Charles 
 Hazlewood would have thought, to get his sword, 
 with the view of striking up the drawn weapon, exclaim 
 ing at the same time : 
 
 " Hold, Jack Preston ! Hold ! don't strike !" 
 
 However, before he was near enough to interpose, 
 the blow was aimed and foiled in the manner we have 
 related. 
 
 When Captain Preston fell under the powerful blow 
 of the man of peace, the latter stood an instant, still 
 looking the fierce determination with which he had 
 acted; then his visage relaxed, and turning to the other 
 officer he very composedly spoke. 
 
 " Thou art my witness, Walter Eobinson, that I struck 
 in self-defense, if the matter come before meeting?" 
 
 Walter Eobinson stood perfectly amazed; looking 
 from the apparently lifeless body to the rigid figure of 
 his cousin, almost equally quiet and calm after such 
 .astonishing energy looking from one to the other for
 
 JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 57 
 
 some minutes, before he found presence of mind to 
 speak. 
 
 "Is lie killed?" 
 
 "A man defending his life, does not measure the exact 
 force of his blow. He may possibly be killed. Any 
 how, his blood is on his own head." 
 
 "And you, cousin Charles, where did you learn to 
 strike such a blow?" 
 
 "We Friends are not strikers; but sometimes the 
 flesh gets the better, and we hold people very hard: 
 even strike occasionally." 
 
 " Cousin Charles, the flesh never taught you that kind 
 of blow; there was regular science; a scientific hit of the 
 hardest kind. I know it too well to be mistaken." 
 
 " We'll not discuss that point, Walter Robinson. I 
 will leave thee with thy friend, to recover him. Let 
 me examine." As he spoke he felt the wrist of the 
 captain: "Not dead; a feeble pulse tho'. Unloose his 
 neckcloth and garments, and let him lie quiet. But 
 the invitation: does thee accept my father's invitation?" 
 
 "Give my uncle my best regards and tell him, if you 
 please, that I feel much obliged to him ; but my mili 
 tary duties are such, it will disturb his house too much 
 for me to make it my quarters." 
 
 "I thank thee, Walter Robinson, for thy answer," 
 said the young Quaker, his face showing pleasure for 
 the first time during the interview. "Thou hast 
 answered well ; thou are not a fit inmate of our quiet 
 house." 
 
 "What do you mean, sir?" exclaimed the officer, 
 his face flushed with anger. 
 
 "I mean," said the Quaker, and paused an instant, 
 long enough to see the folly of expressing an opinion
 
 58 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 on his cousin's general character, " I mean, that a sol 
 dier is not a fit inmate of a Quaker family." 
 
 " Ha ! that's it ! That's nothing personal, any how." 
 
 "I will take thy answer to my father," said the 
 Quaker, and without any words of leave-taking, stiffly 
 left the room. 
 
 "What am I to do with this low beast," said, or 
 thought, Walter Robinson, touching the prostrate body 
 with his foot. "I almost wish my Quaker cousin had 
 struck a little harder, hard enough to cheat the hang 
 man out of 'a subject. Still, beast though he is, the 
 fellow is useful to do jobs which a gentleman can not 
 be concerned in. The fellow is useful ; particularly 
 useful. There's nothing he would not do, if I pay him 
 for it ; he hasn't a scruple about him. He will certainly 
 kill Charles Hazlewood if I don't interfere. Must I 
 interfere ? My cousin is no friend of mine ; I see it by 
 his whole manner; he is rather my enemy. Am I 
 bound to interfere to save the life of an enemy, from 
 the revenge of a friend who has j ust ground of resent 
 ment, who has been severely maltreated and naturally 
 wishes to revenge himself? It's perfectly clear I am 
 not bound to interfere. If Captain Preston kill the 
 man who knocked him down, it is no affair of mine. 
 I'll not meddle." 
 
 "Jack Preston," continued he, after a moment's in 
 terval, stirring the body with his foot, "are you dead, 
 or a living man?" The prostrate officer drew a deep 
 breath like a sigh, but showed no other signs of life. 
 " I wonder," resumed Walter Eobinson, speaking to 
 himself, or musing, "where my Quaker cousin learned 
 to use his hands so scientifically, and his wonderful 
 quickness of eye and body, only to be got by school-
 
 JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 59 
 
 ing and practice? He must have been staid as 
 he looks, sowing wild oats somewhat like myself. 
 It cannot be otherwise. Ten to one, but watching him 
 close, I'll find his morals about as good as my own." 
 
 "But hey, Jack! Jack Preston! get up! Do not let 
 the Quaker's blow kill you!" While speaking, he 
 shook the body roughly. 
 
 Captain Preston breathed hardly several times, and 
 opened his eyes. " What has happened, Major Kobin- 
 son?" spoke he at length, faintly. 
 
 " Don't you remember ? You got yourself knocked 
 down by my Quaker cousin by a Quaker, Jack!" 
 
 The captain raised himself feebly on his elbows, and 
 gradually was able to sit upright, and to look around 
 him in a bewildered way. All at once his recollection 
 came to him, and he broke out into a most horrible 
 volley of oaths, which we do not record; though we 
 would have the countenance of some of our clerical 
 friends, who never detail an anecdote spiced with oaths, 
 without mixing in the seasoning. It was swearing, 
 however, we assure you! such swearing as a Southern 
 blackleg on a race-course, or a Northern " ancient mari 
 ner," would envy. Volley after volley ; sometimes in the 
 same words, sometimes with variations and grace notes ; 
 volley came after volley, until the major, himself an 
 adept in the art, but having enough now even of a 
 good thing, interrupted him. 
 
 "Jack," he said with a laugh, "you've sworn the 
 hair off my head. If swearing and cursing would give 
 you your revenge on the Quaker, you'd have had satis 
 faction long ago ; but you'd better depend on something 
 else. Now, however, let me help you up. But take a 
 glass of wine, first."
 
 f)0 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 " Cogniac, if you please, major." 
 
 The medicine was administered accordingly, and tne 
 patient being wonderfully revived by the potent stimu 
 lant was soon able, with the help of the major, to sit on 
 a chair. 
 
 Captain Preston was scarcely well seated, when the 
 landlord entered, followed by a roughly clad person. 
 Major Eobinson turned round rather angrily to the 
 intruders, and inquired what was wanted. 
 
 "I was directed to be here about this time, to 
 meet Major Eobinson yourself, I suppose," said the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Mark Bartlel" said Major Eobinson; and turning 
 his eyes fully on the individual, scrutinized him care 
 fully from his face downward. 
 
 He was not a very elevated specimen of Adam's pos 
 terity. The man himself, about five feet seven high 
 and rather spare; was dressed in a walnut-dyed linsey- 
 woolsey coat, half worn and shrunk much too small 
 for him; trousers of the same linsey-woolsey, also short, 
 showing a goodly length of his blue yarn stockings, and 
 the full of his cowhide shoes; an old blue vest, held 
 together by a single button, and displaying his open 
 tow shirt, and not a little of his tawny skin ; a broad 
 beaver, of all shapes, which evidently had seen bet 
 ter days, either as the Sunday hat of its present wearer 
 or more probably in the service of some more wealthy 
 person. But the face. Major Eobinson dwelt on it 
 some time without making up his mind. It was a 
 difficult face; not handsome certainly on that point 
 there was no doubt but the trustworthiness was very 
 questionable. You have seen such an expression of 
 faces on reformed rogues, who are tolerably honest at
 
 JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 61 
 
 present, but have not lost the lines of their old habits. 
 Major Robinson shook his head doubtingly, and 
 renewed his scrutiny. 
 
 " What do you think of me ? No beauty, sure ! I 
 don't pretend to that; but I guess you'll find me a 
 rough cocoa-nut, all good inside," said Mark Bartle at 
 length, growing restless under this long-continued 
 inspection, and, while he spoke, looking up with a 
 peculiar kind of half-smile. 
 
 "You are well recommended, Mark, by good friends 
 of his Majesty, and I hardly think you can be other 
 wise than true. You know the penalty of playing us 
 false?" said Major Robinson, still fixing his eyes on 
 the linsey-woolsey worthy. 
 
 "A short rope and a ready tree, I s'pose. But why 
 do you s'pect me, major?" 
 
 "Who told you that I do suspect you?" 
 
 "It don't take a witch to see that." 
 
 "Answer me a few questions, fairly, and I shall give 
 you my word that I do not suspect you. Were you 
 born in this colony?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; in Chester county." 
 
 "What relatives have you ?" 
 
 "Brothers, and sisters, and cousins, and " 
 
 " That's enough ; are they Whigs or Tories ?" 
 
 "You'd hardly b'lieve it, sir, but rough as I look, 
 my relatives are mostly Quakers. My father was read 
 out of meetin' for for " he raised his hand to his 
 lips as if drinking, "and went down, and we are still 
 where he left us." 
 
 "Do you drink, Mark?" 
 
 "My father took enough for us all. I drink nothing 
 gtronger n'or milk or cider."
 
 62 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 "You are a colonist; why do you engage against 
 your countrymen?" 
 
 "I've hearn tell, major, that you were born in 
 the colonies too," answered Mark, looking the major 
 full in the face, for the first time since the colloquy 
 began. 
 
 "A home-cut !" interposed Captain Preston. 
 
 "True, Mark," resumed Major Eobinson, "but I am 
 in his Majesty's service altogether. I do not live among 
 the rebels as you do ; I am not in constant danger of 
 their vengeance." 
 
 "No danger at all, I guess. I start from home with 
 my marketing in my wallet no harm in that, major! 
 nobody knows whether I'm going to the Royal camp 
 or to the camp of the rebels, oddrot 'em ! Well, I git 
 into the right place and I ask for Major Robinson, or 
 for General Howe. I want, you know, to sell 'em some 
 of my butter." 
 
 "But General Howe don't buy butter, nor Major 
 Robinson either," interposed the major, laughing. 
 
 " How do we country folks know that 1" said Mark, 
 making his expression still more bumpkinish than 
 usual. "I guess I'll git to see General Howe, or Major 
 Robinson, in some way, and nobody '11 be the wiser 
 whether they buy my butter or not. And my purse 
 will jingle quite as well." 
 
 "No doubt of the latter point. Now, Mark, we may 
 come to an understanding. As the commander of a 
 partizan corps, I am expected to furnish intelligence 
 to Head-quarters. You have been recommended to me 
 as a person well qualified for my purposes. I wish to 
 engage you in my service, my service, remember, 
 not General Howe's, and I will be your paymaster. I
 
 JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 63 
 
 will give you five guineas a week, and extra for any 
 important intelligence. Here's earnest." As the major 
 spoke, lie told out five guineas. 
 
 " One, two, three, four, five, five golden guineas !" 
 exclaimed Mark, counting them carefully, one by one. 
 " I never had so many in my life !" 
 
 "Are you satisfied, Mark," resumed the major; 
 "satisfied to engage in my service?" 
 
 "Ask a cow if she's satisfied in a clover-patch ! 
 Only tell me exactly what I am to do." 
 
 " I want you to find out where the rebel army is, 
 and how much of it is left; not much, I suppose?" 
 
 "So the tories here say," said Mark with an expres 
 sion which looked like incredulity, and being observed 
 by Major Robinson, led him to ask, ' 
 
 " But what do you say." 
 
 " That's 'cording as you wish ; real fact, or fact to 
 flatter your own notions, as most persons prefer?" 
 
 " Real fact, certainly." 
 
 " Then I must tell you, major, that the rebels are 
 not near as much down as people here think. They'll 
 fight you agin some day, before you know it." 
 
 "Nonsense, Mark, I don't believe a word of it!" 
 
 "There now," said Mark, "the fact don't flatter your 
 own notions, major, and you'll not believe it ; next time 
 I'll know better what you want." 
 
 " I do not believe it, because I do not think you are 
 well informed at present. However, you will visit 
 their camp wherever it is and bring me accurate 
 intelligence. I also wish you," resumed Major Rob 
 inson, after a moment's deliberation, "to watch the 
 movements of any noted rebels who may be travers-
 
 64 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 ing parts of the country where I can pounce on 
 them." 
 
 "Also," interposed Captain Preston, who had been 
 rather patiently listening, and thought it time to 
 thrust in his oar, "also, major, don't forget the interests 
 of the corps. If the man find out any rich rebels in 
 town or country worth levying contributions on, he 
 must let us know." 
 
 "Yes, Mark; this suggestion of Captain Preston's 
 may be taken as if it came from me the captain is my 
 second in command. Now, Mark, do you remember 
 all I have mentioned ? I shall rely on your earning 
 your wages, and on your being true. If you are 
 not " Major Robinson did not finish the sentence. 
 
 " Five golden guineas !" said Mark Bartle, chinking 
 the coin in his hand; "you pay well, major; you en 
 courage one to work for you." 
 
 "It will be better still when some service is ren 
 dered. I gave ten guineas yesterday for information 
 which enables me to catch some rebels who have 
 remained in town to-night. But, Mark, I've busi 
 ness; I'll not detain you longer. Take a glass of 
 wine and go, and let me be able to give you ten guineas 
 soon." 
 
 " No wine, major, no wine, but a glass of cider if 
 you have it." 
 
 When cider had been procured and duly disposed 
 of, the linsey-woolsey colonist departed. 
 
 It was now the dusk of the evening, and Major 
 Robinson felt some anxiety about his arrangements 
 failing, through the disablement of his officer. But at 
 the first hint of this, Captain Preston got up, walked 
 about the room ; tried his breast by drawing a huge
 
 JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 65 
 
 breath and forcing it out again, took a glass of Maderia, 
 \vith a vigorous smack of the lips ; and pronounced 
 himself perfectly well. 
 
 " So be it," said his commandant, and proceeded to 
 explain in detail the measures he wished taken.
 
 It .*< 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 
 
 IT is not our purpose to describe an evening party 
 as it appeared " a lifetime ago." We leave sucli remi 
 niscences to our worthy friend, " the Annalist of Phi 
 ladelphia," or his successor, the present annalist, if 
 successor has yet arisen. On this occasion, how 
 ever, we shall ask you to follow our narrative to a 
 party the party referred to some pages back. 
 
 It was not late in the evening as lateness is counted 
 now-a-days but every body had come, and the party 
 was in the full tide of success. The company was 
 mixed ; not mixed as the word is understood in some 
 quarters ; but mixed of sober Friends and gay people 
 of the world what was then called a " gay Quaker" 
 party ; the most agreeable kind of party you could 
 have been invited to, or can yet, for it has not entirely 
 vanished. No dancing that physical substitute for 
 intellectual occupation that confession of inability to 
 "make up" a company adepts, in the " art of society," 
 able to amuse and be amused ; but flirting plenty, 
 talking plenty, and refreshments plenty. Do not 
 for a moment suppose such a party prim, or formal, 
 or silent. The most lively and gabblesome evenings 
 we have ever spent, have been at " gay" Quaker par 
 ties. True, we have often found a row of demoiselles 
 and dames ranged formally along a favorite wall, and 
 (66)
 
 A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 67 
 
 looking as prim as their well-starched cambric 'ker 
 chiefs and lead-colored silks, but not a whit infecting 
 the rest of the company. 
 
 To just such a party our narrative will conduct 
 you on the evening of September twenty-fifth, one 
 thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven. Sad- 
 colored Quakers were mixed miscellaneously with 
 fashionably-dressed people, and were talking miscel 
 laneously. Flirting, too, was going on, of course. 
 That respectable old gentleman, your grandfather, 
 whom you remember in silver knee-buckles and 
 drab shorts, and whom you followed to the corner 
 of Fourth and Arch, some twenty years ago, was mak 
 ing " sweet eyes" on your venerable grandmother, 
 whom you never saw, but have often heard of, though 
 he had not yet been introduced to her. Many a young 
 heart which fluttered as warmly then as yours ever 
 does now, has long since ceased to beat ; or, if it still 
 beats on earth, it is with the measured pulse of aged 
 worldliness. With all this, however, we have nothing 
 to do at present. Our narrative is interested only in 
 three or four persons ; and we mean to confine ourself, 
 except when we forget our intention, to their sayings 
 and doings. 
 
 Imagine yourself at a very large house; not so 
 
 large nor so magnificently furnished as Mr. 's, 
 
 but larger and more stately than most other people's 
 of the present day ; for, with all our increased pride 
 and greater wealth, we do not build as gentlemanly 
 houses as our fathers. 
 
 It was set back from the street, as all good houses 
 should be ; as we hope you will build yours, when 
 ever you can afford it, entre cour etjardin, according to
 
 68 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 the old French rule, being the true test that a man's 
 taste is as patrician as his fortune. "When you entered 
 the broad hall, and ascended the broad staircase, with 
 its massive balusters, to your dressing-room, you felt 
 that you were in a gentleman's house, even before 
 you came down into the large wainscoted parlors. 
 
 Imagine yourself, or imagine our narrative we 
 don't care which in the large parlors of that old- 
 fashioned wainscoted house ; but you need not trouble 
 yourself about the company numerous and select as 
 it was except the friends you have been already in 
 troduced to. 
 
 Major Robinson entered in full-dress uniform ; and, 
 gorgeous with scarlet and gold lace, the only military 
 man present and a very fine looking person, as we 
 have already said he was naturally a marked figure. 
 Many a snowy bosom beat flutteringly under the white 
 'kerchief as the dashing officer approached ; for the 
 fair Quaker maidens, vowed devotees of peace though 
 they are, were like the rest of the sex, nothing averse 
 to smile on the sons of Mars ; but, with a gentle bow 
 as he passed, he made his way to the mistress of the 
 evening, paid his respects to her, and immediately 
 Bought his cousin Ellen. 
 
 Beautiful and rich, Ellen Hazlewood was of course 
 surrounded by beaux, making the agreeable according 
 to the right-angled gallantry of the "plain people." 
 But she appeared absent-minded. In fact, she was ex 
 pecting Walter Robinson. She knew of his having 
 reached the town, and she felt that he ought to have 
 come immediately to her. He had not done so ; and 
 he would meet her here, in public, the first time for 
 near two years : for, since he joined the Royal army,
 
 A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 69 
 
 be had not been able to visit Philadelphia: the first 
 time, too, since he had donned the garb of war, so 
 irreconcileable with the principles of her sect. How 
 should she receive him ? As a cousin, certainly, was 
 her conclusion. Still she was anxious, and scarcely 
 answered those that addressed her. When he actually 
 entered she was watching, and saw him from the 
 first she could scarcely realize that it was her cousin- 
 lover, so different was his appearance. It was he, 
 nevertheless, as she felt when he came nearer to her. 
 Her heart beat violently ; her color came and went ; 
 and she fell to talking rapidly with a young person, 
 whom a moment before she had entirely disregarded. 
 
 Walter Robinson was a perfect specimen of a man 
 of society : self-possessed ; always at ease ; always 
 ready with a compliment or a repartee ; an adept at 
 hiding his sentiments, or feigning the exactly opposite ; 
 and graceful withal. As he approached Ellen, there 
 was nothing different in his manner, from what it 
 would have been toward any other woman. But 
 she talked the more eagerly, even turned her head 
 partly away, and did not appear to notice him, even 
 when he came directly before her and paused. 
 
 " Your Cousin Walter !" said some one to her. 
 
 " Where 1" exclaimed she, and looked everywhere 
 but in the right direction. 
 
 " Cousin Ellen 1" said Walter Robinson, holding out 
 his hand to her. 
 
 "Cousin Walter! It is long since we have seeu 
 thee," said she, in a low tone, as she turned toward 
 him and gave her hand. 
 
 There was nothing which a looker-on could have 
 construed beyond a very cold meeting of relatives.
 
 70 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 Yet Walter Eobinson was satisfied. The hand he held 
 in his gently returned his pressure, and even clung 
 fast a moment when he disengaged his clasp : the un 
 gloved hand, we might add white kids, though 
 generally worn in those days, not being so all-essen 
 tial at parties that a lady must cover her hands as 
 watchfully as a Persian demoiselle vails her face ; and 
 it happened that neither Ellen nor her cousin, at that 
 precise moment, had gloves on their right hands. 
 
 " Thee has not seen my father, Cousin Walter," said 
 Ellen, rising, after a moment's pause. " I will take 
 thee to him. He'll be glad to see thee. And my new 
 brother new to thee, I mean, for he was absent when 
 thee was here before he, too, will be glad to see 
 thee." 
 
 Walter Eobinson offered his arm ; and, laying her 
 hand lightly on it, she proceeded to her father. 
 
 " I am glad to see thee, Walter," said the old Quaker, 
 whom they found comfortably seated on a couch, the 
 predecessor, " a lifetime ago," of our modern sofa, and 
 more modern lounge. He was sitting between his 
 wife, Eebecca, and another comely Quaker dame, dis 
 cussing, very agreeably to them, we hope, some staid 
 and sober topic ; but, when his nephew approached, 
 he rose and shook him heartily by the hand. 
 
 " Always welcome, Walter," continued he ; " though 
 I'd rather see thee in any garb than this. Why thee 
 is as gay as a peacock ! What does thee think of 
 him, Eebecca ?" 
 
 " Fine feathers make fine birds," said Eebecca Hazle- 
 wood. 
 
 " Yes, but aunt," interposed Walter, " fine feathers
 
 A QUAKER PAKTY IN 1777. 71 
 
 do not make the pheasant any the worse bird. I hope 
 you will find me no worse than I used to be." 
 
 " Take a seat, Walter, with us, and tell us something 
 of thyself," resumed Caleb Hazlewood. 
 
 Ellen sat down beside her mother ; Walter Kobin- 
 son brought a chair in front of the couch, and sat 
 down. 
 
 " I cannot help looking at thee, Walter," continued 
 the old Quaker,'" thou art so much like thy father, 
 only a little taller ; and a handsomer man, I would 
 say, if it would not make thee vain. I hope thee may 
 be like him in every respect. He was truly an upright 
 man ; one who would keep a bargain to his own hurt. 
 I hope thee may be like him, Walter." 
 
 " I will try, uncle." 
 
 " Thee treadest in his steps in one respect ; thee 
 hast become a soldier." 
 
 " And I will imitate him in another. I will retire 
 from the army, as he did, as soon as the occasion 
 allows." 
 
 " Thee will, Walter, will thee ? It grieved me 
 much when thee became a soldier ; but thee followed 
 thy convictions, and I could not gainsay thee. Thee 
 put on the uniform in a good cause ; and it was right, 
 since thee feels free to bear arms." 
 
 " I thought it right, uncle, to assist in putting down 
 this rebellion, and I still think it right ; but, as soon 
 as it is over very soon it will be I shall resign, and 
 never more bear arms." 
 
 " Oh, Walter 1" interposed Eebecca Hazlewood, " I 
 hope thee is not obliged to take life, is thee ?" 
 
 " An officer, Aunt Hazlewood, is not obliged to kill 
 anybody," replied Walter, adroitly framing an answer
 
 72 THE QUAKER SOLDIEB. 
 
 which was true, and yet a lie, in order not to shock 
 her prejudices. 
 
 " I think it my duty," continued he, " to moderate 
 the horrors of war as much as possible. Still, aunt, 
 it is a terrible business ! I wish I was honorably out 
 of it. However, the rebellion must be put down by 
 somebody ; and I do not see how I can honorably re 
 fuse to do my part. You wish the rebellion put 
 down, do you not, aunt?" 
 
 " I hardly know what I want, Walter," replied Ee- 
 becca Hazlewood. "Friends are subject to Govern 
 ment for conscience' sake ; and yet it seems wrong to 
 kill our countrymen misguided though they are 
 and to burn their houses. It does seem wrong ; does 
 it not ?" 
 
 " I almost think so myself, aunt ; and yet, how can 
 it be helped ? Fortunately, it is almost over now ; the 
 rebellion is the same as repressed. I begin to feel as 
 if I were already on a quiet farm in the country." 
 
 " A pretty farmer thee will make, such a gay but 
 terfly as thee 1" interposed the old Quaker. 
 
 " Do not laugh me out of my good resolutions, 
 uncle," said Walter. "I've picked out my farm 
 next to thy country place. There is a fine old stone 
 house, in a grove of walnut trees ; a beautiful spring 
 bubbles up on one side ; a sweet brook, lined with blue 
 .lilies, runs a few yards in front ; behind is a copse of 
 wood, and the fields stretch off as far as you can see, 
 dotted with trees and groves. You know the place, 
 uncle ?" 
 
 " My Brookfield farm, certainly 
 
 "I have been there often with Ellen, and always 
 admired the place. Do you recollect Cousin Ellen ?"
 
 A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 73 
 
 The maiden blushed as she answered affirmatively. 
 
 " Well, there I mean to live, as soon as the rebellion 
 is over, if you will sell me the farm, or give me it. 
 Which will you do uncle ?" 
 
 "That depends on circumstances," answered Caleb 
 Hazlewood. 
 
 " Do you not think such a quiet, peaceful life, favor 
 able to virtue, aunt ? Do you not think I shall be 
 able to carry out some of my good intentions ?" 
 
 But enough of this colloquy for our purpose, which 
 is to convince you that Walter Robinson is certainly 
 a very excellent young man. You expect to find 
 him hereafter joining Meeting " on convincement," and 
 changing his scarlet into drab. Do you not ? A 
 very edifying incident in our narrative, when it takes 
 place, but wait. 
 
 Some half hour afterward, Walter Robinson was 
 standing by the side of Ellen Hazlewood in earnest 
 conversation. His voice was so low, that amid the 
 buzz and clatter of the party the most convenient 
 place in the world for special talk none heard it but 
 she for whom the words were meant. And she lis 
 tened; her eyes cast down, and half vailed by the 
 long silken lashes, with occasionally a quiet, timid 
 glance around. 
 
 " Now, Ellen," resumed he, after a short pause, " I 
 feel there is but one place in the world for me. It is 
 where you are, and nowhere else. To be near you 
 always always would be such perfect happiness ! I 
 would ask for nothing else nothing else on earth 
 nothing else in heaven." 
 
 " Oh ! Walter," half whispered she ; " thee is wrong 
 to speak so ; thee should not speak so irreverently."
 
 74 THE QUAKER SOLDIEB. 
 
 " I was carried away by my feelings my love for 
 you, dearest Ellen, and I forgot." 
 
 " I wish thee could feel on this point exactly as I 
 do ; then then my happiness would be as much as 
 much, perhaps, as is allowed us on this earth." 
 
 " Ellen, you are an angel, and I am only a man ; a 
 poor, weak, penitent man. But I know that I am I 
 am growing better and better every day. I have been 
 growing better ever since I have associated with you. 
 Your influence, Ellen, reformed me at first, and it will 
 make me, continually, until I shall be not like you 
 but not altogether unworthy of you. When I am 
 away from you, Ellen when I am away from you, 
 is the danger." 
 
 " Hast thee kept the pocket Bible I gave thee, Wal 
 ter?" 
 
 " Certainly I have." 
 
 " Does thee read a chapter every morning, as thee 
 promised me ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly I do." 
 
 " Does thee" as she spoke she laid her hand on his 
 arm, and looked earnestly into his face " does thee 
 pray for instruction to understand what thee reads, 
 and aid to do conformably ?" 
 
 " Certainly I do. Of course of course." 
 
 He answered without hesitation, or the slightest 
 change of countenance. 
 
 " Oh, Walter, then thee is not far from the kingdom of 
 Heaven ! Thee has knocked at the door, and assuredly 
 it will be opened to thee, for He has said it. Dear, 
 dear Walter, how happy thee makes me ! It matters 
 not now, that thee wears a scarlet coat, and follows 
 the cruel business of war. Thee is in the right way,
 
 A. QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 75 
 
 and certainly will be taught from above what is right. 
 How it will rejoice my father to learn all this, and 
 my mother." 
 
 "Does your brother Charles ever read the Bible?" 
 interrupted "Walter Kobinson. 
 
 "I asked him myself soon after he returned, and 
 he told me that was a question which ought to be left 
 to his own conscience." 
 
 " Skillfully answered. But do you know, Ellen, 
 where your brother was during his long absence?" 
 
 " Nobody does. He mixes but little with the family, 
 and hardly seems one of us." 
 
 " Tells nobody where he was, nor what he was 
 doing ! That doesn't look well ; doesn't look as if he 
 had been well employed." 
 
 " He is very kind and affectionate." 
 
 " Of course your affections toward him are not par 
 ticularly strong, having seen so little of him these 
 many years?" 
 
 "He is my brother, Walter!" said she, quickly, 
 looking up in his face. 
 
 " Your step-brother only." 
 
 " I have never known the difference. He was my 
 dear, dear brother, before he went away." 
 
 " If you were told that he spent his years of absence 
 as a gay man of the world in the dissipation of Eu 
 rope, what would you think ?" 
 
 " I would not believe it. But thee has not heard 
 it, has thee?" 
 
 " I cannot say altogether that I have. But I heard 
 of a very wild dissipated young colonist named Ha- 
 zlewood being in Paris. Whether it is my cousin or 
 not, I do not know. But why doesn't he tell where
 
 76 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 he actually was ? Is there any other family of Hazle- 
 woods in the Colonies but yours?" 
 
 " My father's cousin is in the rebel service ; but I 
 do not know of any young men of the name who 
 have been home to England, or away from Philadel 
 phia, except my brother Charles. It was not he, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " It was not he, certainly ; and yet what other 
 Hazlewood was in Europe ? Why does not he tell 
 what he was doing, if he was reputably employed ?" 
 
 " Oh, Walter, thy doubts distress me very very 
 much! How can it be possible that my brother 
 Charles could be a profligate person ? Thee cannot 
 think so, can thee ?" 
 
 " Now, Ellen, I must read you a lesson out of your 
 own book. The heart of man is deceitful above all 
 things, and desperately wicked, says the Bible ; and it 
 is so. Charles may have been carried away by the 
 allurements of Europe, in spite of his virtuous habits 
 in your father's house, and he may now be here a re 
 formed rake. I do not say it is so, Ellen ; but it may 
 be it may be, and you none the wiser." 
 
 " No, no ; Charles could not have been that, and 
 appear among us as he is." 
 
 " He may even be a rake not reformed, masking 
 himself for some purposes." 
 
 At this moment the subject of their conversation 
 approached, with Catherine Selwyn on his arm.
 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 
 
 AT an earlier period of the evening, Charles Hazle- 
 wood had been as many a good man has been alone 
 in the crowded company. At best he was not a "man 
 of society." He could not walk gracefully across a 
 carpet, nor fly to pick up a lady's handkerchief, nor 
 achieve any one of the important trifles which make a 
 man the lion of " society." Neither could he talk 
 about nothing. His conversational coin was not the 
 currency of the ball-room, where electrotyped farthings 
 pass better than guineas. "Worst of all, he felt him 
 self out of place; and that very consciousness added 
 greatly to his unfitness. It is very annoying, cer 
 tainly life has few worse minor annoyances to a man 
 of thought and action than to come as a novice amid 
 the graceful frivolities of society, and to find himself, 
 there of less mark than those he so much overtops in 
 the broader field of the world. Charles Hazlewood 
 wished himself anywhere else. 
 
 The young man, however, did the best he could. 
 He became an active looker-on. He walked about 
 among people, and he looked amused, and he listened 
 wherever he could without impropriety. One con 
 versation between his father and another old friend, 
 with occasional interpolations from others of a little 
 knot around them, interested him very much. 
 
 (77)
 
 78 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 "I fear, friend Jones," said Caleb Hazlewood, look 
 ing all over very grave, except a little twinkle in his 
 eyes, " that thee does not rejoice as thee should at the 
 success of Government in suppressing the rebellion; 
 does thee, now?" 
 
 "What does thee mean, friend Caleb," answered 
 the other, a tall, slender, sharp-featured Quaker ; " what 
 does thee mean ?" 
 
 "Thee is very slow at understanding. I mean, 
 Jonathan Jones, that thee has cause not to rejoice 
 altogether at the suppression of the rebellion: thee has 
 cause, I say.' 1 
 
 " Thee is too deep for me, Caleb ; thee is too deep 
 for me." 
 
 "Does thee forget, Jonathan, that thee will have to 
 account for certain moneys? eh! Thee had money 
 in thy hands as treasurer of the colony; what did 
 thee do with it, Jonathan ?" 
 
 " Thee knows perfectly well, that I paid it over to 
 the Congress." 
 
 " Thee did, did thee ! But does thee think Govern 
 ment will recognize that payment ; does thee think so, 
 Jonathan ?" 
 
 "Any how, I have the bond-security of Charles 
 Thomson and Robert Morris, and others ; all good for 
 the money : the bond-securities are good." 
 
 "Does thee think so? Ha! ha!" It was a quiet, almost 
 silent laugh: a kind which the Quakers enjoy heartily. 
 
 " Charles Thomson, or Robert Morris, either is good 
 for the whole." 
 
 " Was thee means, Jonathan : was, before the rebel 
 lion!" 
 
 " What does thee mean, Caleb ?"
 
 CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 79 
 
 " Why Jonathan, does thee not see, that all thy 
 bond-securities, being notorious rebels, are not worth a 
 farthing now ; their property will be confiscated of 
 course " 
 
 " Does thee think so ?" answered the colonial trea 
 surer, taken aback by a view which had never occurred 
 before. 
 
 " Such is the law. And in the rebellion of '45 bet 
 ter estates than Charles Thomson's were forfeited. 
 But thee can plead the force put upon thee." 
 
 "I will not do that, Caleb; I will lose the money 
 first. But Government will not surely be so harsh as 
 to confiscate all Charles Thomson's property ; surely 
 not. He is a very upright man, and engaged conscien 
 tiously on the side of the colonies. 
 
 " The very man that Government will be likely to 
 punish to make an example of. One such man a 
 man of his property and character misleads thou 
 sands." 
 
 " Well, Caleb, any how I can repay the money 
 and I believe it was spent in a good cause," 
 answered the ex-treasurer, slowly but resolutely. 
 
 " Hush 1" said Caleb Hazlewood, looking around to 
 see who overheard the remark ; for tho' willing to 
 have a joke, he did not wish his friend to compromise 
 himself. 
 
 Charles Hazlewood heard no more of the conver 
 sation, for at this instant a hand was laid gently on his 
 arm, and a voice spoke gently to him. He started and 
 turned round ; it was Catherine Selwyn on the arm of 
 her father. 
 
 " Mr. Hazlewood Charles, I mean you have not 
 spoken to me, this evening !"
 
 80 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 "Haven't I!" he answered, in his confusion, scarcely 
 knowing what he said. He had been trying all the 
 evening to rally courage to speak to her, but had not 
 yet succeeded. Charles Hazlewood did not know how 
 to be in love ; a very common case with people of 
 deep feelings. Be assured, fair lady, that the lover 
 who approaches you unhesitatingly compliments you 
 glibly, and is as unembarrassed with you as with other 
 women loves you "wisely," but not "too well." He 
 will marry you if you let him, and your fortune, or 
 beauty, and justify his wisdom, but six months after 
 marriage he will let you pick up your own handker 
 chief: that is, unless you too have loved " wisely," and 
 have had your fortune tied up by a strict settlement. 
 You like "attention," I am aware; and yet you may 
 set down particularly much attention in public to the 
 score of particularly little love. 
 
 We do not know exactly what Catherine Selwyn 
 thought of the young Quaker's embarrassment, but we 
 more than half believe that she suspected the real 
 cause. She answered, looking with a smile into his 
 face: "No, you have not; and I certainly have reason 
 to be offended. However, I must forgive you for old 
 acquaintance' sake. So give me your arm, and escort 
 me about the room. Good-by, pa." As she took the 
 arm of the young man, she parted from her father 
 with what we may call " a make-believe" courtesy 
 if you know what that is. 
 
 Her gloved hand rested on his arm the first time. 
 Do you recollect your sensation, my good friend, the 
 first time such an event happened in your own case. 
 If you do, I need not describe the young man's feel 
 ings ; if you do not, you would not understand me ;
 
 CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 81 
 
 and so in either case I need not say how much he was 
 thrilled through by that light touch of the small 
 gloved hand. 
 
 "Charles," she resumed as soon as they were walk 
 ing promenading we ought to say "I may call you 
 Charles may I not? It does seem natural to call you 
 as I used, when we were children together! Do you 
 remember that we were children together? I do, 
 any how. But you seem to have forgotten it; or 
 why do you not call to see us oftener? Pa says he 
 thinks you must have forgotten your old friends. 
 Have you really, Charles? But you do not answer 
 me I" She paused an instant for the first time ; but 
 he did not avail himself of the opportunity to speak, 
 and she resumed. "How we read together! How 
 many books! There was Dante and Ariosto and 
 Tasso do you remember what a rebellious scholar I 
 was? How I used to dispute your translation; yet 
 I knew all the time you were right ! only I liked to 
 teaze you! Have you forgiven rne yet, Charles?" 
 "While Catherine Selwyn rattled on thus, she occa 
 sionally was looking innocently into the face of her 
 victim, we almost said but that would be unjust 
 or ungentlemanly ; and occasionally she gave him one 
 of those glances which the French elegantly name ks 
 yeux douces, and for which the Anglo-Saxon is rather 
 too homely for our pen. We admit, however, that our 
 heroine for the heroine of our narrative, we think 
 she is entitled to be did resort to manifestations, 
 which savored somewhat of coquetry. Poor Charles 
 Hazelwood ! The old reminiscences her talk called up 
 those looks he felt through and through. It was 
 a great shame ; that is, supposing her not in earnest ; 
 5
 
 82 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 but women women of the world you do such things, 
 and always have, and always will. Catherine Selwyn's 
 excuse would have been, that she liked to flirt and 
 chose to flirt but she knew it was wrong. With 
 Major Eobinson, and such like men, there would be 
 very little harm done, if any; but toward Charles 
 Hazlewood a real lover of the deepest dye it was 
 worse than wrong. He had loved that lady from 
 childhood, with feelings strengthened by absence 
 and there is no wonder that he took " trifles light as 
 air" for " confirmations," and felt that he was loved in 
 return. So convinced was he, that he would not have 
 hesitated to "tell his love," if he could have sum 
 moned couraged. But what were the lady's real feel 
 ings? 
 
 Catherine Selwyn was not old only twenty not 
 old in years, but very old in the world. She was said 
 to have rejected more men than any other lady in the 
 colonies; so many, in fact, that her character was ever 
 so little damaged ; it being reported that she drew on 
 admirers with the sole object of obtaining declarations 
 in order to reject. One thing was certain, she had 
 had every body at her feet, and was still not engaged. 
 Many thought there was some old attachment in the 
 way. Whether it was so, and whether her early play 
 mate, Charles Hazlewood, was the object is a point 
 which we postpone until he himself asks her. 
 
 However the truth might be whether she will say 
 "Yes," when he is able to "put it on the touch, that wins 
 or looses all" he was now in the blissful realization of 
 the grand dream of his life: he thought himself 
 loved. It had been his first, his only passion. He 
 had loved her from infancy. Six years of absence
 
 CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 83 
 
 of activity, of excitement, of danger had not changed 
 him the slightest. It was one of those passions, 
 the blessing or the curse of human nature which 
 govern, for good or ill, a man's whole life. Some of 
 us fall in love as we call it; are disappointed; console 
 ourselves with a second or, a still subsequent passion ; 
 and finally marry very happily. But there are pas 
 sions which can never be repeated ; there are men who 
 can love but once. Such was the case with Charles 
 Hazlewood. No marvel then, that in the realization 
 of his love being returned as he thought he was 
 (how shall I express it?) in a trance of bliss. He did 
 not speak; and well for him; for, if he had, ten to one 
 but he would have said something very silly. 
 
 He was soon awakened, however, very rudely, as 
 he thought. Walter Eobinson came up, and in the 
 blandest manner, said : 
 
 " Your father is inquiring for you, Miss Selwyn ; 
 shall I take you to him?" 
 
 There was nothing in the matter to be quarreled 
 with ; yet the young Quaker was bitterly provoked at 
 what he felt to be an interference, whether it was 
 meant so or not, and he fixed his eyes belligerently 
 on the officer with a most unquaker-like look. The 
 young men stood an instant, face to face. As a rival, 
 that gay man of the world, splendidly dressed and 
 graceful and polished, was a formidable contrast to 
 the plain Quaker. 
 
 It would be grace against strength; the gentleman 
 against the man ; flattering tongue against true heart ; 
 ten to one on the tongue, when the arena is society 
 and the judges are ladies. Charles Hazlewood, how 
 ever, gazed steadily and sternly until the officer drop-
 
 84 THE QUAKER SOLDIEE. 
 
 ped his eyes, and turned away with Catherine Sel- 
 wyn on his arm. 
 
 " What does my father want with me ?" said she to 
 her new escort, commencing the conversation as soon 
 as they were alone. 
 
 "Your father! did I say your father? So I did! 
 Ha, ha ! All's fair in love ; I meant myself. I want to 
 promenade with you." As Walter Robinson spoke, 
 he gave her a look a look we suppose it may be 
 called of admiration. 
 
 "Mr. Robinson, none of this!" she said seriously. 
 
 " Mr. Robinson Mr. Mr. I do not know him. My 
 name is Walter ; call me Walter, and tell me what you 
 are objecting to !" 
 
 " To your manners !" 
 
 " To my manners ! They are generally thought 
 pretty good." 
 
 " To your levity, then. I want a little rational seri 
 ousness." 
 
 " Serious ! I will be serious. I will ask you a serious 
 question. Do you love me as well as I love you?" 
 
 "Provoking plague!" exclaimed she, laughing, and 
 dropping his arm " I'll not promenade with you." 
 
 " No scene, I beg, Catherine ; take my arm again ; 
 people will say I've just been rejecting you." 
 
 "Incorrigible! I suppose I must take you in your 
 own way." 
 
 " Take me any day of the year, it will be the hap 
 piest day of my life." 
 
 "What would you say, if I were to believe some of 
 your gallant speeches the last one for instance and 
 answer: I'll take you now to-day; you'd be nicely 
 caught."
 
 CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 85 
 
 " I would go down on my knees and kiss your hand, 
 and call myself the happiest man in the world." 
 
 " You cannot help it, I suppose ; but it is certainly 
 very wrong. You cannot speak to a woman without 
 making love to her. What will Ellen think of you?" 
 
 "Ellen " said he, then paused in a moment's em 
 barrassment, but with him it could be but for a mo 
 ment; "I will now speak seriously. Ellen knows that 
 I am in earnest with her and will not mind a little 
 make-believe toward others." 
 
 " Man of the world ! How little do you know of 
 the pure heart of a young girl. How unworthy you 
 are of possessing it ! How utterly unable you are to 
 appreciate it to count even the treasure which I am 
 sorry to say, is yours." 
 
 "Sorry! sorry! I thought you were at least my 
 friend," said he, somewhat piqued. 
 
 " Yes, I am sorry. No good can come of the dissi 
 pated man of the world being united to that innocent 
 girl. Ellen's happiness must be shipwrecked ; I know 
 it" 
 
 "And I know I shall make her a good husband. 
 'Reformed rakes make the best husbands,' is the old 
 saying and it's true. We have sown our wild oats 
 before marriage, and sink afterward into quiet domes 
 tic men." 
 
 "But are you reformed entirely reformed? Your 
 morals may be, but your manners are not. You flirt 
 with every body. That is what Ellen cannot under 
 stand. She is pure and true, and will be deeply 
 wounded by your making professions to others. You 
 must quit flirting altogether." 
 
 " My conscience !" (we substitute this exclamation
 
 86 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 for the real expression used, which was much stronger) 
 "you are very severe on the harmless amusements of 
 society. These things are perfectly understood and 
 deceive nobody." 
 
 " Not understood by Ellen " 
 
 Their conversation was broken up at this point by a 
 general movement as of the company retiring. " Now," 
 said she, "I'll dismiss you and find another escort 
 home; go look for Ellen." 
 
 Charles Hazlewood was standing not far off, for his 
 eyes had been on them constantly since Walter Robin 
 son had joined her. 
 
 " Charles, the company is breaking up where is my 
 father?" she said. The young Quaker hesitated. 
 This was the moment he had been all the evening 
 looking forward to the decisive moment of the even 
 ing of his life, perhaps. He had prepared a speech 
 for the occasion ; prepared it beforehand ; and repeated 
 it over so often that it could not but be ready at hand, 
 now when it was wanted. It was too short to be for 
 gotten: "Catherine, will thee allow me to take care 
 of thee home ?" but when the moment came, it had 
 slipped away. 
 
 You laugh at him, our gay young friend. You 
 have never had the slightest hesitation about offering 
 your services, at the breakiug-up of an evening, to 
 the lady you are in love with; not you. But you are 
 not our hero ; and not likely to be any body's hero 
 except your own. 
 
 Charles Hazlewood could not, for the life of him, 
 think of the neat little speech he had prepared for the 
 occasion, and after considerable confusion and hesita 
 tion, he found himself saying. "I'll find him for thee,
 
 CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 87 
 
 Catherine." On which mission he immediately went ; 
 feeling strange as you may think it very much 
 relieved. After some time spent in the search of her 
 father, he returned to report himself unsuccessful. 
 She was by this time be-shawled, and ready to go, but 
 stood waiting for an escort. The young Quaker did 
 not actually think of offering his services, but stood 
 expressing his regrets at his not finding her father, until 
 she was obliged to ask him to see her home. 
 
 Of course, you expect an account of the explana 
 tion, which he was so anxious to make, and which 
 took place on the way. But it did not take place. 
 Beforehand, he would have given a finger for the 
 opportunity; but now, he postponed and postponed 
 and postponed beginning, until he found himself 
 raising the ponderous knocker at her door. It was 
 too late for a formal declaration, now; but in order 
 not to loose the t6te-a-tete altogether, he pressed her 
 hand with his arm as she withdrew it: which he 
 thought at the time wonderfully bold. He could not, 
 however, find courage to walk in, though she invited 
 him. So ended the bashful cousin's first opportunity.
 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. 
 
 WALTER ROBINSON was a lover of a different stamp. 
 Without the slightest hesitation he offered his services 
 as the escort of Ellen Hazlewood from the evening 
 party. The conversation was such as you may 
 imagine, if you have ever escorted a young lady 
 " peculiarly related to you" from a party; and if you 
 have not, it would not interest you at all. In either 
 case we may omit it. 
 
 After he parted from Ellen, the young officer looked 
 at his watch, and uttering an exclamation which 
 sounded like a smothered oath, at the lateness of the 
 hour, quickened his pace. His arrangements for cap 
 turing the rebels had been made, but he wished to 
 ascertain whether his men were at their places, ready 
 to act when the time should arrive. He was walking 
 rapidly along, the light very imperfect, (for in 
 those days the city fathers trusted to the moon and 
 stars even more than at present,) his thoughts vibrat 
 ing between Ellen Hazlewood whom he had just left, 
 and the rebels whom he hoped to surprise in their 
 lodgings, when he jostled against some men coming in 
 the opposite direction. Exclamations not very polish 
 ed were uttered by both parties, followed by one of 
 the others saying: "An officer! I see his uniform! A 
 (88) '
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. 89 
 
 Royal officer !" while at least two pair of hands roughly 
 grasped his person. 
 
 "What does this mean! Who are you?" exclaimed 
 the Royal officer, indignantly, and attempting to shake 
 himself free. 
 
 "No you don't!" replied one of the others: "you 
 may as well consider yourself as a prisoner, and be 
 quiet." 
 
 "A prisoner?" said the officer, not a little mystified. 
 "A prisoner; how can that be? I am in Philadelphia, 
 I think, and Philadelphia is in the possession of the 
 Royal army." 
 
 "You are a prisoner, nevertheless; and the sooner 
 you make up your mind to walk peaceably with us, 
 the better: otherwise we'll have to be harsh." 
 
 "But who are you? Really rebels, here in Philadel 
 phia?" 
 
 "If it will do you any good to be satisfied on that 
 point, I can assure you we are really rebels, here in 
 Philadelphia." 
 
 "But you are liable to be taken, any minute, by his 
 Majesty's troops and hung." 
 
 "Thank you for the information; but I rather think 
 his Majesty's troops are liable to be taken by us one 
 of them any how do not you think so? Ha, ha!" 
 The laugh was echoed by the others. 
 
 "Pooh! my good fellows, you are in a trap without 
 knowing it. I've marched my corps in since night 
 fall. If I whistle, you will be surrounded in an instant. 
 But I'll make a treaty; if you do not attempt to make 
 me a prisoner, I'll let you withdraw from the city in 
 safety." 
 
 " I should be sorry to call a gentleman a liar," said
 
 90 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 one of the party who had not yet spoken, " especially 
 a prisoner ; but what you have just said is certainly 
 not the truth to put it on the mildest footing. "We 
 know that no Eoyal troops are in the city, except a 
 party of Eobinson's Tories. I hope you do not belong 
 to that infamous corps ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied "Walter Eobinson. " I am 
 a major of the guards ; look at my uniform." 
 
 It was rather dark, and the rebel little initiated 
 in the mysteries of various uniforms; so he was obliged 
 to take this reference on trust. 
 
 " But why did you tell us you had marched your 
 corps into the city? We know the regiment of 
 guards are still at Chestnut Hill." 
 
 "What a silly question! It was only a military 
 ruse." 
 
 "Perhaps your calling yourself an officer of the 
 guards, may also be what you call a military ruse." 
 
 " I never resort to a ruse without necessity ; and I 
 see no necessity for my denying being one of Eobin 
 son's corps, if I really was." 
 
 " You do not ! I see a wide difference between a 
 British officer doing his duty to his government, and 
 a Tory fighting against his own countrymen. At all 
 events, we make a difference. If you were one of 
 Eobinson's corps, I think it very likely you would 
 meet with some accident, before you reached our 
 camp." 
 
 " How so ! What do you mean ?" 
 
 "I mean, that Tory prisoners are unlucky in our 
 hands : a pistol goes off accidentally or something else 
 happens to them, and they do not get into camp. I
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. 91 
 
 do not know why it is, but Tories are unlucky in the 
 hands of M'Lane's light troops." 
 
 "M'Lane's light troops!" repeated the Royal officer, 
 while a cold chill ran through him; "you are some of 
 M'Lane's men, are you? one of the best corps in the 
 service of the Congress ! But why are you so bitter 
 against Robinson's rangers?" 
 
 "Because they are rascally marauders, who rob, 
 murder, burn, plunder and ravish and are banditti 
 rather than soldiers and particularly because they 
 took one of our men a fine young fellow as ever you 
 saw and hung him up on a high tree, about a week 
 ago." 
 
 "What! hung a prisoner, did they?" said Major 
 Robinson, affecting great indignation. "Give me tha 
 circumstances I will report to General Howe, and 
 have the persons who did it court-marshaled." 
 
 "We'll not trouble you, sir. We mean to court- 
 marshal them ourselves. Captain M'Lane has sworn 
 and when Allan M'Lane swears to a thing you may 
 consider it as already done has sworn to hang every 
 man of the corps he can catch, until he is sure of hav 
 ing punished the right ones." 
 
 " Has he hung any yet ?" 
 
 "When your troops march in to-morrow, they'll 
 know something. We've marked some of 'em, and 
 before morning, I guess you'll hear of their ornament 
 ing the trees along the route of the Royal troops to 
 morrow." 
 
 " Is it possible !" exclaimed the officer, thrown off 
 his guard by this unexpected information, but imme 
 diately recovering himself, he continued in a quiet 
 tone. "Is it possible that you would have the audacity
 
 92 THE QUAKER SOLDIEB. 
 
 to do what you say: to hang up his Majesty's loyal sub 
 jects along the streets which our victorious troops 
 will be entering! General Howe would hang every 
 man of you in retaliation. I hope you'll not try that 
 game !" 
 
 "Why not? Those Tories are planning to catch 
 M'Lane himself and others of our people this very 
 night, and threaten to hang him on the spot. "Why 
 shouldn't we turn the tables, and hang them if we 
 catch 'em ? Why shouldn't we ?" 
 
 "How do you know there is any plan to catch 
 M'Lane and hang him ?" said the Eoyal officer, per 
 fectly amazed at his arrangements being known, and 
 resolved to fish out as much as he could from the 
 rebel. 
 
 "You'll have to ask Captain M'Lane himself, as 
 soon as you get a chance which will be some time to 
 morrow, I think. At least, we shall take you to his 
 head-quarters, over the Schuylkill; where we shall ex 
 pect him to-morrow." 
 
 At this point of the colloquy, the party had reached a 
 spot called the Potter's Field. It was a large plot of pub 
 lic ground, a deposit of rubbish, and affording many 
 eligible wallowing places well known to civic unclean 
 beasts, and properly used by them : this one corner 
 was set apart and fenced off for paupers' graves. The 
 place struck Major Eobinson as offering a good oppor 
 tunity for escape; and at the sudden thought, he 
 sprung from the midst of his captors right into the 
 waste ground. 
 
 Before the rebels recovered from their surprise at 
 this sudden movement of their prisoner, he was several 
 yards away. They soon sprung after him however,
 
 MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. 93 
 
 and there was a regular run, which gave the officer an 
 idea, perhaps for the first time in his life, of the feel 
 ings of the interested party in a fox-chase. It was 
 equally a run for life. And the pursuers animated 
 the fun by hot exclamations and hasty pistol-shots. 
 The Tory officer was swift of foot, and found himself 
 distancing his pursuers. Unfortunately for him, in 
 springing over a heap of rubbish, he alighted on the 
 miry edge of a puddle and slipped and fell. To floun 
 der out took time, and before it was effected, he was 
 again a prisoner. 
 
 "lam sorry for you," said one of the captors, who 
 seemed in command "but there's no help for it: a 
 prisoner who attempts to escape is out of mercy and 
 liable to be shot. Shoot him through the head, Wil 
 liams, and make sure of his not escaping." 
 
 The man who received this order, raised his pistol, 
 and held it an instant, then dropped it to his side, 
 with the exclamation : " I cannot ; I cannot do it, sir ; I 
 cannot shoot a man in cold blood." 
 
 "Pooh! you are particularly squeamish! I must do 
 it myself, then." 
 
 Major Eobinson had not spoken a word since he 
 was recaptured. Indeed, it was some time before he 
 was able to speak, so completely was he subdued by 
 his condition; his face plastered over with filth, his 
 ears and even mouth full, his nose and chin and hair 
 dripping. Nor did he speak now, when he heard the 
 savage intimation, but suddenly throwing his arms 
 around one of the men, he began to struggle violently 
 as if he wished to throw him down, though his real 
 object was to embarrass the aim of the other man. 
 Accordingly the pistol was pointed several times and
 
 94 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 withdrawn, until it became apparent that, as the 
 parties were, it was impossible to shoot the Eoyal 
 officer without endangering the man he had hold of. 
 " Throw him loose from you ! throw him loose !" 
 
 Major Robinson felt himself thrown violently off; 
 but saw his danger and attempted again to close. 
 Before he could effect it, his eyes were dazzled by a 
 stream of fire, lighting up the darkness for an 
 instant, and he felt the sharp whirr of a bullet. But 
 he was not hit. Firing in haste and betrayed by that 
 treacherous weapon, the pistol, the man had missed. 
 "This however, at all events, is sure!" exclaimed the 
 rebel, and struck the Tory officer on the head with 
 the butt of his weapon, so hard that the wood was 
 shattered.
 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBKOKER. 
 
 THE Royal officer was not the only one of that 
 evening company who "walked o' nights." 
 
 About the time of the catastrophe just mentioned, 
 our young Quaker was also in the street, though at 
 some distance from the scene. Rather curiously occu 
 pied however; suspiciously some would have thought, 
 who were not aware of his entire respectability. He 
 was standing in front of a large mansion ; his person 
 pressed close to the trunk of a tree, as if seeking con 
 cealment, while his eyes were fixed on a light which 
 wrinkled faintly through the curtains of an upper 
 window. How long he had been standing thus, mat 
 ters not ; but you may imagine why, when we tell you 
 that it was the residence of Catherine Selwyn. 
 
 Oh the bliss of making a fool of oneself about a 
 woman ! It certainly was any thing but wise to stand 
 there by the hour gazing on that window; yet you 
 have done the same thing, we'll wager you a bet at 
 least we have, and felt ourself about the happiest man 
 in the Great Republic. Charles Hazlewood had as 
 much right as either of us. His happiness was cut 
 short, by the light behind the curtain being extin 
 guished. He then did what was, if possible, still 
 more foolish. He sprung up the door-steps, and 
 stooping, kissed, yes kissed the threshold : the most 
 
 (95)
 
 96 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 respectable word we can find to designate the lowly 
 spot where his lips were pressed. If it had been 
 Catherine herself he could not have started back in 
 greater fright at his own boldness, and springing at 
 one bound to the pavement he hastened rapidly away. 
 But in a few minutes his speed slackened, and after a 
 moment's hesitation he turned around and began to 
 retrace his steps. 
 
 "No no no! I will not go there again to-night," 
 he murmured to himself, and again halted. "My 
 friends are still at the Jew's, I presume; I'll go 
 there." 
 
 His pace was soon rapid. But either from the 
 habit of being always on his guard, or from some par 
 ticular cause, he cast a quick but scrutinizing glance 
 on every object he passed. He held in his hand, 
 too, used as a walking-cane, a rather stout hickory 
 stick; even then a wood of reputation, though not yet 
 canonized as the type of the strong but elastic Ameri 
 can as the oaken staff characterizes the more unbend 
 ing Briton. At a particular spot he observed a man 
 lurking in the shadow of a house, and instantly 
 grasped his cane at quarter length, so that a moment 
 could bring it to a guard, while his eyes were fixed 
 watchfully to detect the slightest movement. The 
 man did not move and the Quaker passed quickly 
 by. 
 
 At length he reached a spot near the river bank, 
 and paused to reconnoitre. Lamps were then even 
 more "sparse and inadequate" than at present in Phila 
 delphia, but there was one which threw a feeble light 
 on the door of a house. It was a clingy-looking edi 
 fice, a story and a half high, with a very lofty,
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 97 
 
 double-hipped roof, crowned by a huge dormer win 
 dow; the walls checker-built of glazed bricks; the 
 window shutters cross-barred with iron, and studded, 
 as the door was also, with large-headed nails. Noth 
 ing was ruinous, though old, and the whole bore the 
 air of decayed gentility. Not a gleam of light shone 
 from the inside; and it might well be supposed, from 
 the lateness of the hour, that every creature within 
 was abed. 
 
 The young Quaker gazed at the house an instant; 
 looked around him; saw no one, and then knocked at 
 the door three peculiar knocks as if some concerted 
 signal. A few minutes delay, and a step was heard 
 approaching on the inside, and a voice spoke: "Who 
 is dare?" 
 
 "A friend." 
 
 " Vat for friend ?" 
 
 "One you know." 
 
 First the sound of bars taken down, and bolts grat 
 ing in their catches ; then the upper half of the door 
 which, like many of that day, was douole opened 
 to the length of a short chain; which prevented its 
 going further. 
 
 "Now who is you?" 
 
 " Charles Hazlewood." 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 The person on the inside was in total darkness and 
 reconnoitered an instant through the chained door : 
 "oh yes in trut mine yurik friend." 
 
 More fastening was unloosed and the upper half of 
 the door opened : then another bar and divers bolts 
 were withdrawn and the under half of the door fol 
 lowed : and Charles Hazlewood entered. The door 
 6
 
 98 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 was shut after him, and the next instant, the place 
 was lighted up from a dark lantern, which was sud 
 denly opened. 
 
 The place where Charles Hazlewood found himself 
 was a kind of vestibule, or short entry; a square hole 
 closed by a slide in one side of the wall and a door at 
 the further end ; apparently the entrance of a pawn 
 broker's shop. While the owner was returning the 
 bolts and bars of his outer doors. Charles gazed on 
 him with deep interest; not so much on account of his 
 appearance as from his character. Yet his appearance 
 was sufficiently peculiar ; a large oval head was set on 
 a very large oval body ; the neck so short, that the 
 short oval seemed to rise immediately out of the larger ; 
 the legs so inconsiderable, that the two ovals together 
 made a man under five feet; while the arms were long 
 and muscular. But the face and forehead were grand; 
 full of intellect and benevolence, with a slight season 
 ing of something like cunning, though not enough to 
 impair the general effect : you could not but wonder 
 what those features were doing on the shoulders of a 
 pawnbroker. 
 
 Yet Solomon Isaakski was more than a pawnbroker, 
 and it was of this Charles Hazlewood was thinking. 
 He was a very wealthy Polish Jew, whom sympathy 
 with the revolted Colonies, struggling for the rights of 
 man against the gigantic power of Britain, had drawn 
 to America. In support of the cause, no son of the 
 soil was more zealous, and none more ready to sacrifice 
 what men hold most precious; few were more meritori 
 ous. His ease no slight matter with him his money 
 still more precious was lavished unsparingly. Many 
 a time when Morris and Reed and Thomson were at
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 99 
 
 fault, the Polish Jew stepped forward and advanced 
 the funds to carry on the war to move the army, or 
 equip the fleet; and, as a parenthesis, we may add that 
 down to the present day those loans are said to be not 
 repaid. For his services he was honored and a great 
 honor he considered it with the esteem and friend 
 ship of the Commander-in-chief. The pawnbroker's 
 shop was more a pretext than a real business; though 
 possibly with his noble qualities he mingled some of 
 the hereditary habits of his race. Not much to 
 his gain however. For the business was left in the 
 hands of a poor Jew, who under the name of clerk 
 received the profits as his salary. These facts were 
 not all known at this time to the young Quaker, who 
 merely looked on the Jew as a rich pawnbroker, 
 ardent in the Whig cause ; but enough was known to 
 excite his interest. 
 
 The last bolt of the outer door was carefully drawn ; 
 the second door passed and bolted behind them with 
 equal care ; and they were in a room of considerable 
 size, filled with a most miscellaneous collection of 
 articles; through which they found, with some difficulty, 
 a meandering way. At the farther side the pawn 
 broker opened a door, and a blaze of light shone out 
 from an exceedingly well-lighted apartment. The 
 young Quaker entered and found himself in a com 
 pany rather extraordinary for a pawnbroker's house, 
 at midnight. 
 
 There were three persons present : the most striking, 
 a tall and rather slender man, some forty years old, or 
 thereabouts ; with a face remarkably handsome, except 
 the nose, which was rather prominent, eyes keen and 
 bright, and his general appearance manifesting great
 
 100 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 vigor and energy. He was dressed in full black, but his 
 coat of a military cut was evidently a chaplain's uniform. 
 Near by him sat a man, not quite so tall and considerably 
 younger, but not unlike him in figure and general 
 appearance except the prominent nasal sign. He 
 was in the blue and buff of the Continental service ; 
 his epaulettes at least a captain's, and a pair of hand 
 some steel-cut pistols with a serviceable-looking sword 
 were stuck in his sash. The third of the trio was the 
 man in linsey-woolsey, who had been with Major Rob 
 inson at the Coffee-house; and whom we then intimat 
 ed to look at best like an equivocal piece of honesty. 
 
 The three were seated at a table covered with 
 papers, and at the entrance of the young Quaker, the 
 two officers sprung up to welcome him ; being 
 evidently old acquaintance. 
 
 "Dr. Jones! Captain M'Lane !" exclaimed the Quaker. 
 "I am glad to see you indeed ; but you run great risks. 
 Robinson's Tories are in town looking for you; on the 
 wrong track, however." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" sounded in a low chuckling laugh 
 from the man in linsey-woolsey. 
 
 "Our friend here, Mark Bartle," said Captain 
 M'Lane " could tell you something of that, since he 
 sent them astray. Let me make you acquainted with 
 Mark: a true man though you may see him under 
 various colors. And Mark, let me make you acquain 
 ted with Mr. Hazlewood ; that rare animal, a Quaker 
 Whig rari aves how is it doctor? you are a Latinist 
 as our old schoolmaster had it." 
 
 "Never mind the Latin, M'Lane" replied the chap 
 lain "stick to the English stick to the English."
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 101 
 
 "Stick to the English! rather curious advice from 
 you, doctor eh!" 
 
 " Do be serious for once, M'Lane. We wish our 
 Quaker Whig to know Mark and trust him ; he may 
 have occasion for his services." 
 
 "You may trust him implicitly, as a true Whig," 
 resumed the chaplain. "I can vouch for him; I have 
 known him from infancy; know his father well, and 
 all his kin ; so you need not suspect him when you see 
 him as you often will under Tory colors." 
 
 "On your assurance, Doctor, I will trust him" said 
 the young Quaker, offering his hand. Mark Bartle 
 took the hand thus offered, and held it an instant with 
 Borne emotion; then said; "You doubt me, sir; you 
 doubt me, I see you do ; I wish oh ! how I wish, 
 every true Whig to know me as I really am." 
 
 "Tut, Mark," said the chaplain, "what nonsense! 
 We know what you are. General Wayne knows what 
 you are. Even his excellency, the commander-in-chief, 
 has heard of you " 
 
 "What! Washington himself?" 
 
 " Himself. I have spoken of you to him. I shall men 
 tion your services to-day " 
 
 "Will you, Doctor; will you? And he has heard 
 of me he that's enough for me; I'll never, feel bad 
 again at being a spy. But, Doctor, did not I trick the 
 Tory major ; sent him down to old mother Pieroe's to 
 catch Whigs ! How he'll rout the old woman out of 
 bed to search her house !" 
 
 "Mark," said the chaplain seriously, "you tangled 
 your business too much when you enlisted as Major 
 Robinson's spy; it was dangerous enough to pass your 
 self off as a Tory, in order to gain intelligence. You
 
 102 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 will find yourself strung up some of these days a foot 
 or so too high." 
 
 "I like it, Doctor; I like to handle a tangled skein. 
 As to the hanging, I don't believe hemp harder than 
 lead ; and would as lief die by one as by the other. 
 In the cause of our country you do not fear a bullet, 
 and I don't fear a rope." 
 
 "That's a new view of the matter," interposed 
 M'Lane; "and philosophically considered, perhaps 
 right. But Doctor to show you I can be serious let 
 us finish our business." 
 
 "Yes well," resumed the chaplain. "Mr. Isaakski 
 will receive the reports of our city agents, and for 
 ward the intelligence through Mark and other men. 
 All is arranged I think ; is it not, M'Lane ?" 
 
 "I do not recollect any thing else." 
 
 "And now, Mark, you may go. And we may go 
 also. I shall leave the town immediately. When do 
 you set off M'Lane, with me?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Doctor, I mean to sleep in 
 town ; and to-morrow I mean to hold possession until 
 the British march in and drive me out." 
 
 "You '."exclaimed the chaplain; "one of your hair- 
 brained adventures is in the wind, I suppose." 
 
 "But Eobiuson's Tories are already in town," said 
 Mark. 
 
 "It must be only a marauding excursion; they will 
 be withdrawn before daylight," replied M'Lane. 
 
 " What force have you ?" 
 
 "Fifteen; the rest are escorting the stores up the 
 river." 
 
 "But where are they in your breeches pocket?" 
 
 "At a good Whig tavern in Sassafras street. The
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 108 
 
 men are in the hay-mow ; the equipments under the 
 hay ; the horses in the stable beneath." 
 
 "Hah!" laughed the chaplain; "but, Mark, you may 
 go. And remember when you come to Mr. Isaakski 
 by night, you give three distinct knocks. Now go." 
 Mark Bartle was conducted out of the house by a back 
 door which led toward the river. 
 
 "Does the Jew know you, Hazlewood?" said 
 M'Lane. 
 
 "Only as a Whig Quaker. I was introduced to him 
 by a letter from his Excellency." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell him who you really are ?" 
 
 " While I remain in Philadelphia, I am nobody but 
 Charles Hazlewood even to my most confidential 
 friends." 
 
 " Yet Mark Bartle knew you ; I could see he did. 
 But you can trust him; your secret is safe in his 
 keeping." 
 
 The pawnbroker now returned, and at his entrance 
 spoke : 
 
 " Gentlemens, vill you break bread mit me ? You 
 be hungry rnens I knows ; come mit me." 
 
 " True enough. I have been too busy to eat much 
 to-day," said M'Lane, as they all rose from their seats 
 and followed the Jew. 
 
 The place he led them to, was up a short flight of 
 stairs, in the back buildings of the house. "Here is 
 mine library and dining-room," said the Jew. As they 
 approached, the door was thrown suddenly open by 
 some machinery we suppose and a perfect blaze of 
 light flashed into the dark entry. The young Quaker 
 was perfectly dazzled and astonished, and at every 
 step as he entered, his astonishment increased. Never
 
 104 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 in the colonies never anywhere had his eyes be 
 held any thing like the scene. His companions, who 
 were untraveled men, used only to the homely things 
 of a new country, uttered an involuntary exclamation. 
 The apartment could have been fitted up only in a 
 dream, or by the gorgeous tastes of the Orient. 
 
 They were in a tent surpassingly magnificent. 
 Crimson cloth of cashmere flowing from the centre 
 gracefully to the walls, was gathered there by a golden 
 cord into Saracenic arches, each forming with its 
 drapery a gentle alcove ; and in each alcove was a 
 divan of some unknown, but rich and lustrous fabric; 
 between every alcove, all around, hands of burnished 
 silver stretched forth, holding each a lighted waxen 
 torch. In one of the alcoves hung a magnificent 
 Turkish sabre the cold blue light of its Damascus 
 blade, chastening the sparkling diamonds of its jew 
 eled hilt; and beneath, an equally splendid dagger and 
 a pair of plain but costly pistols ; but no other furniture 
 of any kind appeared. Neither doors nor windows were 
 seen, and even their place of entrance was hidden by 
 the drapery which fell behind them as they advanced. 
 
 Following their host, they walked across the mid 
 dle of the tent, their feet at every step sinking deep 
 into a luxurious Persian carpet. At the further end, 
 the drapery of the back of an alcove rolled up, by 
 some invisible means, and displayed through the open 
 arch, another tent even more gorgeous, though smaller. 
 In place of divans were cushioned arm-chairs of rare 
 workmanship and luxurious pattern, and the back of 
 each alcove was a single mirror ; but there seemed no 
 other difference in the furniture. 
 
 "Dis ish me dining-room, toder ish me library vare
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 105 
 
 I pass me solitude," said the Jew. " Pray sit down, 
 and honor me bread." 
 
 The guests saw no signs of table, nor preparations 
 for a feast, but they felt a little as if they were in an 
 enchanted land, and each chose an arm-chair. 
 
 " Not in dat one," said the host, pointing to a chair 
 marked SACRED, "dat ish his chair; Vashington sat in 
 dat chair ven he honor me roof, and none oder ever 
 sits dare." 
 
 " Noble fellow !" exclaimed M'Lane. 
 
 "You ought to have lived in the days of your 
 great forefathers," said the chaplain; "you are worthy 
 of the best of the Bern Israel." 
 
 The Jew seemed moved, but merely said after a 
 moment's pause, "Pray be seated, gentlemens." 
 
 As they sat down, a table rose from beneath the 
 centre of the floor, chastely set out with plain silver 
 plates and goblets and other table furniture, and sup 
 plied with substantial viands, such as a "good-man's" 
 larder might supply on a sudden call. At the same 
 instant, their chairs began to move, and slowly 
 approached the table. 
 
 " This is magic," exclaimed M'Lane. 
 
 "Your machinery is perfect," said the young Quaker; 
 " as noiseless as the movements of the stars." 
 
 But it was some time before any of the company, 
 not even the chaplain and captain, could do justice to 
 the good cheer before them so struck were they 
 all with a scene, which none of them had ever 
 dreamed of. The first who recovered himself com 
 pletely was the young Quaker, who spoke. 
 
 "You are a Sybarite, Mr. Isaakski." 
 
 " I do love mine ease," answered the Jew. " Vy not ?
 
 106 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 vat for ish de monies but to enjoy dem; ve cannot 
 take dem mit us ven ve dies." 
 
 "Few have such taste in providing enjoyment. See 
 here, Captain M'Lane," he touched the spring, which 
 rolled down the back of his arm chair and converted 
 it into a lounge ; " see here." 
 
 " My yung frend," said the Jew, " you ish prema 
 ture, finish your meat first and den lie down." 
 
 "Ha, ha! but now tell me about these tents. What 
 is your fancy for fitting up your apartments like 
 tents ?" 
 
 "I vill tell you. I love de tent; me faders dwelt in 
 de tent, tree tousand year ago, and a curse has been on 
 de Beni Israel since ve leave de tent and live in de 
 house. I do love de tent, and here I lives in me tent, 
 ven not busy ; dough none comes here but mine 
 chosen friends; here I lives and fancies meself in de 
 desert of the Holy Land. Oh! mine yung frend do 
 not laugh at me tent." 
 
 "Laugh at your tent! If I were like you, a descen 
 dant of the chosen race, I would worship the tent or 
 weep over it as a symbol of our departed greatness. 
 And your tent ! it is worthy of Solomon ben David ; 
 the summer tent of the Grand Seignor is not more 
 magnificent." 
 
 " Have you been in de East ?" 
 
 The young Quaker replied in some language, 
 guttural enough for Arabic, and a short conversa 
 tion ensued in the unknown tongue, closed by the 
 remark in English: "Excuse us, gentlemen, we for 
 got that we are not now in the East." 
 
 11 Me yung friend astonishes rne," added the Jew, 
 " he has been all over the Eastern land ; even among
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 107 
 
 the Hebrews of Balk ; and he speak all de language. 
 But you no vare see Hebrews not oppressed ?" 
 
 "Nowhere!" 
 
 " He no vare see Hebrews not oppressed." 
 
 The Jew paused as if under a new train of thought 
 and a cloud darkened the usual joyousness of his 
 countenance; then his voice burst forth: "Oh me 
 frends, dis cause must not go down ! It is de cause 
 of me own race and peoples ; it is mine own cause. 
 Every vare ve Hebrews are treated as brute-beasts, 
 not as mens ; ve hab no rights, but de right to make 
 moneys for de oppressors. If dis cause succeed ve vill 
 be mens, and citizens, and freemens ; den you vill see 
 vat ve Hebrews can be. Oh ! mine frends, ve vill be 
 like oder mens, ifoder mens vill let us. Me frends! 
 me frends ! dis cause must not go down ! ve mus fight 
 for it till de death I Meself vill fight too !" He sprung 
 up with an activity no one could anticipate in his 
 unwieldy figure and rushed into the other tent, to 
 the great astonishment of his guests, whence he 
 returned in a minute or two, fully armed with pistols, 
 dagger and sabre ; his countenance lighted up with 
 enthusiasm, and his whole appearance martial. " Me 
 vill fight too! Me bear arms once ! Me vill fight in 
 dis cause till de death." 
 
 The chaplain sprung to his feet, exclaiming : li My 
 noble friend ! My brother in that vow ! I also am 
 of a proscribed race the Puritans proscribed since 
 the Eestoration, as yours has been since the great 
 siege. Side by side we fight the battle of proscribed 
 and oppressed men, and we will fight to the death ! 
 We cannot be coaauered. We cannot be conquered! 
 Never ! never 1"
 
 108 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. 
 
 " Ve cannot be conquered ! Never ! never !" exclaimed 
 the Jew. 
 
 "Never! never!" added the young Quaker and the 
 captain. This burst of enthusiasm was followed by a 
 moment of silence; which was first broken by the Jew: 
 "I vish Vashington could have held Philadelphia." 
 
 "A fig for Philadelphia," said the chaplain, snapping 
 his fingers. " It only gives the enemy winter-quarters, 
 no more: their only gain is to lodge in houses instead 
 of lodging in the fields as we must. Why, Mr. 
 Isaakski, they have not opened the Delaware, and they 
 cannot; but if they do, their only gain will be feeding 
 their troops by water. What do you say, M'Lane ?" 
 
 "I see no reason to be discouraged by the loss of 
 the Brandy wine and the fall of Philadelphia. Indeed 
 their occupation of this city will injure more than 
 help them. They cannot keep it, and by abandoning 
 it they will lose more character than if they had never 
 taken it at all." 
 
 It was now very late, and after a few more general 
 remarks the company separated. 
 
 The Jew carefully locked and bolted and barred his 
 doors after his retiring guests, returned again to his 
 dining-room, divested himself of arms, and of coat, 
 shoes and neckcloth unclasped his knee-buckles, 
 drew on a rich oriental gown, a pair of slippers and 
 a turban. Then he sat down on one of the chairs ; 
 changed it into a lounge; adjusted the cushions under 
 his head and back and shoulders, so that gently reclin 
 ing, he could reach the table with his right hand. A 
 plate of Smyrna figs and a bottle of Shirauz wine were 
 drawn near enough to be reached ; he filled a goblet 
 and took a gentle sip, followed by a gentle taste of
 
 SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 109 
 
 one of the figs. Thus he continued sipping the Shirauz 
 and tasting the figs; his whole countenance a mirror of 
 gratified wishes ; and his meditations as, luxurious as 
 his outward comforts. 
 
 "Solomon, son of David, you were a wise man," ran 
 the tenor of his musing, " and you enjoyed the good 
 things of life ; you took your ease your ease and 
 you were right. You had a kingdom to trouble you 
 however, and I have not! I am luckier than you. I 
 have nothing, nothing, nothing but these revolted 
 colonies ! and a great fool I was to bring this trouble 
 on myself. What were they to me that I should 
 sacrifice my ease to them ! my ease to them !" the 
 chain of thought was gradually fading into the obliv- 
 iousness of sleep, but ere entirely unconscious, he 
 touched a spring in the table. As if under magic, 
 tables and viands sunk gradually downward through 
 the floor; and in their place, after a few minutes, 
 appeared a marble stand with a basin and ewer of 
 oriental fashion, and every convenience for drink or 
 ablution. But ere this the luxurious Israelite was 
 entirely asleep. 
 
 Shortly afterward a female, exquisitely beautiful, 
 in fact the fairest of Circassians, entered the room, fol 
 lowed by an aged Nubian. Softly as their steps could 
 fall, they walked up to the Israelite. The Circassian 
 looked at her husband a moment in silence, made a 
 sign to the negress, and softly retired. The negress 
 extinguished the waxen torches ; except a single one 
 in a distant corner, which shed a soft twilight through 
 the tents, and she too retired. 
 
 Such were the domestic habits the private life 
 of the rich Polish Jew ; a type of the oriental man for