CASi 
 B 
 
 

GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET. 
 
 1836. 
 
[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New- York.] 
 
 
v r~^ 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. CA SE 
 
 D 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 When the whole host of Hatred stood hard by, 
 
 To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou didst stand 
 With a sedate and all- enduring eye. 
 
 BYKON. 
 
 WE now approached the seat of justice for 
 
 county, and as we mingled in the crowd of 
 
 countrymen flocking to the same point, our conver- 
 sation was necessarily interrupted. I soon saw 
 that Balcombe was distinguished, and that he was 
 an object of interest and curiosity, which was 
 painful to me. By him it seemed to be un- 
 marked, and he moved on with a countenance of 
 quiet serenity, as a man familiar with notoriety, 
 and secure of himself 
 
 " In all that he would do or should endure." 
 
 The county having been newly laid off, there 
 was no courthouse. - The place was called a 
 
 M 4S6 
 
BALCOMBE. 
 
 * ; : : *'*:**** s *"* 
 
 * * tdwi; thcrugK there was tut a single rude dwelling, 
 in one room of which the court was already sit- 
 ting. We entered just as the grand jury had been 
 sent out. Many of the bystanders had followed, 
 so that at the moment the crowd was thinned, and 
 there was a pause in business. In one corner, be- 
 hind a small table, over which his leg was thrown, 
 sat a good-looking man, of a sleepy eye and slug- 
 gish air, puffing lazily at the stump of a cigar. 
 This, I learned, was the judge. At another table 
 was the clerk, and clustered around were several 
 persons, various in air, dress, and aspect, whose 
 bustling manner indicated that they were lawyers. 
 A little apart sat two gentlemen, whose intelli- 
 gent countenances, as they glanced with a cool 
 inquiring look on all that passed, at times exchan- 
 ging whispers, sometimes serious, sometimes play- 
 ful, marked them as the master minds of the place. 
 In one of these I recognised my acquaintance Sha- 
 ler. The other was a man of striking appearance. 
 Though apparently not more than thirty years of 
 age, he was quite gray ; but his complexion was 
 fresh and ruddy, his features regular and bold, his 
 forehead broad and high ; and his dark gray eye, 
 quietly moving around the room, dwelt a moment 
 on each individual, as if reading and thoroughly un* 
 derstanding all in turn. There was something in 
 the flush of his cheek that might betoken dissipa- 
 tion, and a recklessness in his roving eye not com- 
 patible with a very strict code of moral principles ; 
 but the tout ensemble bespoke a man of quick and 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 clear perceptions, and a bold and vigorous thinker. 
 Observing me, Mr. Shaler bowed with polite rec- 
 ognition, and approaching, accosted me with a 
 courtesy so little like his former careless manner, 
 as to convince me that he had learned the charac- 
 ter of the parties implicated, and regarded the pros- 
 ecution of a man like Balcombe as a very different 
 affair from that of a poor devil like Keizer. He 
 was now grave, considerate, and delicate in his 
 manner of approaching the subject, and inquiring 
 whether my friend was prepared to take his trial. 
 He seemed desirous to let me know that he had 
 restrained the officers of the court from calling the 
 parties, thinking it would be more agreeable to a 
 gentleman like Mr. Balcombe to appear uncalled. 
 In short, I saw plainly that he found himself in- 
 volved in a disagreeable business, and would gladly 
 escape from it ; though I had no doubt that when 
 once fairly pitted, he would do his best to accom- 
 plish the destruction of a man who had never 
 wronged him, and whom, if he knew anything of 
 him, he must esteem and admire. 
 
 Such is the lot of the intellectual prizefighters of 
 the bar. Their hearts may sink, like that of Bois- 
 guilbert when battling against the champion of her 
 he loved best on earth ; their powers may fail 
 them under the crushing weight of sympathy for 
 their victim, but while their powers remain they 
 must be exerted. 
 
 "Can it be true, as I am told," said Shaler, 
 " that Mr. Balcombe has retained no counsel ?" 
 
 A2 
 
b GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " None," said I. 
 
 " He will at least indirectly have the benefit of 
 the talents of the other prisoner's counsel." 
 
 " They have none." 
 
 " Poor devils ! I suppose they are too poor. 
 But the court will assign them counsel, and in that 
 case they will have the best the country affords, as 
 my friend Whitehead from St. Louis is here and 
 disengaged." 
 
 "They have no wish nor need for counsel," 
 said I. 
 
 He looked really distressed when I said this. 
 " Surely," said he, " they are not aware of the se- 
 rious aspect of the case. Besides," continued he, 
 " though we don't deal in the maxims of chivalry, 
 it really seems ungenerous, that I should come in 
 aid of the counsel for the prosecution against an 
 undefended man." 
 
 " Are you acquainted with Mr. Balcombe ?" I 
 asked, thm %>^' f 
 
 " I am not. I know him by character, and 
 should be glad to know him personally, if it were 
 proper or delicate to seek an introduction." 
 
 " I merely asked," said I, " because I thought if 
 you had known him, you would think him no con- 
 temptible adversary." 
 
 '* I know he is far from it ; common fame testifies 
 of that, as well as of his high honour and unexcep- 
 tionable character ; and I sincerely hope that he 
 may * outlive the envy of this day,' and not be in- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 7 
 
 duced by anything that may pass to deny me the 
 pleasure of his acquaintance." 
 
 " Yours must be a strange and painful situation," 
 said I. 
 
 " It is anything but pleasant," he replied ; " and 
 so impatient of it am I, that I trust I do not break 
 faith with my client when I hint to you, that Mr. 
 Balcombe will have more need of the aid of coun- 
 sel learned in the law than he is aware of." 
 
 ' I believe," said I, " he would as soon lose his 
 life, as save it at the expense of honour, as it would 
 be, if saved by legal quibbles." 
 
 " I am easily persuaded, my dear sir," said Sha- 
 ler, with earnest kindness, " that he has no need of 
 any defence of that sort ; but he will need the aid 
 of professional skill to protect himself against legal 
 quibbles." 
 
 " Who will use them ?" said I, somewhat 
 alarmed. -<.ir 
 
 u I shall," said he. " It is strange how it can be 
 any man's duty to do so ; but it is my duty. The 
 functions of a lawyer are peculiar, and his duty to 
 * smite and spare not* is ascertained by considera- 
 tions which I have no time to detail, but the sound- 
 ness of which cannot be questioned. But this 
 duty does not commence until the trial, except 
 that I am not at liberty to disclose the point or 
 mode of attack. But though I am bound to strike 
 unsparingly, at the head and at the heart, I am not 
 bound to beguile my adversary into fancied secu- 
 rity, or to let him rest in it. It would relieve me 
 
8 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 from an unpleasant feeling if you would mention 
 this matter to Mr. Balcombe." 
 
 I did so. He heard me with composed atten- 
 tion, and then said, 
 
 " No, William ; I have set my life upon the cast. 
 I was at one time intended for the bar, and have 
 some little knowledge of the law ; and I am aware 
 that there are difficulties in the way of which I 
 have not spoken to you. Such a prosecution as 
 this in itself is a reproach upon my name, which 
 can only be wiped off by meeting it with no ar- 
 mour but that of innocence. An acquittal procured 
 by the aid of counsel would not remove the stigma; 
 and sooner than bear that home to the pure bosom 
 of her that awaits my return, I will peril that utter 
 destruction which she, I know, will not long sur- 
 vive. Think of her as she is, William, and you 
 will not wonder at what I do." 
 
 In uttering these last words, his voice faltered for 
 the first time, and he seemed more deeply moved 
 than I had ever seen him. He presently recov- 
 ered himself, and added, " Will you do me the fa- 
 vour to say to the gentleman, that if he apprehends 
 no very decided impropriety in an introduction to 
 me, I shall be glad to have an opportunity of ac- 
 knowledging, personally, my sense of his kind- 
 ness." 
 
 I mentioned his wish to Shaler, who immedi- 
 ately approached, and was introduced to Bal- 
 combe. "I owe you my acknowledgments, sir,'* 
 said he, " for the interest you express in me, and 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. * 
 
 the reluctance with which you enter on a duty, 
 rendered painful by the kindness of your feelings 
 towards a stranger. It gives me pleasure to be 
 thus guarded against misconstruction of what you 
 may do to-day, and to say that I hope hereafter to 
 find occasions to show my sense of your honoura- 
 ble frankness." 
 
 Shalcr tried to say something in reply, but his 
 words stuck in his throat. He turned away, and 
 threw himself into a chair by his companion, and I 
 heard him say, " By God ! Whitehead,you must help 
 these poor fellows out, if you find that damned fool 
 going to decide any important point against them." 
 Whitehead made no reply, but turned his head, 
 and twisting his tobacco in his mouth, fixed an eye 
 of cold and heartless scrutiny uponBalcombe ; then 
 rising, he squirted a mouthful of tobacco juice 
 through his teeth, thrust his hands into his breeches 
 pockets, and walked away. 
 
 The grand jury now appeared, and returned 
 true bills against George Balcombe, James Scott, 
 and John Keizer for the murder of Andrew Ram- 
 say. After some conversation between Shaler and 
 the circuit attorney, it was asked whether the ac- 
 cused were ready for trial. Balcombe promptly 
 answered that he and Scott were, but that Keizer 
 had not appeared. He was accordingly called, 
 when, to my great relief, he answered, and bustled 
 into court. He was more soiled and shabby than 
 I had ever seen him, with a double portion of blood 
 and grease on his leather clothes, and his thin beard 
 
10 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 *'; .: =| # - '".# I 
 
 seemed to have been for weeks a stranger to the ra- 
 zor. I had never before seen him exhibit any signs 
 of weariness. Now he looked fagged and jaded, 
 and though the fire of his keen black eye was not 
 quenched, it showed the want of sleep. As it fell 
 on Balcombe it resumed its expression of cheerful 
 confidence, and he approached his patron with an 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 " Where upon earth have you been, John ?" said 
 Balcombe. 
 
 " Why, you see, colonel, I was just tired of doing 
 nothing, and as the hunting season was come, I 
 thought I'd just take a turn a while in the prairies, 
 and be back to court." 
 
 " Well, are you ready for trial ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! if you say so, sir." 
 
 Balcombe accordingly informed the court that 
 all were ready ; and being asked whether the ac- 
 cused wished to be tried separately, he replied that 
 they did not. An offer to assign counsel was also 
 respectfully and modestly declined. Copies were 
 now handed to Balcombe of the panels of jurors 
 to be examined, while they were called into court. 
 Glancing his eye over that which belonged to his 
 own case, he rose, and said, 
 
 " Before we proceed to swear the jury, sir, I 
 have one word to say, which will stand instead of 
 all those cavilling exceptions to the qualifications 
 of jurors, which I have no wish to make. I am 
 not a man to pass through life without enemies. 
 Now, sir, the name of the gentleman who has sub- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 11 
 
 scribed this panel as returning officer is new to 
 me. I cannot, therefore, be understood as ascri- 
 bing to him any improper bias ; but it somehow so 
 happens, that there is not a man in the county of 
 whose enmity I have cause to be proud, or whose 
 unkind feelings I have occasion to lament, but I 
 find his name on this paper. I thank God they are 
 not many ; but their array looks somewhat for- 
 midable, at the very head of this list, where they 
 seem to require of me to commence the prepara- 
 tions for the trial by exhibiting the unfavourable 
 symptom of a captious disposition. If any such 
 expectation is entertained, it shall be disappointed. 
 I am not so uncandid as to deny that I see here the 
 names of men, from whom, notwithstanding pri- 
 vate hostility, I should expect nothing but justice. 
 But if there be any who are conscious to them- 
 selves of a malignity which would delight in the 
 ignominious death of an innocent man, I shall rest 
 in the hope that they will first sit in judgment on 
 themselves, and voluntarily declare their own dis- 
 qualification. I shall pry into the secret of no 
 man's heart. There is One to whom all are open, 
 and he will judge between them and me." 
 
 As Balcombe said this, I saw marks of emotion 
 on almost every face in the room. In no two, per- 
 haps, precisely the same ; it varied in degree and 
 character in each individual. Respect, sympathy, 
 admiration, or malignity was displayed in every 
 countenance, two only excepted. The stolid apa- 
 thy of the judge was unmoved. Whitehead, who 
 
12 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 had resumed his seat near Shaler, turned his head 
 again as Balcombe began to speak, and fixing on 
 him a look of intense but undefinable interest, con- 
 tinued his scrutiny until long after he had finished 
 his remarks. 
 
 The jury were now successively called to the 
 book. The first who appeared, a fine-looking man 
 of good address and an intellectual countenance, 
 unhesitatingly declared his hostility to Balcombe. 
 
 " I am perfectly aware of it, sir," said Balcombe ; 
 " it has been shown openly as becomes a man ; 
 but I make no objection on that account." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Shaler, "the gentleman has 
 formed or delivered an opinion in the case. If so, 
 I shall challenge him." 
 
 " I have not," replied the juror, quietly, and took 
 his seat. 
 
 Another, another, and another were called, and 
 making the same objection, were permitted to with- 
 draw. The influence of Balcombe's appeal, and of 
 the example of the first juror, was such, that I am 
 persuaded it effectually purged the panel of all Bal- 
 combe's enemies but two or three by whom he chose 
 to be tried. Having got through them, he quietly 
 went on, rejecting none but men whose appear- 
 ance and manner indicated a low intellect or de- 
 graded and vicious minds. In the end a jury was 
 obtained, on which it was impossible to look with- 
 out seeing that they were men to whom innocence 
 might safely trust for a defence against anything 
 but perjury. 
 
6EORGE BALCOMBE. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Never any man acted such a part on such a theatre with more 
 wisdom, constancy, and eloquence ; with greater reason, judg- 
 ment, and temper, and with a better grace in all his words and 
 actions. WHITLOCKE. 
 
 THE witnesses were now called, and good old 
 Mr. Jones repeated very accurately what he had 
 said before the justice. When he came to speak 
 of the return of the pistol, he was stopped by Sha- 
 ler, who said that he did not mean to inquire whe- 
 ther Balcombe had acknowledged it to be his or 
 no ; he therefore requested nothing might be said 
 of that matter. Then, addressing the court, he 
 added, " As I do not mean at all to avail myself 
 of any admissions of Mr. Balcombe, I wish to be 
 understood as objecting to all evidence which may 
 be offered of words spoken by him." 
 
 Then turning to the witness, he asked whether 
 Scott had recognised the picture. I had observed, 
 as he spoke, a slight flush on the pale and withered 
 cheek of the old man, and a gleam of light in his 
 dim eye, as if he had a glimmering and unpleasant 
 perception of the effect of this course of examina- 
 tion. He now replied that Scott claimed the pic- 
 
 VOL. n. B 
 
14 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ture eagerly, and that neither he nor Balcombe 
 seemed at all disconcerted, but that the latter 
 appeared to forget everything in the thought of the 
 original of the picture. This was said in the 
 hurried way of a man fearful of being interrupted, 
 and I was pleased to see that as the toils of the law 
 were drawn around Balcombe, the sympathies of 
 good men were awakened in his favour. 
 
 Notwithstanding this, I was now, for the first 
 time, filled with consternation ; for I could not be 
 insensible how much the candid and perspicuous 
 narrative of Balcombe had done to impress the 
 justice and the bystanders favourably on the for- 
 mer occasion. This advantage was now to be 
 denied him, and I saw the necessity of making it 
 up, if possible, by the fulness and clearness of my 
 own testimony. 
 
 Johnson now came forward and repeated the 
 tale of his adventures in the wilderness. When he 
 came to tell that Balcombe and Scott, as it would 
 seem, decoyed Ramsay to the scene of his assassi- 
 nation, I observed that the foreman of the jury 
 cast on him a glance of indignation, and turning 
 his eye on Balcombe, rested it there with a calm 
 expression of respect and confidence. Here again 
 was ground of hope, and I admired the sagacity of 
 Balcombe in trusting his fate to a man who, though 
 an enemy, knew him to be incapable of seeking a 
 base and cowardly advantage. Having told his 
 tale, Johnson was now turned over to Balcombe, 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 15 
 
 who, addressing him in an easy conversational 
 style, said, 
 
 " Mr. Johnson, 1 don't think I had seen you before 
 that evening since we parted on the frontier ten 
 years ago, and I did not know you at all. I am 
 surprised that you knew me." 
 
 " Oh! I know'd you well enough, for I had rea- 
 son to remember you." 
 
 " Why, what harm had I ever done you ?" said 
 Balcombe, mildly. 
 
 " What," said Johnson, " I suppose you don't re- 
 member how you served me away out upon the 
 Simmirone /" 
 
 " Indeed I do not," said Balcombe ; " and I am 
 sorry you should bear malice so long. And was 
 that the reason you took part against me that night ? 
 I remember now it was you that tied my hands. 
 But the fellow that held me behind, and never spoke 
 a word, nor let me see his face ; I suppose he 
 thought I would know him. I wish you would tell 
 me who that was." 
 
 The witness hesitated and looked perplexed. 
 Balcombe went on : 
 
 " Mr. Johnson, you and Ramsay went there to- 
 gether why did you not go with him down the 
 hollow ?" 
 
 " Nobody asked me to go," said Johnson. 
 
 '* And are you very sure you did not go ? 
 Well, did Scott and I carry Ramsay, or did he and 
 the rest of you carry us V 
 
16 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " No, you just walked along together friendly 
 like." 
 
 " I am glad to hear we were so friendly ; I 
 thought you said a while ago that Ramsay vowed 
 vengeance against me." 
 
 The witness looked a little diseoneerted, and 
 Balcombe struck at the opening his confusion 
 afforded, by saying, 
 
 " Why, Ramsay must have got more than his 
 share of the plunder that night; I suppose he 
 dropped the picture and pistol when he was shot." 
 
 " Ramsay never had the pistol nor the picture 
 neither," said Johnson. 
 
 " You are very sure, then, that I did not give them 
 to him after we parted from you" 
 
 The witness looked as if he did not know how 
 to take or answer this remark, and remained silent. 
 
 " I will not trouble you any further, sir," said 
 Balcombe ; " and you, gentlemen of the jury, will 
 be governed by your own sagacity and knowledge 
 of mankind in deciding whether this witness has 
 displayed either the indignation or surprise that 
 my questions might have occasioned to a man to 
 whom such suggestions were new, or merely a 
 dogged resolution to adhere to his first story." 
 
 The rest of the testimony on behalf of the 
 prosecution was pretty much what it had been 
 before ; with the additional fact of Keizer's attempt 
 to escape from the state. In bringing forward the 
 evidence on the part of the accused, it was thought 
 advisable to explain this last matter at once, by 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 17 
 
 calling Mr. Green, the sheriff of St. Louis county, 
 to prove that Keizer went in quest of Montague, 
 and wished to take him back. This was objected 
 to as an attempt of Keizer to make evidence for 
 himself, and excluded by the judge, in a half sen- 
 tence, lazily uttered between two puffs of his cigar. 
 The circumstances of the arrest were, however, 
 detailed, and the fact that Keizer had dogged 
 Montague instead of avoiding him, could not be 
 disguised. It was now my turn to testify, and as 
 I had arranged my history of the transaction in my 
 own mind, I began far enough back to enable the 
 jury to see it in all its bearings. But objections on 
 the score of what was called irrelevancy were at 
 hand, when no other occurred, and were all sus- 
 tained. Of all that I had to say of events antece- 
 dent to the death of Ramsay, I was not permitted 
 to tell more than that, on that evening Balcombe 
 and Scott had walked out towards the spot where 
 Johnson said he had seen them. The only effect, 
 then, of this part of my story, was to confirm the 
 testimony of that wretch. I then proceeded to 
 speak of the interview with Montague. I was 
 permitted to tell what I had seen, but as soon as I 
 began to detail the conversation with Montague, I 
 was again stopped, and told to confine myself to 
 what I knew, and to bear in mind that hearsay 
 testimony was not admissible. 
 
 Balcombe now arose, " I would thank the gen- 
 tleman who makes the objection to favour me with 
 a definition of hearsay testimony" 
 B 2 
 
18 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Hearsay testimony? said Shaler, " is testimony 
 of anything that any other person but a party or 
 witness present in court has been heard to say." 
 
 '* I think," replied Balcombe, " that I could supply 
 the gentleman with a better definition." 
 
 " I will hear it with pleasure, sir," said Shaler. 
 
 " Hearsay testimony," continued Balcombe, * c is 
 that by which one would prove a fact by proving 
 that some person not a party had asserted that 
 fact/' 
 
 " I see no difference," drawled the judge. 
 
 " This case, sir," said Balcombe, " illustrates the 
 difference. I propose to prove |?y the witness that 
 Mr. Montague being asked where I was, said that 
 I was at the Rockhouse. Do I offer this in proof 
 of the/0cHhat I was there 1 Is that a fact for me 
 to prove 1 Does not the success of the prosecution 
 depend on the establishment of that very fact ? 
 Why else i& that pistol here? Why else was 
 Johnson sworn to prove that he saw me go that 
 way ? Take away these proofs, and wary as the 
 gentleman is not to permit a word that I have said 
 to be repeated, he would gladly receive proof that 
 even / had said that I was there. I now say that 
 I was there. Will the gentleman be hardy enough 
 to allege that in saying this I am making testi- 
 mony for myself? Evidence of the words of 
 Montague, then, is not offered in proof that the 
 words were true. The gentleman may have it that 
 they were false if he can afford to put the matter 
 on that footing. It is offered solely and simply in 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 19 
 
 proof that the words were spoken. The speaking 
 of those words is a fact on which I rely, in con- 
 nection with his trepidation, and his possession of 
 an article which must have been just before taken 
 from Scott or me, in proof not of the fact asserted 
 by him, but of another fact, of the fact that he knew 
 that I was there ; from which I shall argue that I 
 was there against my will, and in the power of 
 persons acting under his orders." 
 
 He ceased, and Shaler, evidently pleased though 
 baffled, rose to reply, but was stopped by the judge, 
 who repeated that he saw no difference, and 
 that the only definition of hearsay evidence was 
 that given by Shaler. Had he looked at that gen- 
 tleman as he said this, he would have seen an ex- 
 pression of disappointment and disgust which even 
 he could not have mistaken. 
 
 While Balcombe was speaking, I observed 
 Whitehead a third time turn in his chair, and look 
 at him earnestly. His countenance now wore a 
 less equivocal expression than formerly. It bore 
 marks of approbation, intelligent attention, and a 
 kind of sympathy. He rose, and placing himself 
 so that, with a slight change of position, he could 
 face either Balcombe or the court, he said, " I 
 have watched the progress of this case, sir, with a 
 mind passing from a state of profound indifference 
 to one of the highest interest. I should have more 
 cause than I have to regret a course of life which 
 has hardened my heart and made it callous to the 
 misfortunes of others, if I could look with com- 
 
20 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 posure to the possible fate of a brave and honour- 
 able man, involved in the snare of a base con- 
 spiracy, and hunted to destruction by the best 
 talents which could be employed against him. I 
 have so far been silent out of respect for that deli- 
 cate sense of honour, that noble confidence of 
 innocence, which was unwilling to accept an ac- 
 quittal rendered equivocal by professional aid. 
 Nor would 1 now offend those generous feelings by 
 an offer of aid, except in strict subordination to the 
 pleasure of one who has so far conducted his de- 
 fence with ability not less distinguished than its 
 delicacy and propriety. On behalf of such a man, 
 sir, I would not presume to make a point which 
 his judgment and his feelings did not alike approve. 
 But having himself made one, I trust he will pardon 
 me for asking his permission to offer a few remarks 
 in furtherance of his own." 
 
 He paused ; and turning to Balcornbe, awaited 
 his reply with an air of lofty deference, which im- 
 posed silence and awe on all present. 
 
 " You have my thanks, sir," said Balcombe, re- 
 suming his quiet air and tone, though with a coun- 
 tenance not void of emotion "you have my 
 thanks, sir, for the offer of your assistance, and yet 
 more for the manner of it, and under the restric- 
 tions suggested by yourself, I accept it." 
 
 " 1 am flattered by the acceptance, sir," said 
 Whitehead. Then turning to the court, " I do not 
 propose," said he, " to call upon the court to re- 
 consider the question just now decided, I will not 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 21 
 
 say hastily, but without thought. Not having been 
 heard by counsel, as he has a right to be, Mr. Bal- 
 combe might not only ask, but demand a recon- 
 sideration. But it would require a reach of pre- 
 sumption of which I am incapable to flatter my- 
 self that I can add anything to the clearness and 
 conclusiveness of the argument you have just 
 heard from himself. He who cannot understand 
 it will never understand the simplest rule of gram- 
 mar or arithmetic. He who is unconvinced by it 
 will yield to no conviction that doe not lead him 
 to the gratification of his own wishes. He who is 
 not moved by the exhibition we have seen this day 
 of the quiet dignity of innocence, of honour, can- 
 dour, sagacity, and ability, struggling in the toils 
 of art, or crushed beneath the dead fall of dulness, 
 will never shake off the torpor of his selfish apathy 
 until the last trump shall rouse him from his last 
 sleep. 
 
 " My purpose in rising, sir, is to call the attention 
 of the jury to what has just passed, and to prepare 
 their minds to assign it its due place, and its due 
 weight. You, gentlemen, are judges of law and 
 of fact. The facts you obtain by testimony, and 
 that is made up of what is sworn by witnesses 
 which you hear, and of the deportment of the 
 witnesses under examination, and of the defendant 
 under trial, which you see with your own eyes. It 
 is for this reason that the accused has a right to be 
 confronted with the witnesses, and the jury, and 
 to confront them with each other. Truths are thus 
 
22 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 made manifest to the senses which no language can 
 communicate. And shall you believe that the 
 wisdom of the law which requires that these sources 
 of truth shall be opened to you, forbids you to drink 
 of them ? Shall you be told that the exhibition of 
 character which has this day borne to the mind of 
 every other person a conviction of the defendant's 
 innocence, is testimony to all but you ? Is it re- 
 quired of you to condemn as a felon a man of 
 whom all that we have seen and heard here has 
 left no doubt in the mind of me, a stranger, and 
 can leave no doubt in your minds, that if unerring 
 wisdom should designate the man of all in this 
 presence most worthy to sit in judgment on all 
 the rest, the prisoner at the bar would be that man. 
 Gentlemen, the whole deportment of the prisonef 
 is in evidence before you ; and as it is the most 
 interesting, so it is the most satisfactory evidence 
 laid before you this day. 
 
 "I do not propose to argue before you the question 
 just now decided, were it admissible. I am here 
 without books, and could only add my testimony 
 that the law is as was stated by Mr. Balcombe. 
 To his argument I could add nothing. Nothing 
 can deepen your conviction of its truth. Nothing 
 can ever make you doubt that the testimony 
 offered was not only lawful, but the only testimony 
 by which this mystery of iniquity can ever be un- 
 ravelled. Nothing can ever make you doubt that 
 Mr. Balcombe was prepared to give such testi- 
 mony. My only purpose now is to premonish 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 23 
 
 you that there is nothing in the law requiring you to 
 reject these convictions, derived from that which is 
 testimony in the eyes of the law. I beg you to 
 bear these things in mind, and to hold yourselves 
 prepared to assign them their due weight, when 
 the proper time shall come for the last appeal to 
 you, the final judges of law and fact. That ap- 
 peal will be confidently made ; for I shall always 
 appeal with confidence to honour and intelligence, 
 even in an enemy, from the stolid indifference of 
 apathy and dulness." 
 
 He ceased, but continued standing, and having 
 with the last words glanced his eye from the fore- 
 man to the judge, it remained fixed on him with an 
 expression of cool scorn. 
 
 " Whyreally Mr. Whitehead," said that wor- 
 thy, " this is a most extraordinary " He paused 
 and looked around. As soon as he began to speak 
 Whitehead threw himself into his chair, and giving 
 his shoulder to the judge, fixed his eye steadily on 
 Balcombe. His honour looked to Shaler for en- 
 couragement, but found none. In every other 
 countenance he must have sought in vain for any 
 expression but that of contempt. He remained 
 silent, lay back in his chair, and puffed his cigar. 
 
 A momentary feeling of triumph passed across 
 my mind at this instant, but it soon gave place to 
 the thought of the aspect of the case, as seen in the 
 facts proved before the jury. The dead body of a 
 man slaughtered in this obscure place, and thrown 
 into the river, as no one could doubt, by the hand 
 
 **' t 
 
24 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 of Keizer ; Balcombe's pistol, and Scott's picture 
 found at the spot ; the enmity between Balcombe 
 and Ramsay, and the fact that the latter had fallen 
 in with the former accompanied by Scott, and that 
 the three were seen going together towards the 
 place about the time the deed must have been 
 done ; these facts made up the case on the part of 
 the prosecution. The exculpatory evidence was 
 frittered down to the single circumstance of the 
 possession of the casket by Montague, which 
 merely showed that he and Balcombe had met. 
 What hope remained but that the jury, with the 
 sturdy independence on which the men of the 
 West pride themselves, should stand out in the be- 
 lief that there was a something in the business not 
 yet understood ? On this slender thread hung the 
 destiny of my noble friend, and into this peril he 
 had been brought by his zeal in my service. I 
 could not look at him, especially after I had told 
 the only other fact I was permitted to mention ; 
 the damning fact that the blood of Ramsay was 
 yet warm when I saw it. 
 
 Balcombe was now asked if he had anything 
 farther to offer, and replied in the negative. At 
 this moment an Indian came forward, who proved 
 to be our old acquaintance Billy John. He looked 
 around him with an undisturbed countenance ; but 
 as his cold eye fell on Balcombe, it rested there 
 for a moment with an appearance of satisfaction, 
 and he immediately said, striking his breast with 
 the point of his finger, *' Me, me kill him man." He 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 25 
 
 He then folded his arms, and stood patiently 
 waiting what might be required of him. 
 
 " What does the fellow want ?" said Shaler. 
 
 " He wants to be sworn," said Keizer. " Swear 
 him." 
 
 " Does he speak English ?" asked Shaler. 
 
 " Oh yes ; me 'peak 'Merican." -4il-i I 
 
 " Do you understand the nature of an oath ?" 
 inquired Shaler. No answer. The question was 
 repeated. 
 
 " Not know not unnestan'," said the Indian, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 " It appears," said Shaler to the court, " that he 
 does not understand the nature of an oath." 
 
 11 Or the meaning of your question which T* 
 said Balcombe. 
 
 Then, after speaking a few words in a foreign 
 tongue, he added, 
 
 " If you repeat your question now, sir, you will 
 probably obtain an answer." 
 
 " I suppose so, sir," said Shaler, sarcastically, 
 "after" Then, suddenly checking himself, he 
 added, in a tone of deep respect, " I beg pardon, 
 sir ; I was going to make a remark which even 
 my situation would not justify." 
 
 He then repeated the question, to which the 
 Indian replied, 
 
 " Great Spirit hate liar. Me call him hear me 
 tell lie he very mad." 
 
 " And what do you think he will do with you if 
 you tell a lie ?" 
 
 VOL. II. C 
 
26 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Oh, he do me very bad," replied Billy John. 
 
 " But what will he do ?" 
 
 " Not know," said the simple savage. 
 
 " And what will become of you when you die ?" 
 
 "Oh, good man go to fine country. Plenty 
 deer plenty buffalo plenty elk plenty bear : 
 shoot good rifle never miss." 
 
 " But what will become of you ?" 
 
 " Not know," said the Indian. 
 
 " He has no idea of a future state of rewards and 
 punishments, sir, and cannot be sworn," said Shaler 
 to the court. 
 
 The judge then began to echo this remark, when 
 Balcombe said, 
 
 "Give me leave, if you please, sir, to ask if he 
 believes the Great Spirit will do him bad, as he calls 
 it, after he dies." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the Indian, " very much very 
 bad." 
 
 "But what do you think he will do?" said 
 Shaler. 
 
 " Not know," said he. 
 
 Shaler looked at Balcombe, who said, quietly, 
 Do you ?" 
 
 The matter was now left to the court, and it 
 was decided that he might be sworn. 
 
 After taking the oath, he was asked if he knew 
 who killed Andrew Ramsay, to which he replied 
 in the negative. If he knew anything of his death : 
 no. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 27 
 
 " Then what does he know about the matter ?" 
 said Shaler. 
 
 "Everything but the man's name," said Bal- 
 combe ; who now asked him if he knew who killed 
 a man at the Rockhouse on a certain night, whose 
 body was thrown into the river. To this he an- 
 swered, " Me, me, me kill him." 
 
 " And where was I at the time ?" 
 
 " Oh, you there too. He lie close to the rock 
 him hand tied." 
 
 " Another accomplice, sir/' said Shaler. " I 
 submit, sir, that we might as well have examined 
 Keizer, while we believed him to have been the 
 perpetrator of the murder, as examine this fellow 
 who declares that he did the deed. We had only 
 mistaken the instrument, it seems, sir ; and this 
 disclosure just makes such a change in the case as 
 if we had found that a different weapon had been 
 used from that supposed." 
 
 "Such a weapon," said Balcombe, dryly, "as a 
 man may use with his hands tied." 
 
 Affecting not to heed the interruption, Shaler 
 was going on to propose to cut short the testimony 
 of the witness by committing him, when Keizer 
 spoke : 
 
 " It is not worth while," said he, " to be putting 
 the poor fellow to trouble when there's no use for 
 him. Nobody wanted him here ; but then he's a 
 truehearted fellow, that would not let the colonel 
 suffer for what he had done. Sheriff, call Sana 
 Todd," 
 
/CO GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 I started at this name, which I remembered to 
 have heard before as that of one of Montague's con- 
 federates. It was repeated by the sheriff; and a 
 man dressed a good deal after the same fashion with 
 John himself, but tall, gaunt, and wolfish in his as- 
 pect, made his appearance. He stepped boldly for- 
 ward at once and was sworn. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 JOHN, who now acted as spokesman, asked the 
 witness to tell what he knew about Andrew Ram- 
 say's death. 
 
 " Why, gentlemen," said he, " I know pretty 
 much all about it from first to last ; but nobody 
 knew that I did but them that would never tell ; 
 and I would not have been here, only I could not 
 bear the thoughts of a good man coming to the 
 gallows, when he wasn't no more to blame than a 
 child." 
 
 " Well, well, sir," said Shaler, " we want none 
 of your reasons or opinions ^ give us your facts if 
 you please, and as you know all about it, tell us all 
 about it." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 29 
 
 ' Well, that's what I'm a going to do, stranger, 
 and you may as well let me do it my own way. 
 First and last you'll get it all, whether you like it 
 or no, and you won't get it no faster than it 
 comes." 
 
 He then reflected a moment and went on : 
 
 "It was a Saturday morning of the great camp- 
 meeting there near the village, I was standing 
 sorter out upon the edge of the crowd, about eleven 
 o'clock maybe, when this same Ramsay (least 
 ways, that's what he called his name anyhow, 
 the man that was killed that night) he comes along 
 by me. And he stands and studies a while, and 
 then says he, 
 
 " * Ain't your name Sam Todd V 
 
 " * I passes for him,' says I. 
 
 " * Well,' says he, ' I want to speak with you.* 
 
 **So with that we walks out, and says-he, 
 
 '* ' What I want to speak to you about is another 
 man's business, and he told me about you, and told 
 me to find you, and for us to go to him together.' 
 
 " * Who is he ?' says I. 
 
 " ' I'm a stranger in these parts,' says he, * and 
 I cannot say I know his name J only I have seen 
 him here mighty busy, and mighty great among 
 the preachers, ever since the meeting began.' 
 
 " ' Is he here now V says I. 
 
 "'No,' says he, 'and it wasn't here we were to 
 meet ;' but if you'll go with me, I'll carry you to 
 the place.' 
 
 " So we started off together, and as we went I 
 c 2 
 
30 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 asked him if he knew what sort of business it was. 
 And says he, 
 
 " * No ; I can't say rightly as I do know ; only 
 it's something in our line, sorter ruffianlike.' 
 
 " ' Well,' says I, * I don't know that I have any 
 objection to that, so as he pays me for it well/ 
 'Cause you see, gentlemen, if any man gets me 
 into danger, and maybe into trouble, and I have to 
 get out of it as I can, he must pay me for it ; and 
 if he saves his skin, why his purse must suffer. 
 So we goes along until we gets almost to the head 
 of the hollow that leads down to the Rockhouse, 
 and I sees a man setting upon a stump, with a 
 book in his hand reading mighty seriouslike. And 
 when we came up to him I saw it was the man I 
 hear them call Mr. Montague. So when we came 
 to where he was, he just raised his eyes from his 
 book, and then he looks at it again and turns down 
 a corner of the leaf and shuts it ; and then he looks 
 at Ramsay and then at me, and we howd'yed ; and 
 he looks down again and studies a while r and then 
 he looks at me, and says he " 
 
 " Stop, sir, if you please," said Shaler. 
 
 The witness did stop, but it was only to square 
 himself around to Shaler, on whom he looked with 
 a countenance of displeased surprise. 
 
 "I perceive, sir," said Shaler, addressing the 
 court, " that here is to be another attempt to palm 
 upon us the words of this everlasting Mr. Mon- 
 tague as evidence. Now, sir, as the decision of 
 the court upon that subject has been already ex- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 31 
 
 pressed, I hope the witness may be admonished 
 not to repeat anything that Mr. Montague said." 
 
 I never saw Balcombe so much disconcerted as 
 at the cool effrontery of this objection. He re- 
 mained silent a moment, as I thought, chiding 
 down his impatience, and endeavouring to recover 
 the calm self-command which he had hitherto dis- 
 played. Before he qould accomplish this, the 
 judge (who doubtless Considered the point as iden- 
 tical with that he had already decided) had time 
 to rouse himself, and to drawl out to the witness, 
 
 " The court has already decided, that nothing 
 that Mr. Montague has said is evidence in this 
 case." 
 
 As soon as he began to speak, the witness went 
 to the right-about and faced him, the expression of 
 his savage countenance changing, as he listened, to 
 one made up of ferocity and amazement. White- 
 head, at the same moment, sprung to his feet, bent 
 on the judge a look of withering scorn and indig- 
 nation, and seemed about to speak, when the calm 
 voice of Balcombe was heard, replying to what 
 had been said with this question : 
 
 " Is it the pleasure of the court to say that the 
 words of Montague, spoken in conversation with 
 the deceased, are not to be received ?" 
 
 Whitehead, who had turned to Balcombe at the 
 sound of his voice, now again set his eye upon the 
 judge with an expression of derision and curiosity, 
 as if he would have said, " I wonder what the fool 
 will say to that?" The apathy of the judge 
 
32 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 seemed to be somewhat moved by his vexation, at 
 being thus called to what was to him a task of 
 thought, and he began a sort of puzzling attempt 
 to say something, when the circuit attorney re- 
 quested to be heard. 
 
 I have said nothing as yet of this gentleman. 
 He seemed a plain, unpretending, quiet man, who 
 appeared to think his duty required of him nothing 
 more than a proper attention to the formalities of 
 the prosecution. What else I wish to say of him, 
 may be given in his own words. 
 
 " Heretofore, may it please the court," said he, 
 " I have acted but a secondary part in this prose- 
 cution. I hope my reasons have not been misun- 
 derstood. While the testimony in this case pointed 
 to the accused, and to them alone, as the perpe- 
 trators of the murder of Ramsay, it was my duty 
 to accept of any aid in furtherance of the prosecu- 
 tion. I was, therefore glad to avail myself of the 
 distinguished abilities of the gentleman, who has 
 been employed, as I understand, by this same Mr. 
 Montague, to assist in conducting it. It became 
 me, sir, in this state of things, to postpone myself 
 to him, and to permit him to take that lead in the 
 examination of witnesses, to which his readiness, 
 dexterity, and address entitled him. I saw, in- 
 deed, but I trust I saw it without envy, that his 
 conspicuous display of these qualities has thrown 
 me quite in the shade ; but I hope it will not be 
 imputed to me as a fault, that I have not permitted 
 any petty vanity of mine, or childish impatience of 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 33 
 
 his manifest superiority, to embarrass the prosecu- 
 tion by interfering with him. But the aspect of 
 this case is suddenly changed, and I am reminded 
 by what I have just heard, that while I represent 
 the state, Mr. Shaler does but represent Mr. Mon- 
 tague. He represents a man, who, for some cause 
 which I do not presume to inquire into, vehemently 
 desires the punishment of the defendants, whether 
 guilty or no. 
 
 " I represent the state, which desires the pun- 
 ishment of the guilty only, and yet more earnestly 
 desires the acquittal of the innocent. Now, sir, 
 as the testimony now offered seems like to throw 
 new light upon this subject, as it may probably 
 show Mr. Montague to me in a -light which may 
 change the relation of an ally into that of an antag- 
 onist, by making it my duty to prosecute him for 
 this or some other offence, and as I have no doubt 
 that the testimony offered is not only such as the 
 law permits, but requires, I find it my duty to 
 withdraw the objection to it, made by my friend 
 Mr. Shaler. My right to do so, sir, he will not 
 question. He will see that the alliance between 
 myself as the representative of the state and him 
 as the representative of Mr. Montague, must ter- 
 minate. If, on his own behalf, as a friend of jus- 
 tice, as a curious and skilful investigator of truth, 
 he feels at liberty to give me his aid in unravelling 
 this mystery, guch aid, guided and controlled by 
 his own sense of honour and love of virtue, I will 
 
34 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 thankfully receive. His further co-operation as 
 counsel for Mr. Montague I must reject." 
 
 Shaler now said, in a few words, that the right 
 of the circuit attorney to disclaim his further inter- 
 ference as an ally was unquestionable. " As to 
 interfering in any other character," continued he, 
 " I have no call to do it. I am functus officio. I 
 am here by contract to prosecute, not to defend. 
 Should a further investigation of this matter im- 
 plicate Mr. Montague, that will be a new case, 
 and the subject of a new bargain. As to aiding 
 the circuit attorney in the further investigation of 
 the case, as an individual, though no man likes to 
 work at his trade without wages, I would gladly 
 do so, were it necessary. But, sir, that gentleman 
 needs no aid ; and if he did, I much mistake if he 
 should ask any more efficient than he has. Let 
 him give Mr. Balcombe a fair field and a clear sky, 
 unembarrassed by technical quibbles, and my life 
 upon it he will get at the whole truth." 
 
 He sat down, and the witness was directed to 
 proceed. 
 
 " I suppose," said he, " I am to tell all about it." 
 "Oh yes," said the circuit attorney ; " tell all." 
 " It's well you give me leave," said the witness, 
 11 because I came here to do it, and flesh and blood 
 should not have kept me from it. Well, I believe 
 that gentleman stopped me, the minute I began to 
 talk about what Montague said ; so there's where 
 I left off. Well, says he, * Is your name Samuel 
 Todd ?' So I told him it was. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 35 
 
 " ' Well,' says he, I have heard of you, and you 
 are the sort of man I want.' 
 
 " Says I, * It depends upon your business/ says 
 I, ' whether I'll suit you or no, 'cause I hain't got 
 no book laming.' 
 
 " * No,' says he, ' but you are a brave man.' 
 
 " * If any man disputes that,' says I, * maybe he'd 
 better try me.' 
 
 " ' Well/ says he, * a brave man is the sort I 
 want.' 
 
 " So, gentlemen, he goes on and tells us that he 
 had a tract of land in Virginia, and there was a 
 fellow that had got hold of the deed, and would not 
 let him have it, and there was another that backed 
 him in it ; and they wanted to make him pay four 
 thousand dollars, I think it was, before they'd give 
 it up. So he said he had seen them and agreed to 
 pay the money, and they had appointed to meet 
 him at that same place about sunset, and he was 
 to give them his bond for the money, and they were 
 to give him the deed. 
 
 " * So/ says he, ' what I want is for you two to 
 be lying about here, and to hide yourselves, and 
 after you see me get the deed I want you to creep 
 up, and seize them, and keep them until I can get 
 away.' 
 
 " 'Oh/ says I, ' that's easy done.' 
 
 " * And more than that/ says he, * I cannot start 
 to Virginia before Monday/ (that was Saturday, 
 you see, gentlemen,) and if I don't get at least a 
 week's start of them, they'll be after me, and put 
 
36 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 me to trouble before I can get the deed recorded. 
 So/ says he, ' I want them kept somewhere out of 
 the way for a week or ten days.' 
 
 " * Well/ says I, ' I think we can manage that 
 matter handy too. Because/ says I, * here's the 
 Rockhouse right down here on the river bank, and 
 we can keep them there till we get a boat ; and 
 then there's the mouth of the Osage most just 
 across the river, and we can run up that, and be 
 outside of the settlements before day. 7 
 
 " ' Well/ says he, ' that will do exactly ; but 
 I'm a thinking/ says he, ' you'll want more help.' 
 
 " That depends/ says I, < on what sort of men 
 they are ; though I have a notion/ says I, * that 
 this man and I ought to be enough for any two 
 common men, when they wasn't a looking for us 
 before we got hold of them.' 
 
 " ' Well/ says he, ' one of them is little more 
 than a boy, just come from Virginia, but I know 
 his blood, and I reckon he's right good pluck, and 
 the other man is George Balcombe.' 
 
 " * That makes a difference/ says I, { 'cause, you 
 see, Colonel Balcombe is equal to any two com- 
 mon men, take him any way you will ; and more 
 than that/ says I, * it's right hard to catch him with 
 both eyes shut at once.' 
 
 " * I think/ says he, * the best way will be to 
 
 have force enough to master them at once, 'cause/ 
 
 says he, ' I don't want nobody to be hurt in the 
 
 scuffle.' 
 
 ".I'm mighty glad to hear that/ says I, 'be- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 37 
 
 cause Colonel Balcombe is a good man, for all he 
 don't like me, and I should not like to do him any 
 harm.' 
 
 " And with that I sees Ramsay look right hard 
 at me, and then he and Montague looks at one 
 another, but they never said nothing, nor I neither. 
 So, thinks I, maybe there's more between these 
 fellows than they want me to know. So I speaks 
 up, and says I, ' Maybe you are right enough, so 
 I'll just speak to my brother to help us/ says I, 
 * for he's a man I can depend on to do anything 
 that's got manhood in it.' 
 
 " So to make a long story short, gentlemen, he 
 agreed to give Ramsay and me a hundred dollars 
 a piece, and I was to make the best bargain I could 
 for him with Jim, and if nothing else would do, he 
 was to have a hundred dollars too. So with that 
 we parted, and I went one way, and he and Ram- 
 say went towards the carnpmeeting. 
 
 " So that evening, gentlemen, an hour by sun or 
 so, Jim and I goes there, and we looked about and 
 fixed ourselves to hide, and after a while here 
 comes Ramsay and another fellow with him. And 
 I did not so much like that, 'cause we three was 
 enough for any two men, and they had not said 
 nothing about nobody else, and I sorter misdoubted 
 that maybe they wanted to do Colonel Balcombe 
 some mischief. And I looked at the fellow, and 
 an ill-looking devil (axing the court's pardon, gerfe, 
 tlemen) he was." 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
38 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Did you know him ?" said the commonwealth's 
 attorney. 
 
 " I never seed him before, to my knowing, sir, 
 and he wasn't a man to forget easy ; but it was the 
 same fellow that swore he seed Ramsay, and Col- 
 onel Balcombe, and Mr. Scott together." 
 
 " Was that the man ?" said the commonwealth's 
 attorney, pointing to Johnson, who, having tho- 
 roughly besotted himself since his examination, 
 had now blundered into court. 
 
 " That's the very fellow," said Todd. " Well, 
 sir, he was there too, and as I said I did not much 
 like it, but we had not much time to talk, and then 
 again I thought that Jim and I, with Colonel Bal- 
 combe to plan for us, was more than a match for 
 them two fellows anyhow. So I made myself 
 easy, and we all hid ourselves ; and after a while 
 here comes the colonel and another man with him. 
 And when they got to the place, Montague he 
 comes from right t'other way from where we 
 were, and the colonel and the other man stood 
 right facing him, so their backs were to us. 
 
 "So when they come up, after a while the 
 strange man hands Montague something, and he 
 holds it out before him to look at it, sorter like 
 making a sign to us, and with that we starts and 
 crawls up and seizes them. And Ramsay and Jim 
 gets hold of the stranger, and Johnson and I gets 
 hold of the colonel, 'cause you see, gentlemen, our 
 plan was, if we saw any signs of mischief, to let go 
 all holds and take their part. So I holds the colo- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 39 
 
 nel's arms behind him, for I did not want him to 
 see me, and I slips a rope round his arms, and 
 made a sort of half knot, and so I held on like as if 
 I had tied him fast, till Johnson went before him 
 and tied his hands. And by this time I saw that 
 they did not mean to hurt him, then, nohow, and 
 then I ties my knot too. And when we had him 
 fast, then Montague began, and such a saucing he 
 gave him you never heard. And after he had 
 jawed at him a spell, (and the colonel he never said 
 a word,) says he, 
 
 " ' Boys, you know what to do with them ; and, 
 Mr. Balcombe,' says he, 1 1 wish you a pleasant 
 journey.' 
 
 "So with that, gentlemen, he goes away, and we 
 takes the men down the hollow towards the Rock- 
 house. And when we got about halfway, we 
 comes to a fire at a sort of a camp where John 
 Keizer and some Indians had been staying, and by 
 this time it was almost dark, and says Ramsay, 
 
 " f Suppose we stop here a while ; 'cause/ says 
 he, * I want to see what these fellows have got in 
 their pockets.' 
 
 " And so, gentlemen, I thought it wasn't no time 
 then to make a fuss with the fellows, and I did not 
 want the colonel to hear my voice ; so I says no- 
 thing, 'cause, gentlemen, you see I thought after 
 all was done, it would not be too late to rob them 
 villains again ; and, anyhow, what I got the colo- 
 nel could get it again, my share and Jim's too. 
 
 " So they both had some money, and the colonel 
 
40 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 he had a pair of first-rate pistols, and a capital 
 dirk. So Jim and I knew the dirk and pistols, and 
 that the colonel had had them with him in places 
 where a man learns to love his fighting-irons ; and 
 I seed the picture was a mighty pretty girl, and I 
 thought the boy would hate to lose that ; so I takes 
 the picture and one pistol for my share, and Jim he 
 takes the other and the dirk for his, and we let the 
 other fellows have the money. And after that was 
 done, we went along down to the Rockhouse, and 
 Jim he starts off a little way down the river for a 
 boat, and the rest of us staid there. 
 
 " So we sets down pretty close to the rock, and 
 the colonel was next to me, and the young man 
 next to him, and the others were the other side ; 
 for you see, gentlemen, I chose to keep near the 
 colonel for fear. 
 
 " So we had not been there long before we hears 
 a whistle like a rifleman's whistle, and I guessed 
 that minute it was John Keizer and his Indians. 
 And I knew they wasn't men to fool with, and I 
 did not want to hurt nobody, especially John ; and 
 so, gentlemen, I just determined if they fell in with 
 us to clear out and be off. But before I had time 
 to think as much, the colonel he blows his whistle, 
 and with that here they come with a right Indian 
 warwhoop. So I was next to them, and as I seed 
 them coming along the wall, I could have stopped 
 one of them mighty easy with a bullet ; but I did 
 not want to do that. So I jumps from the wall 
 and halloos to the others to run, and with that they 
 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 41 
 
 jumps out too. So I just stopped to listen a minute, 
 for all was dark there, and I heard the cocking of 
 rifles and setting of triggers, and I jumped down 
 the bank. And Ramsay he made a stop, and says 
 he, * Stand your ground, men,' and that minute a 
 rifle went off. And Ramsay was a top the bank 
 right over me, where I could see him right plain 
 against the sky, and he had his rifle pointed in 
 under the rock, when the other went off and down 
 he came. 
 
 " So by this time the thing was pretty well over, 
 and I went off and crossed the branch, and lay by 
 till I heard them throw the dead man in the river ; 
 and then the colonel and them went off, and after 
 a while Jim comes along with the boat, and I hails 
 him and tells him about it. So he carried the boat 
 back, and then I went to look for Montague to tell 
 him. So I knew where he staid, and I went there, 
 but all was dark, and he wasn't there. So I 
 stopped a while, and presently I hears him coming 
 along talking, and John Keizer with him. So I 
 guessed by that he knew all about it, and that we 
 wasn't to blame. So John Keizer he goes away, 
 and Montague he goes in the house in the dark. 
 Then I goes to the door and knocks, and he asked 
 who was there, mighty scaredlike ; and I tells him, 
 and he lets me in. So there we sot a talking in 
 the dark, and I tells him all, and how Ramsay was 
 killed and thrown in the river. And when he 
 heard that, he started up, and said something I did 
 
 D2 
 
42 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 not hear rightly, and then he sets down agin and 
 considers. So after a while says he, 
 
 " * Did you rob them men ?' 
 
 " ' That's none of your business/ says I. 
 
 *' c Yes it is,' says he ; * because if you have got 
 anything of theirs about you, Til give you any 
 money for it/ 
 
 " * You'd better pay me/ says I, * what you owe 
 me already.' 
 
 " * And so I would/ says he, mighty civillike, 
 * but I cannot tell one bank note from another here 
 in the dark.' 
 
 " ' It's mighty easy to get a light from the 
 kitchen/ says I. 
 
 " So, with that, he goes to the kitchen and fetches 
 a light, and then he pays me a hundred dollars, 
 and says he, 
 
 " * Now, here's another hundred ; and let me see 
 what you have got to give me for it.' 
 
 " So I showed him the pistol and picture ; and 
 as soon as he saw the picture, gentlemen, he started 
 and dropped it on the table, and he clapped his 
 hands to his head and walked across the room, 
 and such a groan as he gave I don't reckon nobody 
 ever heard, unless they have seen a man shot down 
 and scalped before he was dead. And then he 
 comes back and sits down, and leans his head upon 
 his hands, and he was pale and g-asA/y-like, and his 
 eyes glassy like as if he was dead. After a while 
 he comes to himself, and says he, 
 
 " ' Now, here's another hundred dollars for you, 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 43 
 
 if you'll take these things down to the Rockhouse 
 
 and leave them there. 7 
 " ( What's that for V says I. 
 ** c Why,' says he, ' they'll be found there, and 
 
 the blood and all, and then them men will be taken 
 
 up, and I can get away to Virginia and they cannot 
 
 follow me.' 
 
 " ' But,' says I, * I don't want to bring Colonel 
 
 Balcombe into any trouble.' 
 " ' He won't be in any danger,' says he, * because 
 
 you can keep out of the way, and your brother and 
 
 that other man, and the dead body's gone, and 
 
 they'll only just think it something strange, and 
 
 they'll be just taken up, but nobody can hurt them ; 
 
 and more than that,' said he, ' they'll get their things 
 
 again.' 
 
 " Well,' says I, ' if that's to be all, I have no 
 
 objection, and Jim and I can go out a hunting, and 
 
 take that other fellow with us.' 
 
 " So, with that I left him and went straight to the 
 Rockhouse, and there I left the pistol and picture as 
 I had promised, and I saw that the body was gone 
 sure enough, so that I felt right easy in my mind 
 about the colonel. Then, next day, Jim and I got 
 ready to go out and take our fall hunt, and we 
 hunted up Johnson, but the fellow was drunk, and 
 such a beast we could not make him understand 
 anything ; and then I thought nobody would ever 
 mind a word he'd say, and besides, he would not 
 want to talk about it. So we concluded there was 
 no danger, and we went off away out on the heads 
 
44 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 of the Osage ; and after a while Keizer comes to 
 us, and so one night, sitting down at the camp fire, 
 says he to me " 
 
 " It is not proper," said the circuit attorney, "to 
 repeat what he said." 
 
 " Why, I just wanted," said Todd, " to tell how 
 I come to come in." 
 
 "I suppose," said the circuit attorney, "you 
 mean to say you came in in consequence of what 
 he told you." 
 
 To be sure," said Todd ; " that's it." 
 
 " That is enough," said the attorney, " without 
 telling what it was." 
 
 " Ah ! well," said Todd, " I suppose it makes no 
 such mighty odds, for I reckon you have heard 
 enough, and you have got the truth this time, any- 
 how." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 And woman's pure kiss sweet and long, 
 Welcomed her warrior home. 
 
 tlALLECK. 
 
 THE perfect verisimilitude of this story could 
 leave no doubt on the minds of any person. Even 
 the judge seemed to have had his attention awa- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 45 
 
 kened ; and having smoked out the cigar he was 
 puffing at when the witness began, forgot to light 
 another. He now asked if there were any more 
 witnesses, and being told there were none, re- 
 quested the circuit attorney to go on. 
 
 " 1 have nothing to say, sir," replied that gen- 
 tleman, " but what, perhaps, were better deferred 
 till the jury have rendered their verdict. You, I 
 presume, sir," addressing Balcombe with great 
 respect, " do not feel it necessary to say anything." 
 
 " Nothing at all, sir," was the quiet reply of 
 Balcombe. 
 
 lt Gentlemen," said the attorney, " you may re? 
 tire." 
 
 " There can be no occasion, sir," said the fore- 
 man, glancing on the rest, who all nodded assent. 
 
 " How say you, gentlemen ?" said the attorney. 
 " Are the defendants guilty, or not guilty ?" 
 
 " Not guilty," was the answer uttered, with ac- 
 clamation, by every voice. 
 
 " Before the accused are discharged," said the 
 attorney, " I beg leave to say what I just now ex- 
 pressed a wish to say that the testimony has left 
 not a shadow of doubt on my mind of the perfect 
 innocence of all these gentlemen.'* 
 
 They were now discharged, and Balcombe, ad- 
 vancing to Whitehead, said, " I owe you many 
 thanks, sir, for the generous and delicate manner 
 in which you came to my aid to-day. You will 
 add to the favour if you will show me how other- 
 wise than by words I shall express them." 
 
46 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " You owe me nothing, sir," said Whitehead, 
 with the same reckless, heartless air I had first re- 
 marked in him. " Not even thanks. What I did, 
 sir, was done to please myself." 
 
 JBalcombe looked mortified and amazed, and said, 
 " The debt is the more onerous, sir, that I am only 
 allowed to discharge it by thanks, and that they 
 are not valued." 
 
 " You mistake me, sir," said Whitehead, " if you 
 suppose I should not value them if they were due. 
 But I neither served you nor wished to serve you. 
 I said what I did, because my admiration of you, 
 and my indignation at that stupid beast, disposed 
 me to say it , but I did you no service, and you 
 needed no aid from me ;" saying this, he turned 
 away. 
 
 The foreman of the jury now approached. " Mr. 
 Balcombe," said he, " you have had an opportu- 
 nity to-day of doing me justice, and you have done 
 it nobly. Had not the appearance of the last 
 witness deprived me of the opportunity, I beg 
 leave to say that I was prepared to requite it by 
 giving my recorded opinion, that testimony, how- 
 ever strong, which should charge you with a dis- 
 honourable and cowardly act, must be false, as 
 proving too much. Let me hope, sir, that here- 
 after we may meet as friends." 
 
 " I shall rejoice at it," said Balcombe, extending 
 his hand; " and I beg you to believe that it has 
 never been by my wish or by my fault that we 
 have met otherwise." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 47 
 
 " I will believe anything you can say, sir," re- 
 plied the other. 
 
 It was now nearly dark. We hurried out, and 
 at the door met the good old colonel, who had 
 left the house as soon as he had heard enough to 
 see that the danger was past. He advanced to 
 Balcombe with an extended hand, and without 
 speaking walked with us to our horses. He at 
 length mastered his emotion, and we began to con- 
 verse on the events of the day. A brisk ride 
 brought us to Colonel Robinson's before midnight. 
 I saw a light at the window of Balcombe's cham- 
 ber, and a female figure leaned out of it. 
 
 " All well !" he exclaimed, leaping from his 
 horse. The window was closed, and he ran up 
 stairs. 
 
 The next morning Balcombe appeared at break- 
 fast, no otherwise changed in his deportment than 
 that he now conversed freely on indifferent sub- 
 jects, though not exactly with as much gayety as 
 formerly. Indeed, the wide discursive range of 
 his thoughts seemed more restricted, and his whole 
 manner was more sobered than at any time before 
 the death of Ramsay. The countenance of his 
 wife still glowed with a sense of indignant hon- 
 our and insulted pride, which, perhaps, shone out 
 more conspicuously, because whatever of gloom 
 had overshadowed it was entirely dissipated. The 
 fire of her eye was less lurid, but brighter ; the 
 flush of her cheek was no longer the deep crimson 
 of choked excitement, but the healthy glow which 
 
48 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 rises from a heart that beats freely. She was re- 
 lieved, but not satisfied ; and still incensed, though 
 the fierceness of her resentment was much ap- 
 peased. As she was about to leave the room 
 after breakfast, she turned, and said to her father, 
 
 "My dear father, my husband will never tell me 
 all about himself, except when he thinks he has 
 done something wrong or foolish. You and Mr, 
 Napier must tell me all about what passed yester- 
 day." 
 
 '*-! can tell you no more at this moment, my dear 
 child," said the old gentleman, kissing her tenderly, 
 and holding her in his arms, with her face turned up 
 to his as he spoke, " I can tell you no more than that 
 hereafter you may be as proud of your husband as 
 you will, and I will never laugh at you about it." 
 
 " And I, my dear madam," said I, " can only 
 say, that had you been there yesterday, you would 
 have been a thousand times prouder of him than 
 you ever were before, and none present would 
 have thought you as proud of him as he deserved." 
 
 As I spoke, she quietly disengaged herself from 
 her father's arms, and looked at her husband with 
 more emotion than I had ever seen her display. 
 At length all a woman's softness rose to her eyes ; 
 her features worked, her whole frame shook, and 
 stretching her hands to heaven, she exclaimed, 
 " Oh, thank God ! thank God !" and fell upon his 
 neck. There she hung, as if unconscious of our 
 presence, shedding, during the whole time, a con- 
 tinued flood of tears. In that torrent the fire that 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 49 
 
 had burned her heart was quenched. She with- 
 drew herself from his embrace an altered woman. 
 From that time forth she was the same reserved, 
 silent, modest, though dignified lady that I had first 
 seen her. The sun of her husband's honour (to 
 use Balcombe's figure) once more shone clear and 
 bright above the horizon, and she modestly paled 
 her beams in his presence. 
 
 I need not say how we were all affected. 
 Even Balcombe's nerves, which seemed formed to 
 endure the rack without shrinking, were 'shaken 
 like a child's. But he recovered himself before 
 she did, and as she was about to withdraw he said, 
 
 " You must take your share of praise, my dear 
 Elizabeth. If there be any justice in what my 
 partial friends have just said, I owe all the honour 
 to you. I committed myself, dearest, to be guided 
 by what Napier would call ' the confident, unerring 
 instinct of woman's love,' and it pointed the path 
 that led to victory over my enemies. Had not 
 you been my wife I should have been safe, but not 
 triumphant." 
 
 She again clung to him, and hid her blushing 
 and beaming countenance in his bosom. She was 
 about to leave us, but he detained her, and added, 
 
 " You must stay and hear me tell all. I was 
 not unapprized," continued he, addressing us, " of 
 the nature of my situation. I knew the profes- 
 sional character of Mr. Shaler, and was prepared 
 for all that took place, except the exclusion of Na- 
 pier's account of his conversation with Montague. 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
50 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 But even with that testimony, had it been admit' 
 ted, my main dependance was on my character ; 
 and to act out that character fully, so as to give 
 the lie to any testimony which should charge me 
 with dishonourable and cowardly assassination, 
 was the part, not of magnanimity, as you, Wil- 
 liam, would say, but of true policy. I said nothing 
 of these things to you, but with my wife I had no 
 reserve. The part I acted was rather the sugges- 
 tion of my own mind than hers, but it was her 
 noble confidence that inspired me to possess my 
 soul in patience, and to look calmly on my danger, 
 when it was most appalling. If you remember 
 what was said by Mr. Roberts, the foreman of the 
 jury, you will see that I was not mistaken." 
 
 " Good God !" said Mrs. Balcombe, " was Mr. 
 Roberts on your jury ? The bitterest enemy you 
 have in the world." 
 
 "Yes, dear, he was, and by my choice; for 
 though my enemy, he is brave and honourable, and 
 knew me to be so too." 
 
 " Oh my husband !" exclaimed she, looking at 
 him with tender admiration, " that choice was 
 doubtless wise, but I could never have advised 
 it." 
 
 " I know that," said he ; *' it is not the part of 
 woman to meet danger in person, but to buckle on 
 the armour of her husband's heart, and fortify it 
 for the encounter. Go now, dear. You will see 
 Mr. Roberts in a few days. Yesterday's work 
 has made him my fast friend." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 51 
 
 Saying this he kissed her, and she left the room, 
 the proudest and happiest woman upon earth. 
 She presently returned, leading her little girl. 
 
 " You have not seen your child," said she ; " she 
 was dressed and at play before you awoke." 
 
 He stooped down and held out his arms ; the 
 little thing ran into them ; and for a few moments 
 he forgot everything else in her caresses and art- 
 less prattle. Her mother then took her away, and 
 turning to me he said, 
 
 " How say you, William ? I wish to train up 
 that child to be the wife of a great and good man. 
 What model would you propose to me ?" 
 
 " Her own mother, assuredly," said I. 
 
 " I am afraid, then," said he, " we must educate 
 her ourselves ; lest, at a boarding-school, she might 
 choose another model." 
 
 " But if she is endowed by nature with the same 
 primitive qualities which I most admire in her 
 mother, then, learn what she may, she cannot help 
 adopting and acting on her generous sentiments 
 and noble principles." 
 
 " I shall expect her mind to bear the same fruit 
 if the same seed is planted." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " An habitual subordination of the heart and 
 mind, not to the authority, but to the wisdom, real 
 or fancied, of her parents." 
 
 " And how will that have such an effect ?" 
 
 " It will prepare and dispose her to enthrone, as 
 the master feeling of her heart, a cherished sense 
 
52 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 of her husband's superiority, from which will spring 
 an assurance of his virtue, a reliance on his wis- 
 dom, a zeal for his honour, a pride in his distinc- 
 tion, and an undoubting confidence in his fortunes 
 and his prowess, which will make her to her hus- 
 band what her mother is to me. What else she is 
 to be let it depend on him. If he is her superior 
 at first, as he should be, he will raise her to his own 
 level, or as near it as comports with the happiness 
 of both. Even should her faculties be superior to 
 his, he cannot raise her so high but that she will 
 still feel herself the creature of his hands. His 
 confidence will result back to her, and she will be 
 his best adviser, because she will always encourage 
 him to put his trust in himself and in God. This 
 last is a necessary effect of a woman's natural con- 
 fidence in her husband's fortunes. The master of 
 her heart and person is, in her eyes, the master of 
 her destiny and his own. This connects her con- 
 fidence in him with her confidence in the great Dis- 
 poser of events, whose favour she would never 
 have him forfeit. Did ever woman's love incite to 
 a vicious act ? Did ever the chance of war, to a 
 loving woman, seem equal between her husband 
 and another ? If so, what peace of mind to one 
 whose husband is abroad in a campaign in which 
 it is foreseen that one half will perish ? With an 
 equal chance that she may never see him again, 
 how could she endure his absence ? Yet she 
 sleeps soundly and feeds kindly. She prays, in- 
 deed, fervently ; but her prayer is full of hope, for 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 53 
 
 she is his alter ego. She fears for him only as a 
 brave man confident in himself fears for himself. 
 
 " I know the authority of Shakspeare is against 
 me here. But I must read human nature for my- 
 self. It is the wife, and not the mother of Coriola- 
 nus who should have been made to say, 
 
 He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee, 
 And tread upon his neck.' 
 
 Had I been the friend, the brother, the son of Eliz- 
 abeth, she would have trembled for me. For her 
 husband she had no fears. This comfortable con- 
 dition of woman's mind, which reason cannot jus- 
 tify, reason can yet trace to its causes. I may err 
 in my judgment of these; but I must be very sure 
 that I am wrong, before I will consent to peril this 
 invaluable quality in woman, for the sake of exper- 
 imenting on the intellectual capabilities of a being 
 who, after all, must, and of choice will spend more 
 than half her life in nursing children." 
 
 I have already said that Balcombe was the hard- 
 est man to talk with that I had ever seen. I made 
 no reply ; but I was still unconvinced. With all 
 the advantage of a striking example at hand, I saw 
 that he rested his case, after all, on a beautiful but 
 romantic theory, which might be fallacious. In- 
 deed, I was rather more inclined to adhere to my 
 former opinions, because I was satisfied I had 
 heard all that could be urged against them, and 
 still saw no sufficient reason to reject the argu- 
 
 E2 
 
54 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ments, with which all are familiar, in favour of 
 that system of education which would place the 
 mind of woman fully on a level with that of the 
 companion of her life. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 His gallant bearing won my heart. 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 ABOUT midday we were surprised by a visit 
 from Mr. Shaler, who called on his way home to 
 say, that he could not leave the county without 
 doing himself the pleasure of offering his respects 
 to Mr. Balcombe. He was desirous, too, he said,, 
 to obtain the assurance of what his experience of 
 Mr. Balcombe's candour would hardly permit him 
 to doubt, that the manner in which he had been 
 constrained, on the preceding day, to perform a 
 disgusting and painful duty, had not been taken 
 amiss. To this Balcombe replied, by assuring him 
 that he had perfectly understood his situation, and 
 added some remarks, showing that he had well 
 weighed all the considerations, which are regarded 
 in ascertaining the duty of the lawyer to his 
 client. 
 
 "I am perfectly aware," said he, "that the 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 55 
 
 nature of the human mind disqualifies any man 
 for investigating both sides of any question at 
 once. Yet no decision can be properly made, until 
 all that can be said on both sides (right or wrong) 
 is duly considered ; and the wisdom of the law is 
 in nothing more manifest, than in the designation 
 of a set of men, qualified by nature, education, and 
 experience, for such investigations, to seek out and 
 lay before the judge or jury, everything worthy to 
 be taken into view. To do this, the counsel on 
 each side must have a single object, and to the 
 pursuit of this object he must be stimulated by in- 
 terest, without being withheld by any consideration 
 of the rights or interests of the other party, which 
 are committed to the guardianship of his adver- 
 sary. I say this, my dear sir," continued he, " not 
 by way of showing that I do or do not understand 
 what I am talking about, but that you may see that 
 I speak advisedly, and not mere words of course, 
 when 1 assure you that all you have done has been 
 taken in good part." 
 
 We found Mr. Shaler the same pleasant, intelli- 
 gent* gentleman that he had shown himself in our 
 ride together, with a vein of mingled humour and 
 sarcasm. He seemed to take the highest pleasure 
 in his profession, and exulted with the spirit of a 
 keen sportsman, in the exercise of the talents ap- 
 propriate to it. With these he was eminently 
 gifted, and possessed, moreover, some literature, a 
 good taste, and the manners of a gentleman. He 
 seemed to be a man of kind feelings, somewhat 
 
56 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 blunted by professional exercise. He spoke of 
 Montague with playful scorn, and promised him- 
 self a full feast of revenge should he ever return 
 to Missouri, for the trick he had played him in 
 drawing him in to aid in such a scheme of 
 iniquity. 
 
 " I would gladly," he said, '' ride from St. Louis 
 to prosecute him for the conspiracy, and as acces- 
 sory to the robbery of Mr. Balcombe and Scott." 
 
 After sitting an hour he rose to take his depar- 
 ture. He was pressed to remain, but said that 
 Whitehead, who had refused to call, was waiting 
 for him at the next house. Balcombe then took 
 him aside, and spoke a few words to him in pri- 
 vate. In answer, he said aloud, 
 
 " I will hand it to you, sir, as you pass through 
 St. Louis so authenticated as to pass unquestioned 
 anywhere. And I hope," added he, " that I shall 
 then not only have the pleasure of seeing more of 
 you and Mrs. Balcombe, and Mr. Napier, but that 
 you will also permit me to communicate to my 
 friends there a part of the satisfaction I have en- 
 joyed in your acquaintance." 
 
 Having said this, he took his leave. About din- 
 ner time poor John came limping along on foot, 
 completely broken down in everything but mind 
 and spirits. He brought the pistol and picture, 
 which in our hurry we had left behind. James 
 took the latter, and gazed on it with tearful eyes, 
 and kissing it, was about to return it to his bosom, 
 when Mrs. Balcombe begged leave to look at it. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 5T 
 
 She took it, expressed her admiration of its sur- 
 passing beauty, and stepping out, returned with a 
 riband, with which she tied it about James's neck. 
 It was delightful to look upon the grateful expression 
 of the poor boy's countenance as he looked up at 
 her while performing this office of delicate respect 
 for his poor sister. I have never seen anything 
 like his affectionate devotion to her. It was not 
 merely love to her as a sister, nor gratitude to the 
 instructress o f his youth, nor compassion for a 
 friendless and unfortunate woman. It amounted 
 to absolute idolatry to one who seemed to him a 
 perfectly faultless being. The interest in her 
 manifested by Balcombe had bound the gentle 
 youth to him. His gratitude, admiration, and 
 confidence appeared to have no bounds. It was 
 plain he knew nothing of Montague, and had no 
 idea of the cause or nature of the cloud that rested 
 upon her. Indeed, after the manifestations I had 
 seen of his quick feelings, delicate sense of honour, 
 and high spirit, I had no doubt that the least inti- 
 mation of her wrongs would be fatal to her be- 
 trayer. The propriety and gentleness of his de- 
 meanour had endeared him to us all, and the 
 utmost caution was uniformly observed to save 
 his feelings, and to say nothing from which he 
 could possibly suspect the truth. Balcombe now 
 asked John how he had been so fortunate as to fall 
 in with Todd. 
 
 *' I God, colonel !" said he, " I went after him, 
 and that's the way I fell in with hirru" 
 
58 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " But,"- said Balcombe, " what put it into your 
 head to go after him ?" 
 
 *' Why," said he, " it's a long story, colonel ; but 
 I reckon you'd like to know all about it, so I'd as 
 well begin at once and tell you. You see, the day 
 before I went away I happened to be at a warrant 
 trying, and who should be there but that same fel- 
 low Perkins, that wanted to put in his jaw that day 
 before the justice. A nasty, tallow-faced, greasy, 
 bloated, long-legged, water-jointed rascal, that looks 
 for all the world like a hound puppy, that's got fat 
 by stealing pot liquor out of the kitchen. Well, he 
 was there, and I heard him say, ' I God,' says he, 
 * 'twas pretty cunning in Balcombe to make no ob- 
 jection to hearsay testimony, when all he wanted 
 was to get in all that long rigmarole about what 
 Montague should have said to that fellow Napier, 
 and then tell the story his own way besides. But 
 I guess,' says he, * he'll find the difference when 
 Lawyer Shaler gets him before the judge ; for when 
 all that loose jaw comes to be left out, his case will 
 
 look d d slim, I can tell him. And then,' says 
 
 he, * I guess he'll be glad enough to get a lawyer 
 to plead for him a pettifogger, as he calls it. But 
 
 I'll see him d d before 1 say a word for him, 
 
 unless he pays me, and that well too,' says he. 
 
 " So you see that sets me to considering, col- 
 onel ; and I sees plain enough that it was just as 
 he said. So the next day I starts away to tell you, 
 and when I got there you wasn't at home, and when 
 you come in, the madam, she was there, and I did 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBEJ 59 
 
 not want to say nothing before her. So then the 
 talk riz about the pistol, and thinks I, I'll just go 
 and try to see that woman, and tell the colonel 
 about it another time. So I starts after her the 
 way she went, and I remembered how she was 
 dressed, and I sort o' guessed who she was. So 
 after a while I comes up with her, and she had a 
 sort of sun bonnet on, so that I could not see her 
 face ; and I speaks to her, and she answers me, 
 and looked up, I seed it was a woman that lives 
 with Sam Todd when he's at home or rather Sam 
 lives with her, for he aint got no home of his own 
 rightly ; and you see, gentlemen, if she aint his 
 wife, she ought to be, anyhow. So says I, 
 
 " * Why, is that you, Jenny ? Why, I met you 
 a while ago, and I did not know you no more than 
 if I never had seed you ! And,' says I, * did Sam 
 Todd send that pistol to Colonel Balcombe that 
 you carried there a while ago ?' 
 
 <f Says she, I don't know nothing about no 
 pistol.' 
 
 " * Well,' says I, maybe you don't ; but you 
 carried a box there, anyhow.' 
 
 " Well,' says she, * and what if I did ?' 
 
 " 'Cause,' says I, ' I want to know if Sam Todd 
 sent it. 'Cause,' says I, * the colonel takes it mighty 
 friendly-like of Sam.' 
 
 " ' Ay, ay, John,' says she, * you aint a going to 
 come over me that way." 
 
 " * Well,' says I, but, Jenny, I don't mean you 
 no harm in the Versal world, nor Sam neither,' 
 
60 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 says I ; * 'cause you know Sam and I was always 
 good friends ; and you know he and I is going out 
 hunting together this fall.* 
 
 " * I reckon/ said she, * you won't hunt much 
 with him this fall, 'cause he's gone out already.' 
 
 " ' Gone !' says I ; 4 how come he to go without 
 me, after he and I agreed to go together ?' 
 
 ' You see, gentlemen, I sort o' suspicioned as 
 much as that Sam was gone to get out of the way. 
 'Cause you know, colonel, there was four of them 
 villains, and Ramsay was one of them, and John- 
 son was one ; and then I remembered I had heard 
 old Jones tell Montague about Sam Todd and his 
 brother ; so I made sure partly Sam and Jim were 
 the other two ; and I knew where to find Sam, 
 and I thought if he was anyways friendly, I could 
 not do better than to go right after him. So I just 
 talked so with the woman to try to find out how 
 that was. So when I axed her how come Sam to 
 go away and leave me, says she, 
 
 "'He did not think it worth while/ says she, 
 'to wait for you after you were tooken up about 
 that scrape of Ramsay's/ 
 
 " * When did he go ?' says I. 
 
 " * Sunday morning/ says she. 
 
 " ' Why/ says I, * that was before I was tooken 
 
 a?? 
 
 " * Well/ says she, ' if you wasn't tooken up then, 
 Sam could give a right good guess you would be.' 
 
 " So by that, gentlemen, I made sure Sam was 
 in the scrape, and 'twas he that sent the pistol, and 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 61 
 
 I did not much doubt but he was friendly. So I 
 speaks right up, and says I, * Well, I don't want 
 so much to know who sent the pistol, but I just 
 want to know whether Sam is friendly to the col- 
 onel or not. 'Cause,' says I, ' the colonel is in a 
 sort o' ticklish fix just now, and he wants friends, 
 and I know,' says I, ' that if Sam is a friend any- 
 how, he is a good friend.' And with that says she, 
 
 *' ' I won't tell you nothing at all, John, about 
 the pistol nor the box, nor who sent it ; but you 
 may be sure of one thing/ says she, * Sam Todd 
 don't mean no harm by Colonel Balcombe nor 
 you neither. 'Cause,' says she, * the colonel is a 
 brave soldier and a good man, for all Sam knows 
 he don't like him.' 
 
 " ' Well,' says I, * Jenny, where's Sam now ?' 
 
 " * I shan't tell you that neither,' says she ; * and 
 I'm not sure as I know ; but I reckon you know 
 where you and he was to hunt.' 
 
 " So, gentlemen, I had got all I wanted, and I 
 considered a while ; and it was a desperate long 
 way to the head of Sac River, where I expected 
 to find Sam ; and I had my rifle with me, and it 
 wasn't no use saying nothing about it to the colonel, 
 nohow, so I starts right off. 
 
 " Well, I went out upon Sac River, and I hunts 
 a long time before I could light upon Sam's trail. 
 At last I falls in with him, and from that we camped 
 together. So that night, setting by the fire, says 
 I, ' Colonel Balcombe was mightily obliged to you, 
 Sam,' says I, 'for sending him that pistol, 'cause 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
62 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 it looked friendly-like ; and besides, though you 
 and I is a couple of sort o' ruffianlike fellows, and 
 likes to make money by taking the part of them 
 that has not got the pluck to take their own part, 
 yet as to taking what don't belong to us, or rob- 
 bing, or anything in that way, it's what we don't 
 hold with. So I suppose while them other fellows, 
 Ramsay and Johnson, was a robbing the colonel, 
 you just took your share to keep for him, and sent 
 it back like an honest man.' 
 
 " * Did not Squire Montague make him pay no- 
 thing for it ?' says he. 
 
 " And the minute Todd said that, I begun to 
 think of something I had not thought of before, 
 and says I, * I never suspicioned it came from him, 
 and how was Squire Montague to know anything 
 about it V 
 
 " ' Why, he knowed where I left it/ says he. 
 
 " ' And where was that ?' said I. 
 
 " At the Rockhouse,' says he. 
 
 " * And the picture too V says I. 
 
 " { Yes,' says he. 
 
 " And with that he ups and tells me all about it, 
 just the same as he did yesterday, how he managed 
 to save what the colonel and Mr. Scott would hate 
 to lose the most. And when he was done telling, 
 says I, 
 
 " ' Well, I am mighty sorry to tell you, Sam,' 
 says I, * that that pistol is a going to get the colonel 
 into a sight of trouble.' 
 
 "' Oh,' says he, it cannot be of no great force 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 63 
 
 nohow, 'cause/ says he, * there wasn't nothing there 
 but the blood, and nobody knows whose blood it 
 was ; and as to Ramsay, the catfish have done 
 eating him long ago, and he won't be missed.' 
 
 " ' There's where you are mistaken,' says I, * for 
 Ramsay's body washed up on a sand bar right by ; 
 and when Squire Montague and old man Jones 
 went there and found the picture and the pistol, 
 by the time they could say, l Eh, what's this ?' there 
 was the corpse to tell them all about it, as plain as 
 a live man could talk.' 
 
 " When Sam heard this he studied and looked 
 mighty uneasy-like, and then says he, * Squire 
 Montague had not ought to have carried old man 
 Jones there right away. He'd ought to have gone 
 there by himself first,' says he, 4 and seen how the 
 land lay ; 'cause,' says he, * that wasn't doing the 
 right thing by me ; 'cause you see, John, when he 
 give me the hundred dollars for the things, to make 
 my mind easy, he tells me the men should get 
 their things again ; and he'd just fix so as to fling 
 a running noose, like, over the colonel in the start 
 of the race, and so sort o' trip him, and then he'd 
 get to Virginia first. And,' says he, * I tell'd him 
 right straight that he should not have the things 
 nohow, if the colonel was to be brought into any 
 serious trouble about the business.' 
 
 " ' Well,' says I, * it's a slim chance to depend 
 upon what almost anybody says ; but as to such a 
 natural born devil as that Montague, you could 
 not look for anything from him. Do you think/ 
 
64 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 says I, ' he didn't carry Mr. Jones down there Sun- 
 day evening, and then a Monday morning he was 
 off by crack of day ? and he puts that fellow John- 
 son up to tell it all just right to hang the colonel ; 
 and then when he gets to St. Louis, he employs a 
 first-rate lawyer there, (one Shaler, I think they 
 call his name.) that they say is a right roarer, to 
 come up to prosecute the colonel, right or wrong.' 
 "And while I was a saying this, gentlemen, Jim, 
 he looks straight at me right through the fire, and 
 if he did not look like the devil in his own ilement, 
 I don't know. And with that he jumps right up, 
 and such a cursing as Montague got, it did not do 
 his soul no good, now mind I tell you. So after a 
 while, when his steam was pretty well blowed off, 
 he just said he'd start off next day, and come right 
 in and tell all about it. And you see, gentlemen, 
 all the time I never said a word about myself, 
 'cause that was part of the story he did not know 
 nothing about ; and more than that, 'twasn't no use ; 
 for you see, for all Sam know'd the colonel didn't 
 like him, 'cause he was a hardheaded devil out 
 upon the Spanish frontier, that wouldn't neither 
 lead nor drive, and he and I was right good friends, 
 yet I know'd he would not so much mind my 
 coming to a bad end, as such a man as the colonel. 
 'Cause you see," added John, with a knowing 
 look, " maybe he thought if I did not deserve it 
 now, I did another time, and maybe he wasn't so 
 mighty far wrong either ; though as to taking 
 life," (and here he spoke with great gravity,) "ex- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 65 
 
 cept of an Indian, or them that wasn't no better, 
 and that in the way of fair manhood, it's what 1 
 never did do, and never will. And besides, if such 
 a poor fellow as I was put out of the way, there's 
 plenty more just like me ; leastways, maybe Sam 
 thinks so ; and I aint so sure but what he thinks 
 he'd do just as well in my place, for all the good 
 I'll ever do, or harm either. But then, if Colonel 
 Balcombe was gone, where would we find any- 
 body to pay a poor fellow sometimes for doing 
 what an't agin his conscience ? For a man may 
 be pretty well up to all sorts of devilment, and yet 
 maybe he won't like to be always at it. So you 
 see, gentlemen, Sam never know'd a word about 
 my part in the scrape more than he know'd before 
 till he got in the courthouse, and I an't so mighty 
 sure he know'd it then. So, gentlemen, to make 
 a long story short, the next day we cached our 
 skins, and started in, and a tough time we had of 
 it to save our distance." 
 
 " And where did Billy John come from 1" said 
 Balcombe ; " and what brought him ?" 
 
 " I had not a chance to ask him," said John. 
 " I suppose he just staid long enough to see that 
 you was out of the scrape, and then slipped away 
 to his hunting ground again. You see, that day 
 they took me at the camp meeting he and Snake 
 was there, and the minute they seed me in trouble, 
 they came up and waited for orders. And so I 
 tells them to be off if they did not want to be 
 hanged : so they put right off. How they got the 
 
 F2 
 
66 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 news of your being in trouble, the Lord knows. 
 But as to his coming in after he heard that 1 Bless 
 your soul, colonel ! why, that fellow, before he'd let 
 you come to any harm, especially for what he had 
 done, he'd let 'em roast him before a slow fire, and 
 cut slices off, and eat 'em before his face." 
 
 " And did Todd know nothing about the other 
 pistol ?" said Balcombe. " Because I should like 
 to get the dirk that was in company with it. It's 
 an old friend that I should not like to lose." 
 
 " I reckon so, sir," said John, " and so did Sam ; 
 for we both seed it stand your friend once, when 
 nothing else could have helped you. But he could 
 not tell rightly about that. Only just when I told 
 him how it come, he seemed pleased, and said it 
 must be Jim's work. And he said he was mighty 
 glad Jim sent it. * 'Cause,' says he, 'I'm sorter 
 jubus Jim an't so mighty partickler about holding 
 fast what he gets.' And then he axed me abput 
 the dirk, and he said Jim ought to have sent that 
 too; but maybe he had just carried it out with him 
 for a hunting-knife, and would give it back to the 
 colonel when he come in. And, anyhow, he said 
 it should be forthcoming." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Balcombe, " it will come too 
 late ; for I must be off to Virginia immediately." 
 
 " Do you still propose going ?" said I, delighted. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " and I shall take my wife with 
 me. We shall lose no time by taking her. She 
 has relations in Fauquier whom she wishes to see. 
 We take the steamboat to Wheeling, the stage to 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 67 
 
 Baltimore, Washington, and Fredericksburg, which 
 last will pass near her destination ; and after leav- 
 ing her, to touch at your mother's in King and 
 Queen, and fall down into Essex to Raby Hall. 
 How would you like the trip, John ?" 
 
 " Of all things in the world, if you'd any use for 
 me." 
 
 " Well, John, Colonel Robinson says whenever 
 there are such men as Montague there's use for 
 such as you. So here's my hand. We must go 
 to the tailor, and have ourselves made decent, and 
 be off." 
 
 " I God," said John, laughing, and looking at his 
 tattered buckskins, " I don't think a set of new rig- 
 ging would do me any harm ; but don't you think, 
 colonel, that a new suit of leather would answer 
 me best?" 
 
 " That will never do, John, where we are going. 
 You must shed that dress, or the boys will all run 
 after you in the streets." 
 
 " Why, colonel," said John, " in the part of Vir- 
 ginia where I was raised, nobody hardly wears 
 nothing else ; and I should think a man wasn't such 
 a strange sight where you come from. But maybe 
 it's away down towards Norfolk you are going, 
 and then I know it won't do. So I must try and 
 learn to wear breeches and shoes." 
 
 He went out, and Balcombe, looking after him 
 with a good-humoured smile, turned to me and 
 said, 
 
68 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Well, William, what do you think of my man 
 John?" 
 
 " The fellow's worth his weight in gold," said I. 
 
 " He's an extraordinary animal," continued Bal- 
 combe ; " and I hardly know a more curious study 
 than to follow him in such a detail as he has just 
 given us, and note the process of his mind in ' put- 
 ting that and that together,' as he sometimes says. 
 His quickness in tracing actions to their motives, 
 and determining the influence which the motive 
 thus ascertained will have on other actions, is even 
 less remarkable than his accuracy in defining the 
 extent to which they may be depended on. Did 
 you observe, that though he had no doubt that that 
 sort of attachment, which, in spite of individual 
 grievances, men will form for those who have led 
 them safely through danger, would dispose Todd 
 to save me, he was careful not to tell him too much. 
 He was not so very sure of the wisdom of letting 
 the fellow know, that by holding his tongue he 
 might get him out of his way, and so establish him- 
 self in that pre-eminence among the rogues and 
 ruffians of the region, to which John's title is in- 
 contestible ; though, after him, no man has a better 
 claim to it than Todd. John's place among such 
 fellows is something like that of Bamfylde Moore 
 Carew among the beggars. Indeed he often re- 
 minds me of the gipsies and suchlike sapient vaga- 
 bonds that we meet with in modern romances. I 
 don't mean to speak of such marvellous creatures 
 as Edie Ochiltree or Meg Merrilies. I allude to 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE, 
 
 69 
 
 the innumerable paltry imitations which the popu- 
 larity of these characters has produced. But Scott 
 himself might have profited by a personal know- 
 ledge of such a man as John Keizer. He would 
 have seen that it was not necessary to endow these 
 creatures of his fancy with powers bordering on 
 the supernatural, so that they sometimes seem to 
 have the faculty of ubiquity, and sometimes preter- 
 natural means of knowledge. The spell which this 
 { wizard of the north' casts on us, disqualifies us for 
 observing this while we read. We are ourselves 
 bewitched, and magic seems nature. But there is 
 no witchcraft about John. We know whence and 
 how he comes ; he does nothing that other people 
 cannot do, and as to his information of all that con- 
 cerns him, we know he comes by it by what he 
 would call ' a knack of knowing by a little what a 
 great deal means.' He makes no mystery of the 
 matter, and is always ready to explain his means 
 of knowledge. It is impossible to tell the fellow 
 any three facts, from which he will not instantly 
 infer a fourth ; and this, with courage, address, and 
 activity, makes up the sum total of his efficiency. 
 "His manner of telling his story," continued 
 Balcombe, "characterizes the operations of his 
 mind. You may perceive that his language is not 
 now that which you first heard from him. You 
 were then a stranger, and he was on his p's and q's 
 before you, and trying to talk ' high larnt' as he 
 would call it. He now talks to you as he would 
 to me, in the dialect of his native mountains. It 
 
70 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 is one which we often see put into the mouths of 
 men who are made to spin out their narratives 
 with digressions and wanderings, and l says he's' 
 and ' says IV innumerable. But John's narratives 
 are not spun out. If you have caught the run of 
 his slang, amuse yourself with writing down what 
 he has just told us in his own words ; and then try 
 whether you can by any means express the same 
 facts and ideas in good gentlemanly English, as 
 perspicuously or in the same compass. It will be 
 an amusing exercise." 
 
 I thought so, and tried it. The reader has the 
 result of the first part of the experiment. What I 
 have given as John's narrative is a copy from what 
 I then wrote down. I shall be excused from giv- 
 ing my paraphrase. It turned out to be such an 
 improvement as paraphrases of the Bible generally 
 are. If, instead of telling John's story for him, I 
 could have gotten him to tell mine for me, we 
 should have been through it long ago, and much 
 more agreeably. Different as they were, John 
 and Balcombe had much in common. In describ- 
 ing the operations of John's mind, Balcombe had 
 described his own. Their principles and modes 
 of action made the difference. It was the posses- 
 sion of these faculties that had enabled them to 
 extricate themselves from the deep-laid schemes 
 of the most artful villain under the sun. That Bal- 
 combe would have ultimately achieved his deliver- 
 ance without the aid of Keizer was rendered prob- 
 able by what Roberts had said. Indeed John may 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 71 
 
 have anticipated his commands by his journey into 
 the wilderness, for they had both interpreted the 
 appearance of the pistol in the same way. It is 
 possible that a part of Balcombe's astonishing com- 
 posure, under the very eye of danger, may have 
 proceeded from his confidence in the other's saga- 
 city and activity. The two together certainly 
 constituted a league of offence and defence, the 
 most efficient imaginable. They called to my 
 mind a remark I had seen, that his alliance with 
 the dog had given to man his mastery over other 
 animals. John, in Balcombe's hands, was the 
 wild dog, retaining his courage, his rapacity, and 
 his hardihood, but fitted to the uses of his master 
 by having his ferocity subdued, his sagacity trained, 
 and his courage directed against the denizens of 
 his native forest. 
 
72 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 There's wit there, ye'll get there 
 Ye'll find nae ither where. 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 I NOW found that the preparations for our jour- 
 ney had never been entirely discontinued, and they 
 were soon completed. A steamboat appeared 
 passing up the river, and we put ourselves in 
 readiness for her return. I was amused at the 
 appearance of John, when he presented himself to 
 go on board. As had been arranged with Bal- 
 combe, he was fully equipped in a suit of decent 
 blue, with hat and shoes. He did not look like a 
 little boy when first breeched, for there was no 
 mixture of pride or satisfaction with his sheepish- 
 ness. It was more like that same urchin when 
 mounted on a high dunce stool, with a fool's cap 
 on his head. He thought everybody was looking 
 at him, and that none looked but to laugh. And 
 really he looked queer enough ; for he still carried 
 his pouch, and horn, and butcher knife, and charger, 
 all slung across his shoulders in their greasy belts ; 
 and in his hand he still bore his heavy rifle, the 
 barrel looking like a crowbar, and the stock seem- 
 ing as if fashioned with a hatchet. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 73 
 
 -*' What are you going to do with the rifle, John ?" 
 said I. 
 
 "Ah! Lord, sir," replied John, " that's more 
 than you or I knows. You see, Mr. Napier, just 
 to pleasure the colonel I made out to shed my lea- 
 ther and put on these drotted things ; and it puts 
 me in mind of the colonel's spaniel dog he got me 
 to shear last summer. When I seed the poor 
 thing looking round and trying to run away from 
 himself, it made me laugh, and now you've all got 
 me in the same fix, I suppose you'll laugh at me. 
 But as to my rifle and me, sir, we never parts in 
 this life." 
 
 We went on board in the evening, after taking 
 an affectionate and grateful farewell of Colonel 
 Robinson and his lady. I have said little of these. 
 They have had no part in my story, and it is not 
 my purpose to detain the reader with descriptions 
 of character. So far as the narrative develops 
 this, I owe no apology for the detail of any circum- 
 stances that may illustrate it. I love these good 
 people, and have reason to love them. But if their 
 chance to be remembered in the world depends on 
 my inserting their panegyric here, they must die 
 without their fame. I will only add, that the kind 
 old gentleman had high as well as good qualities, 
 of which, under another name, the history of his 
 country bears testimony. 
 
 An early hour the next day brought us to St. 
 Louis. Here we landed, and learned that there 
 was a boat bound for Louisville, which would go 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
74 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 the next day. In the mean time Mrs. Balcombe, 
 to whom the novelty of her situation had not 
 allowed much sleep the night before, was glad to re- 
 pair the loss at a public house. It was curious to ob- 
 serve the effect of this untried danger on the nerves 
 of this high-spirited and intrepid woman. I have 
 rarely seen one more alarmed, though she did not 
 go into hysterics, nor say nor do anything to call 
 the attention of others to her fears. She overmas- 
 tered them with the spirit of George Balcombe's 
 wife, but could not triumph over them. Perhaps 
 the thought of dangers in which even her husband 
 would be no more than a common man, left her 
 without the support she generally found in her re- 
 liance upon his resources. I am more inclined to 
 this opinion, because in the progress of our journey 
 I did not find that use removed her fears. 
 
 As soon as we were established in our lodging, 
 Balcombe despatched a note to Shaler, who soon 
 called, excusing himself for not bringing his wife 
 to wait on Mrs. Balcombe, on account of the wea- 
 ther. He seemed delighted to see Balcombe, and 
 his feelings were wrought into quite a tumult of 
 pleasure, at the thought of introducing him to his 
 friends. For this purpose, he invited us to spend 
 the evening with him, proposing to have a number 
 of gentlemen to meet us. This courtesy was 
 frankly declined by Balcombe, on account of his 
 wife, who could not go, and whom he did not wish 
 to leave in solitude. 
 
 " But," said he, " to show you that I am not in- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 75 
 
 sensible to your kindness, nor to the value of the 
 favour you propose to do me, I will avail myself 
 of your good offices for a purpose but slightly dif- 
 ferent I think I know who the friends must be 
 to whom you propose to introduce me. If I am 
 right, they are gentlemen of whose acquaintance I 
 
 am ambitious. Such, for example, as H , and 
 
 B , and B , and W , and G ." 
 
 "They are the very men I was thinking of," 
 said Shaler. 
 
 " Well," said Balcombe, " would it be asking 
 too much of them to give an evening to a stranger, 
 or of you, to beg you to use your influence to bring 
 them here ?" 
 
 Shaler hesitated a moment ; at length, 
 
 " If it cannot be managed otherwise," said he, 
 " I will do so with great pleasure." 
 
 " I would also name Whitehead," said Balcombe, 
 " but I dislike to ask anything of a man, who, hav- 
 ing already served me, will neither receive money 
 nor thanks, and cares nothing for my gratitude." 
 
 " He is a strange fellow," said Shaler ; " a man 
 of wonderful powers ; but of irregular education, 
 irregular feelings, appetites, impulses, and princi- 
 ples. Sometimes these pull against each other, 
 and then he is a kind of amphisbo3na. There is no 
 knowing which end will go foremost. But some- 
 times they all tend the same way, and then he 
 moves like a rocket, with an energy and brilliancy 
 truly astonishing. I think I can foresee that they 
 will coincide to bring him here ; and if they should 
 
76 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 prompt him to show off, you will discover that he 
 is an extraordinary man. If you will give me 
 leave, I will bring Mr. Napier's acquaintance, Mr, 
 Green, our worthy sheriff. I propose this, not so 
 much for your sake as his. The interest he has 
 expressed in you is my warrant that it would give 
 him great pleasure to see you. You will find him 
 somewhat formal in his manners, and precise in his 
 notions ; but his honour and truth, his strict princi- 
 ples and good sense, make him a desirable acquaint- 
 ance and inestimable friend." 
 
 Having received Balcombe's cheerful assent to 
 this proposal, he left us. Wine, cigars, &c., were 
 now ordered to our room. Shaler returned, ac- 
 companied by two gentlemen. One by one, the 
 rest dropped in, each wearing an air of empresse- 
 ment and respect in approaching Balcombe. White- 
 head alone came in with something like the care- 
 less movement between a swagger and a lounge, 
 which I had seen him assume when requested by 
 Shaler to watch the interests of Balcombe in the 
 trial. I was offended, too, at the glance he cast 
 at Mrs. Baleombe, and glad her husband did not 
 see it. She did ; and Whitehead must have had 
 very little tact if he had not discovered that it was 
 not well received. Jlis manner underwent an in- 
 stantaneous change, and he was from that moment 
 polite, circumspect, and regardful of all the deco- 
 rums of polished society. 
 
 The evening passed off delightfully ; and I was 
 filled with amazement at finding myself, in that 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 77 
 
 remote region, in company, not only with polished 
 gentlemen, but men whose extent of information 
 was great, and whose reach of thought is rarely 
 surpassed. The names of some of them since oc- 
 cupy places in the history of the Union, and of the 
 different states, which fully justify the estimate I 
 then formed of them. 
 
 I remember no particulars of that evening, and 
 regret it. There was not much display of wit, 
 and none of learning, but there were sprightliness, 
 readiness, good sense, vividness of thought and 
 force of language, such as I had rarely found. 
 Balcombe talked little. He was too polite to take 
 the lead in such a company of his own guests, and 
 he could not talk without doing so. I do not mean 
 to say that he was the first man there ; but such 
 was his style of talk. He conversed rather with 
 his own thoughts than with those of others. Was 
 this habit formed in solitude? Perhaps so. And 
 from long association with those who looked to 
 him alone for light. To all such it was poured 
 out as a spontaneous emanation. But I now saw 
 plainly that in a drawingroom he might seem dull. 
 The give and take of flippant chitchat he had no 
 talent for. Once or twice he threw off in his own 
 peculiar style, and I then saw that he justified in 
 the estimation of his hearers, the favourable rep- 
 resentations which Shaler had doubtless made of 
 him. 
 
 When we were alone, I expressed to Balcombe 
 my surprise at seeing an amount of talent in that 
 
78 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 remote country, so vastly disproportioned to its 
 total population. 
 
 " The remoteness of the country," said he, " ex- 
 plains the phenomenon. There is no article of 
 value so easy of transportation as talent. Hence 
 we have more of it than of more bulky and less 
 valuable articles. I asked for herrings for supper, 
 and was told they are never brought here; but 
 here, you see, are raisins, almonds, and olives, to 
 our Madeira and Champagne. To have come 
 here, too, as early as these gentlemen did, implies 
 energy, and energy is talent, and the parent of 
 talent. Few fools have sense enough to lose their 
 way to such a distance from home. But that is 
 not all. Men's minds are whetted against each 
 other, * as iron sharpeneth iron ;' and though men 
 here are fewer, their collisions are more frequent, 
 of more importance and violence. Hence a man 
 learns here what he will learn nowhere else so 
 well. He learns to take care of himself and to 
 think for himself. One of the gentlemen who has 
 just left us is about to return to his native state, 
 having found this theatre, I presume, too narrow 
 for him. And so it undoubtedly is for the per- 
 formance of his part in the drama of life, but not 
 for the study and rehearsal of it. Nor does he 
 think so. 
 
 " I have been here," said he, " five years, and 
 am five thousand dollars poorer than I came ; but 
 I have wasted neither time nor money. How 
 comes it I know not, but .^ : -. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 There's wit here, ye'll get here 
 You'll find nae ither where.' 
 
 79 
 
 " He said rightly, and I make no doubt that that 
 gentleman carries with him powers acquired here 
 by which he will at once break down the barriers 
 that formerly obstructed the path of his ambition. 
 And there is another cause of the phenomenon you 
 observe. Talent is ambitious. It is impatient of 
 a second place in society. Talent of the very first 
 order stands its ground and fights its way up to 
 the first place on a lofty theatre. It aspires to be 
 great among the great. Inferior talent, but still 
 respectable, is often driven by this impatience to 
 seek easier triumphs, and is content to be great 
 among the little. Hence you find here many very 
 efficient men, many men of very considerable pow- 
 ers and acquirements. But you will see few of 
 the very first order ; for if such, mistaking them- 
 selves, should come here in youth, they will go 
 away as soon as they discover their mistake." 
 
 We were at length afloat on the Mississippi, 
 which, below St. Louis, retains all the turbulent 
 appearance of the Missouri, enlarging itself in 
 breadth and depth. As I looked down from the 
 deck of the boat on the turbid thick water, boiling 
 up continually from the bottom in surges that 
 break the surface, and spread like the head of a 
 cauliflower,! was awfully reminded of John's say- 
 ing that the Missouri never lets go a man that falls 
 in with his clothes on. I felt all the force of By- 
 ron's expression, "a hell of waters," applied by him 
 
80 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 to a different appearance, but surely never more 
 applicable than to this. I was impatient to be on 
 the tranquil bosom of the Ohio } and felt a good 
 deal of the awe that displayed itself in Mrs. Bal- 
 combe's countenance. 
 
 The first evening was chiefly occupied in ma- 
 king ourselves at home. The captain, a manly 
 and civil man, was particularly polite to Balcombe 
 and myself. Every arrangement was made to. our 
 satisfaction ; and we went to our berths in health, 
 spirits, and comfort, and full of hope. 
 
 On waking in the morning I had the mortifica- 
 tion to find that we had lain all night at St. Gene- 
 vieve. Leaving that place, there seemed no end 
 to the occasions which offered for touching at dif- 
 ferent points on the Missouri side of the river. I 
 was vexed, too, at a change in the captain's deport- 
 ment. I could obtain no answer to any inquiry, 
 and to Balcombe his manner was yet more repul- 
 sive. The passengers, 1 thought, treated us with 
 scant courtesy, and my situation on the whole was 
 quite uncomfortable. I saw that Balcombe re- 
 marked the same things, and that they only drew 
 from him a quiet and somewhat humorous smile. 
 My impatience, however, was not to be governed ; 
 and seeing the boat rounding-to at the little village 
 of Bainbridge, I expressed my vexation in the hear- 
 ing of the captain, who said significantly, 
 
 " You and your friends, sir, seem in a great hurry 
 to get out of Missouri." 
 
 I looked at Balcombe, who heard this, and was 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 81 
 
 surprised to see the same smile still on his face. 
 He took me to the table, and opening the register 
 which lay there, turned to the list of passengers in 
 a trip made about a month before, and pointed to 
 the name of Edward Montague. 
 
 Good God 1" said I, " is it possible that wretch 
 has prepared any trouble for us here ?" 
 
 " It would be perfectly in character," said Bal- 
 combe, and turned away. 
 
 We stopped but a few moments, and presently 
 touched again at Cape Girardeau. 
 
 " I don't think," said the captain, " you'll have 
 to complain of any more stops after this." 
 
 " As he said this, passing me to go. on shore, I 
 thought I saw something like a sneer on his coun- 
 tenance. He was gone half an hour, and came 
 back accompanied by several men. Pointing to 
 Balcombe^ and Keizer, he said, " These are the 
 men ;" and they were instantly arrested. Bal- 
 combe asked for the warrant. It was shown him. 
 The affidavit. It was presented, and proved to be 
 a duplicate of that affidavit of Montague's of which 
 I had a copy. 
 
 " Is the justice who issued this warrant present ?" 
 said Balcombe. 
 
 " He is," said the constable, pointing to one of 
 the new comers. 
 
 " I will thank you to read that paper, sir," said 
 Balcombe, handing a record of his acquittal, duly 
 authenticated. 
 
 The justice, the constable, and the captain, all 
 
82 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 looked at it with an air of dissatisfaction. At last 
 the justice said, 
 
 " Well, I suppose it must be so. As to how the 
 jury got over the facts mentioned in that affidavit, 
 it's no business of mine. So 1 suppose I must 
 withdraw the warrant." 
 
 " Will you have the goodness," said Balcombe, 
 " to look over this other paper ?" 
 
 The justice did so, and his countenance changed 
 instantly. 
 
 " This is all right," said he. " I know Shaler ; 
 this is his handwriting ; and he's never the man to 
 think a case against him unless its very clear." 
 
 The captain now looked over the paper, and 
 turning to Balcombe, apologized with great ear- 
 nestness for the indignity offered him. Then ad- 
 dressing himself to the company, he explained that 
 Montague, on coming aboard, had place^ the affi- 
 davit in his hands, to be used, as he said, if neces- 
 sary, in preventing the escape of two of the most 
 artful men on earth. 
 
 He had made a merit, it seems, of his reluctance 
 to appear against Balcombe, who had been a friend 
 in early youth ; but said that the appearance of 
 Keizer in St. Louis, flying from justice, had awa- 
 kened him to a juster sense of his duty to his coun- 
 try. The captain now, by Balcombe's permission, 
 read aloud the record of the verdict, and Shaler's 
 affidavit, certified by the clerk of St. Louis county, 
 setting forth the whole affair, and his late relation 
 to the parties, in their true light. Having gone 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 83 
 
 through with the papers, the captain said that he 
 had taken that office on himself as a proof of his 
 concern at what had passed, and expressed a hope 
 that it was forgiven. Balcombe assured him that 
 it was, and that he had not been at all surprised at 
 what had passed, as was manifested by his pre- 
 caution in procuring those papers. His knowledge 
 of Montague had taught him, he said, that there 
 could be no safety but in believing of him all sorts 
 of evil, and guarding against all sorts of mischief. 
 
 I now expressed my concern at this new outrage 
 to the feelings of Mrs. Balcombe ; but he said he 
 had put her on her guard. He had seen Mon- 
 tague's name, and marked the changed demeanour 
 of the captain and company on finding ours. He 
 knew that a proper occasion for explanation would 
 offer, though he had not anticipated the nature of 
 it. He had awaited it patiently, and charged his 
 wife to keep her cabin till all was over. 
 
 He now went to her, and I was asked to give 
 the history of his adventure. This I did to the 
 whole assembled company. Its effect was to make 
 Balcombe the lion of the day ; and even John, who 
 had been slinking about in his inconvenient broad- 
 cloth, and looking as sheepish as if he thought 
 everybody was observing his dress, became a man 
 of consequence. It was soon found that he had 
 been where few had been, and seen what few had 
 seen; and he was a perfect oracle among the 
 younger passengers, on the subject of bears, and 
 buffaloes, and wolves, and wild horses, and salt 
 
84 GEORGE BALCOMBE. " 
 
 mountains, and, above all, of Indians. He had 
 killed his man, he had taken scalps, and nothing 
 but the loss of his own could have made him a 
 man of more consequence than he was. I was 
 afraid so much attention might make him foolishly 
 vain ; but there was no such danger. John had 
 not enough respect for those to whom tales of 
 manhood, as he called it, were new and strange, to 
 be flattered by their notice. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Of all men, saving Sylla the manslayer, 
 
 Who passes for in life and death most lucky, 
 
 Of the great names that in our faces stare, 
 
 The General Boon, backwoodsman of Kentucky, 
 
 "Was happiest among mortals anywhere. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 THE character of Balcombe's adventure was 
 such as to make him a favourite with the ladies, 
 and to give him the entree of their cabin. In this 
 arrangement I was easily included, and we passed 
 many of the hours of our long voyage in pleasant 
 conversation with them. Frequently, too, we 
 used our privilege as the means of securing us a 
 pleasant seat on the stern gallery of the boat, where 
 
GEORGE BALOMBE, 85 
 
 we could converse without interruption. Here 
 Balcombe occasionally entertained me with histo- 
 ries of his wild adventures on the Spanish frontier, 
 during the tumultuous occurrences of Taledo's in- 
 surrection, in which he had taken a part. I could 
 not help remarking my surprise that he had ever 
 returned to peaceful life, instead of ending his 
 days in scenes so rife with pleasurable excitement, 
 and to which his peculiar talents so well fitted 
 him, 
 
 " You are mistaken there, William," said he ; " I 
 have little doubt I should have been now roaming 
 the wilderness in quest of adventures, had I not 
 been deficient in an indispensable faculty." 
 
 " What is that ?" said I. 
 
 " I believe," he replied, " the phrenologists call 
 it the organ of locality. I have no recollection of 
 place. It was this defect that caused the loss of 
 life in the action I detailed to you in Missouri, 
 Had I seen the ground, which I had traversed 
 limes without number, with the mind's eye, as I saw 
 it on the spot, I have little doubt I should have given 
 the captain such timely advice as would have 
 saved him and his men. All that I can do is to 
 look with a soldier's eye on what is actually before 
 me. But to remember places exactly as they are, 
 and to recognise them when I see them, is not 
 given to me. That is the faculty of these pilots. 
 When their watch comes, they rouse themselves, 
 look out, and know at once where they are. Kei- 
 ZQT has it. Turn him into the hills here, and he 
 
 VOL. ii. a 
 
86 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 would come back to the river as certainly and 
 directly as a stone falls to the earth. On reaching 
 it, too, he would know at a glance whether he had 
 ever been there before. 
 
 " It was this that made Daniel Boon so remark- 
 able a man. He was otherwise distinguished for 
 nothing but a strange compound of quiet and rest- 
 lessness. He loved solitude, and was one of the 
 mildest and most peaceable men I ever knew." 
 
 " You knew him, then?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; very well. He is now living not very 
 far from me in Missouri. I could tell you instances 
 in which this faculty has displayed itself in a man- 
 ner that really seemed miraculous." 
 
 He went on to speak of these, and mentioned 
 one which I hope the reader will pardon me for 
 detailing. Coming to me from the lips of an eye- 
 witness, I regard it as authentic enough to deserve 
 a place in my story. 
 
 " Forty years ago," said Balcombe, " Daniel 
 Boon was much employed to make locations of 
 land in Kentucky. Being in the midst of danger, 
 he was obliged to devise means to fix the locality 
 of each tract without marking lines around it. His 
 plan was to mark a corner, declare the quantity, 
 and that it, was laid off in a square, the diagonal 
 of which was in a given direction. Nothing could 
 be more precise than this ; it identified the land as 
 certainly as a mathematical point. The difficulty 
 was to find the corner tree, where its place was 
 not indicated by notorious natural objects. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 87 
 
 " This difficulty brought many of Boon's loca- 
 tions into dispute. He had made some such in a 
 part of the country in which ten years ago there 
 were still but few inhabitants, and which he had 
 not visited for thirty years. About that time they 
 became a subject of litigation. I had purchased 
 one of them. Colonel Boon lived at a distance, 
 and was very old. Joining with those circum- 
 stanced like myself, we raised a sum of money 
 sufficient to compensate him for his long journey. 
 Our title to something was indisputable but what 
 was it ? Our locations were the oldest in the coun- 
 try, and all others must give way to them but 
 where were they ? These questions he alone 
 could answer. 
 
 " Having drawn him from his distant home, all 
 concerned travelled with him to the part of the 
 country where the lands were said to lie. Our 
 first object was to find the corner of a friend of 
 mine. The old man went to the nearest of the 
 old stations, as they were called, and from thence 
 set out, followed by the rest of us. Our care was 
 to observe, but not to interrupt him. We trusted 
 him as the sportsman trusts his pointer. He took 
 his course, and travelled many miles into the wil- 
 derness, apparently musing, and closely observing 
 every object. Towards the close of the day he 
 was seen to stop, look around, and meditate with 
 an air of long abstraction. At length, speaking 
 rather to himself than to us, he said, in short sen- 
 tences, pausing and musing between, 
 
88 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ** * I know this place. The night before I estab- 
 lished that corner I camped here. It rained that 
 day, and two of my men, when they shot off their 
 rifles to clean them, fired them at a mark on a 
 beech tree, somewhere there/ 
 
 " He pointed as he said this, and we, following 
 the direction of his hand, found a beech, on the 
 bark of which were two small round swelling 
 spots, near enough to each other to have been 
 made by shots fired at the same mark. We cut 
 into the tree, and found two balls. The rings in 
 the wood showed that the wounds had been given 
 in the same year in which the location was made. 
 Now, I assure you I saw nothing in that spot by 
 which I could have distinguished it from a hun- 
 dred I had passed that day. 
 
 " At length we moved on, and in half a mile 
 reached a little open space, perhaps twenty or 
 thirty yards across. Here again Boon stopped, 
 and again speaking as before, said, 
 
 " * I know this place. We stopped here to dry 
 our blankets and get our breakfasts. John Hen- 
 derson marked his name on one of these trees. 
 While we staid here Andrew Jones went out and 
 shot a deer close by. The corner is about two 
 miles from here/ 
 
 " As soon as this was said we began to look for 
 Henderson's name, but we looked in vain. We 
 then took the course indicated by the old man, to 
 see if we could find any trace of Jones ; and we 
 actually found his initials A. J. on a tree. We 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 89 
 
 now resumed our search for the other name. 
 There stood, on the margin of the open space, the 
 remains of a tree, the top of which had been 
 broken off, ten or twelve feet from the ground. 
 The trunk was decayed and covered with moss. 
 This was now stripped off, and beneath was the 
 name of John Henderson, at full length. The old 
 man now resumed his course, and, plunging into 
 the forest, brought us, in two or three miles, to a 
 tree, answering, point by point, to the description 
 in his entry of location.* 
 
 " It is this faculty," continued Balcombe, " which 
 makes the boundless waste of forest or prairie 
 familiar as the home of his childhood, that qualifies 
 a man to excel in the wild enterprises to which 
 I was too prone. Wanting it, I was forced to use 
 those who possessed it. There is my man John, 
 whom I caught young, (for he was a boy at the 
 time,) and tamed to my uses. He was to me, in 
 this respect, what the horse is to the man. But I 
 could not always have him with me ; and alone J 
 was a fool, and no match for a native centaur of 
 the wild." 
 
 I could fill a volume with strange and interesting 
 narratives with which Balcombe amused me, du- 
 ring our long though rapid journey. The journey 
 itself was not without incident, but only such as 
 can hardly fail to happen to every traveller in a 
 
 * The reader is assured that this account is given, (excepting 
 names, which are not remembered,) exactly as the writer received 
 it from an eyewitness of unquestioned veracity, 
 H 2 
 
90 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 route of a thousand miles. But every one may 
 make the same trip for himself ; and, among our 
 people, roaming like Tartars over this vast conti- 
 nent, there are few who have not made or will not 
 make it. But the adventures I have detailed, and 
 those which yet remain to be told, are such as do 
 not happen to every man ; and no man would en- 
 counter them by choice. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The toils are pitched and the stakes are set ,- 
 
 Ever sing merrily, merrily ; 
 The bows they bend and the knives they whet, 
 
 Hunters live so cheerily. 
 
 It was a stag, a stag of ten, 
 f Bearing his branches sturdily ; 
 He came stately down the glen, 
 Ever sing hardily, hardily. 
 
 He had an eye and he could heed. 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 ON our 1 arrival at Wheeling we lost no time in 
 securing our seats in the stage, and prepared to 
 proceed on our journey the same evening. It was 
 amusing to see how John, who never in his life 
 had been so long pent up before, crawled out of his 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 91 
 
 confinement, looking for all the world like a bagged 
 fox. Not even when he came in from his forced 
 march to the Sac River, had I seen him so com- 
 pletely worn out and divested of his energy. He 
 yawned and stretched his limbs, and looked around 
 on the houses and people, as on things of no inter- 
 est to him. At last he lazily raised his rifle, and 
 fixing his eye on the head of a nail in the wreck of 
 an old flat boat, drove it through the plank. He 
 said nothing, and did not even smile, but I saw by 
 a twinkle of his black eye that he was waking up. 
 
 " If that had been a squirrel's eye, John !" 
 said I. 
 
 " Ah, Lord ! Mr. Napier, if I could only take a 
 turn through these hills for a day or two, Pd show 
 you something better than squirrels/' 
 
 " What would that be ?" 
 
 " Bear meat," he replied. 
 
 " Would you expect to find bears in a country 
 so populous as this ?" 
 
 " It's mighty hard to drive the bear out of such 
 a rough country as this ; and as to the people, that 
 makes no odds if they an't of the right sort. I 
 dare say they don't know there's a bear in the 
 country." 
 
 " And why do you think there is V 
 
 " I see plenty of sign, sir, along the river where 
 we stop to get wood, and there's a fine beech 
 mast this year, and the bears are busy lapping 
 now, as boys in a cherry tree." 
 
 " Lapping !" said I ; what's that?' 
 
92 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 11 Why, you see, sir, a bear has got hands almost 
 like a man, and when he gets up in a tree he's so 
 heavy he can't go out on the branches, and the 
 creature's amazing strong, so he gets hold of them 
 and pulls them in, or maybe breaks them off; and 
 that's what we call lapping. So you see, sir, when 
 we find the branches lying about in the woods, we 
 know there's bears about ; and when we see the 
 marks of their nails on the smooth bark of the 
 beech trees, then we stop and listen every now and 
 then ; and presently we hear snap, snap, and it's 
 sure to be a bear up a tree." 
 
 " I suppose you have him safe enough," said I, 
 " when you catch him there." 
 
 " Not always, sir ; if he sees you or hears you 
 coming before you get a shoot at him, he's mighty 
 apt to be off, unless you have a dog to stop him." 
 
 11 I have been told," said I, " that they climb like 
 sailors, but are awkward in coming down." 
 
 " I God !" said John, " they don't stand on climb- 
 ing at such times. If the tree is one hundred feet 
 high, the fellow just lets go all holds, and claps his 
 head between his arms and rolls himself as round 
 as a hoop, and down he comes like a hairy worm. 
 Lord ! if 1 have not seen them fall on a steep hill- 
 side, and roll away to the bottom just the same as 
 a wagon wheel." 
 
 " Does it never kill them ?" asked I. 
 
 "Lord ! no, sir. It does not even bruise them. 
 You see, sir, the fleece saves them." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 93 
 
 " But their fleece is not so thick as that of a 
 sheep, and such a fall would kill a sheep." 
 
 John looked at me a moment in some perplex- 
 ity, and then laughing said, 
 
 " Oh, you are thinking about the fur, but I don't 
 mean that. What we call the fleece is the hard 
 coat of fat outside like a hog, maybe three or four 
 inches thick. You cannot hurt a fat hog if you hit 
 him in the body ; and the fleece of a bear will stop 
 a ball if your powder and all are not very good. 
 And you see, sir, when we are away out of the 
 settlements, and bears are plenty, we cannot bring 
 in all we kill, so we just take the skins and 
 fleeces." 
 
 When we took our places in the stage, John, 
 whose rifle would have been in the way in the 
 body of the coach, gladly seated himself beside the 
 driver ; and as he was perfectly at home with such 
 characters, they were soon well acquainted. I 
 could hear their voices and frequently a laugh, but 
 that was all; but when we stopped to change 
 horses, I saw that they were as intimate as bro- 
 thers. John, glad of employment, soon learned to 
 lend a hand in gearing, and commenced the next 
 stage, more than half acquainted with his new 
 companion. In the body of the coach we had an 
 intelligent company of communicative men,, and 
 were soon too much engaged in conversation to 
 feel the want of him ; so that we hardly heard a 
 word from him for a day or more. . 
 
 On reaching the Alleghany Mountain, we were 
 
94 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 to pass the night (from ten to three) at a public 
 house on the top. On our arrival we found supper 
 ready, and having swallowed a few mouthfuls, 
 were hurrying to bed, when John caught Bal- 
 combe's eye, and coming near said, 
 
 " I want to talk with you, gentlemen, where 
 nobody can see us." 
 
 " Go out, then," said Balcombe, " and we will 
 follow you." 
 
 He did so ; and we saw him walk off in a direc- 
 tion opposite to that to the stables, where we saw 
 the gleaming of lanterns, and the figures of men 
 moving about. John soon stopped, and we came 
 up with him. 
 
 " Colonel," said he, " all isn't right here, I'm a 
 thinking. Maybe you'd better not go on in the 
 morning. But I'll just tell you all, and you'll know 
 best." 
 
 " Go on, John," said Balcombe, " and then we'll 
 consult about it." 
 
 " Well, sir," continued John, " you see I'm 
 mighty thick with all these drivers, and I tell 'em 
 strange things about hunting, and Indians, and the 
 like ; and I have my fun out of them, 'cause, you 
 see, it an't no use to be always sticking to the 
 truth, when a fellow wants to hear something sorter 
 miraculous. So you see I'm a mighty man among 
 them, and as it happens, I haven't never said nothing 
 about you, and they don't know as I knows you. 
 So to-night, sir, when we stopped to change horses 
 last time, I was setting on the dickey (I think they 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 95 
 
 call it) and you was in the tavern. So when the 
 driver takes his seat, he opens a tin box I see them 
 carry, and he takes up a paper, and holds it to the 
 lantern and looks at it, and says he, 
 
 " ' Balcombe ! Balcombe ! Is there a gentleman 
 of the name of Balcombe in the stage T 
 
 " ' Yes,' says I ; ' do you know such a man V 
 
 " * No,' says he ; { only it's a strange sort of a 
 name. Which is the man ?' 
 
 " * That one as wears the blanket capot,' says I. 
 
 " So then he blows his trumpet, and the colonel 
 comes out, and just stops under the lantern at the 
 door, and I sees the fellow look mighty hard at 
 him. And then I hears him talking to himself, and 
 says he, 
 
 " ' Balcombe ! Balcombe ! that's the very name.' 
 
 " So I gets to considering, and we starts off, and 
 after a while says he, 
 
 " ' An't this Mr. Balcombe from Missouri?' 
 
 " * I believe he is,' says I. 
 
 " So he says no more just then ; and he hadn't 
 much to say nohow, but just kept a study inglike, 
 and at last says he, 
 
 " * Do you know which way a man would go 
 from here down into Essex county in Virginia V 
 
 " 1 didn't know no more than a child, and I told 
 him so; but then, thinks I, an't that where they 
 say Montague's gone ? Sol was glad that I did 
 not let him know that I knew the colonel, and then 
 I begins and talks about the mountains, and where 
 I was raised in Virginia ; and I never Jets on that 
 
96 GfcORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 I had ever been in Missouri in my life. And then 
 I tells a heap of stories I had heard about robbing 
 people on the road, and the like, and I made out as 
 if I didn't think so mighty much harm of the like 
 of that; and I tells him of a friend of mine that 
 was sent to the penitentiary for robbing a stranger, 
 how 'twas a pity of him, because he was such a 
 clever fellow. And he didn't say much, but sorter 
 let on that it was a ticklish business, but a smart 
 fellow might do pretty well at it anywhere close 
 to the state line, where he could dodge the law. I 
 cannot tell you rightly all he said, but something 
 like as if a man might do a worse business some- 
 times than just to keep still and say nothing. 
 
 " * How's that ?' says I. 
 
 " * Why," says he, * suppose any of my friends 
 was to meet us now, and want to rob the mail or 
 the passengers, and you there with your rifle. Do 
 you think they could not afford to give you some- 
 thing handsome to keep quiet ?' 
 
 That would depend upon what they got,' says 
 L c 'Cause I thinks I ought to share and share 
 alike with them.' 
 
 " ' No,' says he, ' that would not be fair ; 'cause 
 you wouldn't run no risk/ 
 
 " ' Maybe so,' says I ; * but I reckon any of them 
 would be glad to give me his share and mine too, 
 before he'd let me take a crack at him.' 
 
 " You see I didn't want to seem too anxious, 
 'cause I thought he would not be so apt to sus- 
 picion me, if I held out for a good bargain. But 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 97 
 
 he didn't say no more ; and when we gets here I 
 sees him and the other driver that is to go on from 
 here in the morning, get together, and they had a 
 heap of whispering, and I thought I heard your 
 name and Montague's, and I sees *em look right 
 hard at me, and says t'other one, 
 
 "'No, damn it, let him alone; I can manage 
 him.' 
 
 "So I just sets my rifle down in the stall, and I 
 goes away and stays a while, and when I comes 
 back I takes it up and comes to the house. And I 
 looks at the rifle, and the priming was wet, and I 
 puts down the wiping stick, and when I draws it 
 out that was wet too. So I put that and that to- 
 gether, sir, and then I thought I'd tell you all about 
 it." 
 
 " Well, JohB," said Balcombe, " a little rest 
 won't hurt us ; so I'll just stop here to-morrow, 
 and find out how the land lies. But how are we 
 to manage this ? If we all stop, they'll find out 
 that we are all travelling together, and then they'll 
 be cautious before you."" 
 
 " Oh," said John, " you can just stop because the 
 madam is tired ; and as to me, I can be the sickest 
 man in half an hour that ever you seed." 
 
 "That will do, John," said Balcombe. "Steal 
 away, then, and let us to bed." 
 
 To bed we went, and presently we heard a great 
 bustle of people running to and fro, ministering, as 
 I found, to poor John, whose illness had taken a 
 most alarming aspect. In the midst of the uproar 
 
 VOL. n. i 
 
98 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 I went to sleep, and was roused by the driver with 
 his lantern. He knocked at the door of Balcombe, 
 who asked the hour. 
 
 " Two o'clock," was the reply. 
 
 " Is not that earlier than common ?" asked he. 
 
 " It's none too soon," said the fellow, in a sulky 
 tone ; " the drivers at the next stage say I am 
 always too late." 
 
 " I cannot help that," said Balcombe ; " I will 
 not go until three. So take yourself off, and don't 
 disturb my family." 
 
 " I shall have to leave you," said the driver, in 
 a tone of expostulation. 
 
 "I suppose," said Balcombe, "that your em- 
 ployer will explain why I am left." 
 
 The man was silent for a minute, and then said, 
 
 " I'll wait half an hour for you, sir." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " I'll wait three quarters of an hour." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " I'll wait an hour." 
 
 " Harkee, friend," said Balcombe ; " I mean to 
 ask your employer by what right I have been dis- 
 turbed at this hour of the night. Do you want me 
 to get up and discuss the matter with you ? De- 
 pend on it, if I do, I shall use rougher arguments 
 than you like." 
 
 This was spoken in a dry tone that was not to 
 be mistaken, and the driver moved off. 
 
 i ,u ..i >/ 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The lion preys not on carcasses. 
 
 A QUIET night and a day of rest ensued, which 
 would have been delightful but for my impatience 
 to reach home. Yet that feeling had begun to 
 give way to one of an opposite, but more painful 
 character. The critical posture in which I had 
 left affairs there, made me dread my return almost 
 as much as I desired it. I felt myself borne on 
 and on to my fate, by an impulse irresistible as 
 fate itself, and the very sense of which weighed 
 on my spirits as ominous of a fearful doom. Such 
 a feeling, in its deep strong current, sweeps us 
 along like the suck of a cataract. We listen in 
 vain for the roar of the water, but though we un- 
 derstand not the impulse, a dread presentiment of 
 evil accompanies it. We would turn and fly, we 
 know not whither or from what, but are powerless. 
 We sink down and close our eyes, and yield to the 
 current that may bear us to bliss or to destruction. 
 I was now near enough my journey's end to expe- 
 rience all the wretchedness of this condition. I 
 was impatient of rest, incapable of repose. But 
 whether to move onward or backward was most 
 
100 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 dreaded or most desired I did not know. Had I 
 yielded to every impulse, I might have traversed 
 and retraversed the same ground a hundred 
 times. 
 
 In the morning, John made the most of a sick 
 man's privilege, and lay in bed perhaps later than 
 he had ever done in his life. At last he made his 
 appearance, trying to assume an air of languor, 
 which the shrewd twinkle of his keen black eye 
 strongly belied, and contrived to limit himself to a 
 moderate breakfast, by which, however, he pro- 
 fessed to be mightily refreshed. Soon after, a rude- 
 looking fellow stepped in, and sitting down to the 
 table, began to eat of what was left on it. At the 
 moment the landlord (who was also the contractor's 
 agent) entered, and expressed surprise at seeing 
 him there. I soon discovered that he was the 
 driver who had driven us the night before, and 
 should have returned that morning. I had ob- 
 served him cast an inquisitive look at John, who 
 received it with an answering glance of intelli- 
 gence j but neither spoke, and John left the room, 
 after looking at Balcombe, and cutting his eye at 
 the other with an expression not to be misunder- 
 stood. 
 
 " Tom," said the landlord, " how is this ? Why 
 are you not with your horses ?" 
 
 " I had business the other end of the road," said 
 Tom ; " and I got Bill to drive for me." 
 
 " You're a pretty fellow," said the landlord, " to 
 get such a chap as that to manage your team. Do 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 101 
 
 you think we would give you- 'fifteen dollar?, a 
 month, if a fellow we could get for eight would do 
 as well 1 You are getting. 'above: your .business, 
 sir, and such another trick will throw you out of 
 our service." 
 
 " For the matter of that," said the fellow, " I don't 
 care how soon you discharge me." 
 
 " Don't you 1" replied the landlord ; " then, sir, 
 you will drive one more trip, and by to-morrow I 
 can get another in your place." 
 
 " Not another whip do I crack in your service," 
 said Tom. " You talk about discharging me to- 
 morrow, and I'll discharge myself to-day ; and 
 you must do the best you can." 
 
 " Well," said the landlord, " I suppose Bill will 
 do to drive to-morrow as well as to-day." 
 
 " Oh yes," said the ruffian, " he'll do well enough, 
 only just when you want to find fault with me." 
 
 "None of your insolence," said the landlord; 
 " you are discharged, and your board is out ; so 
 take yourself off." 
 
 " I guess this is a tavern," said the fellow, " and 
 I'll stay here just as long as I please, and call for 
 what I want. You've got money enough of mine 
 to pay for it." 
 
 There was no gainsaying this, and the fellow 
 kept his seat in all the triumph of brutal insolence. 
 To make it more complete, he adjourned from the 
 breakfast table to the bar, to enjoy the privilege of 
 drinking without responsibility to any one. 
 
 In the mean time, Balcombe, turning over the 
 
102 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 leaves-. of the, register, asked of the landlord care- 
 less questions concerning persons whose names he 
 _gaw* rnd, : with. whom;he was acquainted. At last 
 ne'came to 'that of Montague. The landlord re- 
 membered him well. He had been there a month 
 before; arrived Saturday night, and lay by for 
 the Sabbath, being unwilling to travel on that day. 
 He was a mighty quiet, good sort of a man ; had 
 spent the day in reading, and had very little to 
 say, except when he heard the drivers swearing ; 
 and then he talked to them so reasonably, and with 
 so much benevolence, that they seemed to take to 
 him, and he to them. 
 
 " I don't think this fellow profited much by his 
 lecture," said Balcombe. 
 
 " No," said the landlord ; " but he was the very 
 one that he had most to say to, for the fellow 
 played me the same trick then, and staid here all 
 day ; and ever since he will check himself in his 
 oaths at times, and speak of Mr. Montague's good 
 advice." 
 
 Balcombe now proposed to me and James, that 
 we should amuse ourselves with shooting our pis- 
 tols at a mark. So said so done. A target was 
 set up. James fired with such precision as be- 
 longs to a good eye and a steady though unprac- 
 tised hand ; and I, in the martinet style of one 
 who has learned to fire at the word, as part of the 
 education of a man of honour. Both were pretty 
 good shots. As to Balcombe, his ball obeyed his 
 will. He did but look at the mark ; and raising 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 his arm as carelessly as Locksley himself, the bullet 
 was lodged in the mark. 
 
 Meantime John and the driver had come to the 
 place, the former leaning on his rifle, the latter 
 flourishing his long whip, and blurting out an oc- 
 casional oath, as if to show that he felt his inde- 
 pendence and his grog. His attention was soon 
 attracted to what was going on, which seemed to 
 have a sobering effect upon him. I observed a 
 growing uneasiness in his manner, and he began 
 to draw up to John, who took little notice of him, 
 but seemed lost in admiration at the skill of Bal- 
 combe. Addressing him at length he said, 
 
 " I say, stranger, it an't no match at all between 
 you and these gentlemen ; suppose you let me try 
 you a shot." 
 
 "Agreed," said Balcombe ; "will you take a 
 pistol or your rifle ?" 
 
 " I don't much care which," said John ; " but I 
 should like to try my rifle against your pistol, 
 sixty yards to twenty, for a drink of grog." 
 
 The match was soon made. Balcombe fired 
 with his usual success. John snapped ; and ex- 
 amining his pan, found the powder wet. He now 
 put down the wiping stick, and, withdrawing that, 
 pronounced it to be wet too. The driver was near 
 him at the moment, and some words passed be- 
 tween them which I could not hear. I only saw 
 that John's countenance was accusing, and the 
 other's deprecatory. The rifle was soon put in 
 order, and then the match began. The trial of 
 
104 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 skill was wonderful. Which beat I don't remem- 
 ber, except that once when Balcombe's pistol made 
 long fire, he left room for John's ball between his 
 and the mark, so that John was proclaimed victor. 
 We now returned to the house and dined, when 
 Balcombe, going to his room, ordered up the for- 
 feited liquor, and sent for John to join us in drink- 
 ing it. As soon as we were seated, 
 
 " Well, John," said Balcombe, " how did the 
 physic work ?" 
 
 "Oh, prime, sir!" said John. "That fellow 
 don't think there's your match upon earth, except 
 it be me." 
 
 " Well, what does he say to it?" 
 
 " Oh, I've been honeying him up all the morning, 
 and talking about what business he'll go at next, 
 and I sorter put him in mind of what he was talk- 
 ing about last night ; and he seemed sorter so, and 
 sorter not so ; like he wanted to talk and was 
 afraid. So when he seed you a shooting, maybe 
 it didn't make him open his eyes ; and every now 
 and then I could see him scringe, like he thought 
 the bullet was in him. And when I told him I 
 could shoot as well as you, he pretended to make 
 light of it, but then he followed me and looked 
 mighty anxiouslike. The creature had forgot about 
 wetting the powder, and when the rifle snapped he 
 looked right innocent till I found out what was the 
 matter. And with that I looks right hard at him, 
 and says I, 
 
 " c I'll tell you what it is, stranger ; you don't 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 105 
 
 start me from here to-morrow morning with a wet 
 load in my gun.' Lord ! if he didn't look guilty I 
 don't know. * And I reckon,' says I, ' you think I 
 don't know what you were after down the road 
 before day this morning.' 
 
 " ' Hush ! hush !' says he, c don't say a word and 
 I'll tell you all about it.' 
 
 " So with that I cracks away, and he thought 1 
 beat you, 'cause you did not say your pistol blowed, 
 and just gave it up so. So then we goes to the 
 stable together, and says I, 
 
 " ' What is that you are going to tell me ?' 
 
 " And he sorter hummed and hawed about it, 
 and says I, 
 
 " ' Stranger, you see it's just so : if you've any- 
 thing to tell me, tell it ; if not, its all one to me. 
 I can take care of myself I reckon.' 
 
 " Then he looks right dubious, and says he, 
 
 " ' Did you hear me and Joe talking last night ?' 
 
 " Says I, 
 
 " * If / didn't, I reckon my gun did when I set 
 it there in the stall. And I reckon,' says I, ' it will 
 take a smarter fellow than Joe to manage me, and 
 I with both eyes wide open.' 
 
 " And with that says he, 
 
 " ' I wish Joe was here, 'cause I haven't got no 
 right to speak too plain without his leave, espe- 
 cially after he told me not ; but,' says he, ' you 
 come down to the stable after supper and we'll 
 see about it.' 
 
 " So I agreed, and then I come away." 
 
106 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Well, John," said Balcombe, " now go to sleep 
 if you can, and sleep till supper, and I'll do so too, 
 because we must not sleep any more afterward. 
 When everybody else is asleep, come to my room, 
 and then you can tell me all about it. As to you, 
 boys, new flints and dry powder, and wait for the 
 word of command. I don't want to weary you, 
 and you can trust me." 
 
 I heard no more of the matter until next morn- 
 ing. There happened to be no one in the stage 
 but our party and one other, whom I could not 
 distinguish in the dark. He had already taken his 
 place on the back seat, when Balcombe handed in 
 his wife. 
 
 " As we are going down the mountain," said she, 
 " I will sit in front." 
 
 She did so ; and Balcombe placing himself by 
 her side, I took the opposite corner on the same 
 seat. The stranger fronted me, and James was 
 vis a vis to Mrs. Balcombe. John, as usual, rode 
 with the driver. We went off at a rapid rate, but 
 presently slackened our speed at a moderate rise. 
 Balcombe now said, 
 
 "Are your arms in order, James? and your's, 
 William ? Is your powder dry ?" 
 
 We both replied that we had examined all a few 
 minutes before, and all was right. 
 
 " Then," continued Balcombe, " take each of 
 you a pistol in one hand and a dirk in the other. 
 Now if the carriage stops before we reach the end 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 107 
 
 of our stage, do both of you both shoot and stab 
 the fellow that sits in that corner." 
 
 Then dropping the little window at the driver's 
 back, which was just behind his own head, he 
 said, 
 
 " You can drive, John, and must be in readiness 
 to catch the reins if the driver falls from his seat. 
 And you, driver, take notice: I have a pistol 
 pointed at your back that never misses fire. If 
 any ruffians attack the stage, as was done yester- 
 day morning, and you suffer the horses to stop a 
 moment, I will shoot you through the body ; and 
 do you, John, shoot down any man that attempts 
 to stop the horses, and drive on. And now, boys, 
 all of you remember the watchword, * Deliberate 
 promptitude.' " 
 
 This formidable arrangement, which gave me 
 for the first time a precise view of our situation, 
 was heard in silence by the driver and his con- 
 federate. 
 
 " Move on quietly," said Balcombe ; " keep your 
 horses hard in hand until we come to the point of 
 attack, for your life depends on their having mettle 
 enough to break away from anybody who may 
 try to stop them." 
 
 He was obeyed to the letter ; and we descended 
 the mountain at a moderate trot. At one of those 
 short sharp rises, which everywhere break the 
 slope of the Alleghany, we fell into a walk, and 
 had not ascended a hundred yards before we heard 
 the driver say, 
 
 
108 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Get away, you damned fools ; will you never 
 quit trying to scare people ?" 
 
 At the same moment the lash rung loud and 
 sharp, and the horses, after a momentary check, 
 dashed away up the hill at a gallop. We now 
 moved on with speed to the next stage, where 
 Balcombe, with a sharp reprimand, dismissed the 
 ruffians. 
 
 " I will not take the trouble," said he, '* to prose- 
 cute you for conspiring against my life. I don't 
 belong to your state, nor care not for offences 
 against her laws, and I have no malice against you. 
 But tell me, before we part, what was that scoun- 
 drel to have given you ?" 
 
 The men looked at each other, and at last Tom 
 answered, 
 
 " I suppose it an't no use to try and keep it a 
 secret now. It was a thousand dollars a piece." 
 
 " And did he agree to take your word ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; we were to carry the waybill, with 
 your name upon it. He said the newspapers would 
 tell him all the rest of the story." 
 
 "Whereto?" 
 
 " To Essex county, sir." 
 
 "Enough," said Balcombe. "I never thought 
 that wretch could make himself so formidable as 
 to be an object of anything but contempt. But his 
 craft and indefatigable malignity begin to entitle 
 him to my resentment. I hope it may have time 
 to cool before I meet him. I should hardly allow 
 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 109 
 
 the canting hypocrite time to say his prayers just 
 now." 
 
 As we pursued our journey, Balcombe told me 
 that Joe, at Tom's instance, had consented to take 
 John into the plot. Tom was to take his place by 
 Balcombe's side, and at a proper moment stab him 
 in the bustle, and escape. John was to wet our 
 powder ; and Balcombe being out of the way, the 
 rest were to be robbed, and taken on to the end of 
 the stage. 
 
 " But what," said I, " did you mean by what 
 you said about the stopping of the stage yesterday 
 morning ?" 
 
 " I forgot," said Balcombe, " that you did not 
 know that. The eastern stage came in after you 
 went to bed, and I learned that the passengers had 
 heard from those who went down yesterday, that 
 they had been stopped, as I suppose, at the place 
 where we were beset." 
 
 This was the last adventure of our journey 
 worth recording. Passing by all minor occur- 
 rences, I hasten to the scene of those events on 
 which the happiness of my future life depended. 
 
 VOL. IT. K 
 
 * 
 
110 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " The sinking of the heart, 
 The failing sight, in which the light of heaven 
 Turns all to blackness, whose disastrous gloom 
 O'ershadows nature's face ! Oh ! this it is to love ; 
 To hope ; the sickening hope that lives in fear ; 
 The fear that paints a rival throned in bliss, 
 And tells of charms profaned, and plighted faith 
 Irrevocable." 
 
 WE reached Baltimore and Washington in safety 
 without any other adventure. At Alexandria Bal- 
 combe hired a carriage, in which he conveyed his 
 wife to the house of her friends in Fauquier. I 
 passed on to Fredericksburg, and thence to my 
 mother's residence in King and Queen, where 
 Balcombe promised to join me the day after my 
 arrival. 
 
 I shall not endeavour to paint my feelings during 
 this solitary journey. Solitary it was ; for though 
 in the public stage, my mind, missing the excite- 
 ment of Balcombe's conversation, sunk into a sort 
 of collapse, which made me alike incapable of con- 
 versing with strangers, and sustaining my own 
 spirits under the crushing weight of my forebo- 
 dings. I had now been absent from home more 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. HI 
 
 than three months. Not knowing where to direct, 
 my friends had never written to me, and I knew 
 nothing of what had passed in the mean time. But 
 I had ground for fearful apprehensions. Ann had 
 forbidden me to think of her except as a sister. 
 Howard, after a long course of well directed and 
 not unacceptable attention, had given notice that 
 he was about to return for the purpose of pressing 
 his suit, which had been neither accepted nor re- 
 jected ; and with all the advantages of birth and 
 fortune, a handsome person, fine manners, and a 
 high character for talent and honour, had been 
 doubtless urging it during my absence. My heart 
 sickened at these thoughts ; and as I approached 
 the place where I was to learn definitely whether 
 my fears were well founded, I was half tempted 
 to turn my back on my friends, to find my way 
 again to the wilderness from which I had just 
 emerged, and lose in a life of adventure a sense 
 of the insufferable wretchedness that oppressed 
 me. 
 
 Between twenty and thirty miles south of Fred- 
 ericksburg, I left the stage, and hiring a horse, 
 turned down eastwardly into King and Queen. 
 Here, in the house which had once been my father's, 
 lived my poor mother, in virtue of an arrangement 
 with the creditors, which authorized her to retain 
 possession until the end of the year. Here were 
 my -sisters, and here, unless she had already be- 
 come the mistress of Howard's affluent fortune, 
 was my meek and gentle Ann. In the neighbour- 
 
112 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 hood was Oakwood, one only of the princely habi- 
 tations of which Howard was master ; and here 
 my phrensied imagination saw Ann presiding over 
 the hospitalities of a season of nuptial festivities. 
 If a solitary seaman, shipwrecked on a desolate 
 and barren coast, could envy the feelings with 
 which I now approached the scenes of my youth, 
 there must be a misery in exile which I have never 
 conceived. 
 
 I was now but a few miles from home, when I 
 met a negro whom I had known from my boyhood 
 as the body servant of one of the neighbours. He 
 stopped his horse as soon as he came up to me, 
 and looking me in the face exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, Lord bless my soul ! Mass William, is 
 that you ? I mighty glad to see you, sir ; and they 
 been looking and waiting for you at home ever so 
 long." 
 
 " How are they all, Jack ?" said I, in a tone that 
 sounded fearfully in my own ears. It was the 
 voice of anticipated desolation and wretchedness, 
 which seemed ominous of the fulfilment of my 
 fears. 
 
 " All mighty well, sir," said Jack, " and been 
 looking for you every day. Master sent me there 
 yesterday, sir, and I seed 'em all; Mrs. Napier, 
 and the young ladies, and Mr. Howard and all." 
 
 When I recollect the feeling that came over me 
 as I heard these last words, I only wonder that I 
 did not fall to the earth and die. They who have 
 experienced the same will understand me. They 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 113 
 
 who have not, never will, until they feel their own 
 hearts withering under such an intimation as the 
 name of Howard, thus used, conveyed to my mind. 
 I could not repeat it. 
 
 ' Mr. Howard !" said I, faintly. 
 
 "Yes, sir; jMr. Howard. Don't you know," 
 said Jack, with a knowing grin, " Miss Margaret 
 Howard's brother, sir. The gentleman they say 
 is going to marry Miss Ann. He there, sir, and 
 Miss Margaret too ; but lady's me ! Mass Wil- 
 liam, travelling don't agree with you. You look 
 mighty badly, sir. You been sick, sir?" 
 
 " No, Jack, no/' said I, recovering myself, re- 
 lieved as I was by words which, had they been 
 spoken first instead of last, would have hardly been 
 less appalling than those which had blanched my 
 cheek. " The gentleman they say is going to marry 
 Miss Ann" Had any man uttered these words 
 five minutes before, I should have felt inclined to 
 kill him. As it was, I was ready to hug the good- 
 hearted greasy blackamoor to my heart. 
 
 I passed on, elate with hope. Such hope as could 
 be found in the realization of the worst fears I 
 had ever permitted to enter into my mind, until 
 the moment before I met the negro. Yet it was 
 hope, at least for a few moments ; but presently 
 subsided again, not into despair, but despondency. 
 
 At length I reached the end of my journey. I 
 
 approached the house unnoticed. I saw no one. 
 
 I secured my horse, and slowly and sadly walked 
 
 to the open door. As 1 entered, " all things reeled 
 
 K 2 
 
114 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 around me." All was still. I heard no voice ; I 
 heard no step. The nearest door was that of the 
 drawingroom. I entered. On a sofa sat Ann, 
 and by her side was Howard. He held her hand, 
 and bent over her with an air of earnest tender- 
 ness. Her head hung down, and her eyes seemed 
 fixed in the same direction. She d'id not look up ; 
 perhaps she did not hear me. He did. He raised 
 his head with an exclamation of pleased surprise ; 
 he uttered my name, and with extended hand he 
 advanced towards me. I gave him mine, and in 
 doing so took my eyes from Ann. Before I could 
 turn them again she was in my arms. A wild 
 scream of delight was all I heard. All I felt was 
 that I once more held her to my bosom, and that 
 her very heart was poured into it in a torrent of 
 tears. I was conscious of nothing else till she dis- 
 engaged herself, and, recovering her recollection, 
 drew back, and with a timid glance at Howard, 
 sank into a chair, while alternate blushes and pale- 
 ness chased each other over her quivering fea- 
 tures. At this moment Jane entered. I could not 
 help perceiving that her joy at seeing me did not 
 so entirely occupy her mind as to prevent a glance 
 which seemed to cast rebuke upon Ann. Indeed 
 her manner to me was constrained ; but I pres- 
 ently forgot it in the long embrace of maternal 
 tenderness, and in the artless endearments of my 
 younger sister Laura. I now looked around for 
 Howard ; but with the delicacy of a perfect gen- 
 tleman, as he was, he had left the room. 1 turned 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 115 
 
 my eyes again on Ann. She sat with her's fixed 
 on her handkerchief, at the edge of which she was 
 pulling. Her blushes had passed away, except 
 one long line of brightness, extending like the track 
 of a meteor across her cheek to her ear, which still 
 glowed with the fervour of her feelings. I gazed 
 on her. She looked up. Her eye met mine, and 
 glanced timidly to Jane. I followed it, and met 
 the same cold look of inexorable decorum, which 
 had rebuked what she called the glaring impropri- 
 ety of my declaration of love to Ann. 
 
 A half hour passed speedily in the rapid inter- 
 change of those inquiries which always attend the 
 meetings of long-absent friends. At the end of 
 this time, Howard reappeared, leading his sister, 
 bonneted and cloaked. He had ordered his car- 
 riage, and came in to take leave, saying he would 
 see us again when the fervour of our mutual greet- 
 ings should have subsided. His sister welcomed 
 me with cordial dignity, while a slight blush man- 
 tled her cheek. Again involuntarily I looked to 
 Jane. Her eye was bent on Miss Howard, with 
 an expression of searching eagerness, which sud- 
 denly quailed, and she looked down embarrassed 
 and vexed. I turned, and saw the cause in some 
 slight indignation which displayed itself in Miss 
 Howard's countenance as she withdrew her glance 
 from my sister. A few inquiries followed after 
 my health and adventures, and the young people, 
 took leave. 
 
 In this scene I found ample food for conjecture 
 
116 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 and meditation. It now seemed to me that my 
 intercourse with Balcombe, and the habitual excite- 
 ment of whatever faculty of observation I pos- 
 sessed, during the scenes of the last two months, 
 had endued me with a perspicacity to which I had 
 before been a stranger. No doubt such things had 
 passed in my presence before ; but I had marked 
 them not. But I had marked enough to remember 
 that on no former occasion had any tenderness or 
 caress of mine tinged with the slightest flush the 
 marble whiteness of Ann's cheek. Never before 
 in my presence, and while I spoke, had her eyes 
 sought the ground. No. They had always dwelt 
 in calm tranquillity upon my face, with an expres- 
 sion differing from that of my sisters only because 
 she was much more gentle, more tender than they. 
 But I had no time to prosecute such trains of 
 thought; yet I was cheered and revived under 
 their influence. My despondency was so far dis- 
 sipated as to enable me to converse freely, and I 
 lost no time in giving my friends a hasty outline of 
 my adventures. When I came to speak of Bal- 
 combe, my mother recollected the name as that of 
 one she had heard of but never seen ; of whom she 
 had not thought for many years, but of whom she 
 was sure she had heard my grandfather speak in 
 the highest terms. While I told of his prompt 
 and efficient kindness, his high endowments, and 
 the generous devotion with which he had periled 
 life and honour in my service, the gratitude of my 
 mother and Laura knew no bounds. Jane, too, 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 117 
 
 expressed the same sentiment in the strongest 
 terms ; but her look was often abstracted, as that 
 of one calculating consequences, and estimating 
 the influence of every occurrence on some precon- 
 ceived scheme. Ann by degrees withdrew her 
 eyes from the figures on the carpet, and a tear 
 stole from them as I told of the tender interest 
 he had expressed in her who had been his pet and 
 plaything. I taught them to expect to see him the 
 next day, and proposed to fill up the interval with 
 a more detailed narrative of the events which I 
 now hastily sketched. 
 
 I 'was anxious to prepare Ann to meet him as a 
 friend worthy of all her confidence. I trusted to 
 him to detect the secret of her heart. I depended 
 on his address to make her acquainted with it. In 
 her present defenceless condition, having no male 
 friend, no protector but myself, nothing could ex- 
 cuse me for again addressing her on the subject of 
 my love, until I should feel a reasonable assurance 
 that my addresses would not be unacceptable. But 
 I knew that he would need no hint from me, and I 
 felt assured that he would manage his inquisition 
 into the state of her heart so as not to shock, to 
 alarm, or offend. When we separated for the 
 night, I perceived that she again manifested some 
 feeling which I had never observed before, as she 
 held up her lip for the brother's kiss, with which 
 from childhood we had always parted at that hour. 
 
118 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 In that deep midnight of the mind 
 
 And that internal strife of heart, 
 When, dreading to be deemed too kind, 
 
 The weak despair, the cold depart. 
 When fortune changed, and love fled far, 
 
 And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, 
 Thou wert the solitary star, 
 
 That rose, and set not to the last. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 IN the morning I resumed my narrative, and 
 successfully accomplished my purpose of impress- 
 ing her mind with admiration for Balcombe, and 
 confidence in his friendship. In the afternoon 
 Balcombe came, accompanied by Keizer and 
 James. He had dissuaded the latter from hurry- 
 ing directly home, because he had been unwilling 
 to trust so raw a youth to cope alone with Mon- 
 tague, and because he wished to come upon him 
 unexpectedly. The time lost was of little conse- 
 quence. If Mary held him at bay, she would still 
 await the appearance of her brother. If he had 
 already carried his point, James's presence there 
 could do no good. But we had no doubt that the 
 approach of Balcombe (should Montague be ap- 
 prized of it) would hurry him to some or any act 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 119 
 
 of desperation ; and, being now so near the scene 
 of action, we determined to hasten to it without 
 further loss of time. 
 
 We would gladly have remained a day or two 
 where we were, but Balcombe's eagerness in pur- 
 suit of his prey made him insensible to fatigue. 
 For my own part, all other considerations seemed 
 of little consequence in my eyes in comparison with 
 my desire to be near Ann, and to hear how How- 
 ard's suit had sped. Balcombe, by going alone, 
 might have accomplished all that I could. But 
 how contemptible must I appear in the eyes of 
 Ann, if, after his past hazards in my behalf, I should 
 again leave him alone to do what was most prop- 
 erly my own work. It was determined, therefore, 
 that we should both go the next day to Raby Hall, 
 accompanied by James and Keizer. 
 
 Soon after this resolution was taken, a servant 
 came from the postoffice, and handed Balcombe 
 a letter. After receiving it he left us to read it in 
 his own room. Presently the servant came to 
 inform James that Balcombe wished to speak to 
 him. They remained together some time, and 
 then I saw Balcombe walk into the park with the 
 letter in his hand, which he read as he went. He 
 did not return until nearly dark. At supper, 
 James did not make his appearance. My mother 
 directed a servant to find him, when Balcombe 
 said, 
 
 " I beg he may not be called. He is in his 
 
120 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 -*., * 
 
 room. The poor boy has just heard of the loss of 
 his mother.'* 
 
 To the rest of the company these words suffi- 
 ciently explained a something of gloom which had 
 hung on Balcombe's brow since he returned from 
 his walk, and imparted a tone of tender sadness to 
 his voice. But to me they gave a further intima- 
 tion that the letter was from Mary Scott, and I 
 turned on him a look of eager inquiry. To this 
 he only answered by a quiet smile, and then began 
 to speak of James ; of his fine intellect, of his 
 scrupulous honour and fidelity, and his gentle and 
 amiable deportment. When he rose from table he 
 approached Ann, and gently taking her hand, said 
 in the kindest tone, 
 
 "You can have no recollection of me, my 
 dear." 
 
 " None at all," said she ; " and I regret it, for, 
 from what I have learned, none ever better de- 
 served to live in the memory of his friends." 
 
 " You can never fade from mine, while it 
 pleases God to preserve to me my own little 
 daughter, whose blue eyes and fair hair always 
 remind me of you. You were very dear to me. 
 I was then but a boy, and the only return I could 
 make for the unmerited bounty of your grand- 
 father, was in acts of playful kindness to the chil- 
 dren on whom he doted. I thus won the hearts 
 of you and William ; and I trust mine will never 
 be so hard, as not to love those who love me." 
 
 "William has told me," said Ann, "that we 
 
 
GEORGE BALGOMBE. 121 
 
 used to call you our George. I think that sound 
 comes to my ear like the voice of an old friend. 
 My George ! my George !" she repeated, with the 
 look of one trying to recall a half- remembered 
 tune. 
 
 " Say that again," said Balcombe, gently passing 
 his arm around her waist and drawing her to him. 
 " Say that again. You cannot think how sweet 
 to me is a sound that reminds me that I once was 
 young and lived in the paradise of domestic peace, 
 so ill exchanged for the thorny wilderness of strife 
 where my manhood has been spent. I am still 
 your George, my dear child ; and I hope you will 
 soon know me well enough to call me so again. 
 In the mean time," continued he, with a mild so- 
 lemnity of manner, " accustom yourself to whisper 
 those words to your own heart, that they may be 
 echoed back to you, if, at any time, you feel the 
 want of a friend." 
 
 As he said this, he gently turned up to his own 
 her face, beaming with a tearful smile, and after 
 gazing on her tenderly for a moment, kissed her 
 forehead, and placed her softly in a chair. In the 
 whole action there was something so quiet, so 
 bland, so soothing, so exactly adapted alike to the 
 delicacy and warmth of Ann's feelings, that I saw 
 that his place in her confidence was at once im- 
 moveably established. Balcombe, though not a 
 handsome man, was not ugly ; though not young, 
 he was yet in the prime of manhood ; the unexam- 
 pled devotion of his young wife showed his power 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
122 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 over the female heart ; and here I had seen his 
 manner of exercising it. I could not have endured 
 to see Ann's cheek resting on the bosom of any 
 other man ; but in his whole action there was a 
 holy calmness, and a soft breathing of paternal 
 tenderness, with which my whole heart sympa- 
 thized. As he withdrew his lips from her white 
 brow, I felt as if he had left a blessing there. Had 
 I any part in it ? I was not selfish enough to ask 
 the question. 
 
 When the ladies had retired, Balcombe proposed 
 to accompany me to my room. On reaching it, 
 he produced and handed me the letter he had just 
 received. It proved, as I suspected, to be from 
 Mary Scott, and ran as follows : 
 
 " When I wrote the letter which I sent you by 
 James, I hardly hoped that time, which has left me 
 nothing by which I can recognise my former self, 
 had made so little change in you. That you could 
 not be ungenerous or unkind I knew. But that 
 you would at once address yourself, with all the 
 energy and vivacity of youth, to the service of a 
 distant and dishonoured, though unfortunate wo- 
 man, was more than I had a right to expect. Still 
 less had I hoped that the history of my wrongs and 
 wretchedness would draw from you a letter so full 
 of kindness and sympathy as that I have just re- 
 ceived. Thank God ! you at least are unchanged. 
 I rejoice at it more for your own sake than my 
 own. Remaining what you were when I first 
 
GEORGE BALCOMEE. 123 
 
 knew you, I know that you have been, are, and 
 must be happy. Fate does not do her work by 
 halves, and thus leave a fountain of bliss pouring 
 its perennial freshness through the hearts of those 
 she has doomed as the victims of her malice. 
 
 "I have hardly more cause to be thankful for 
 your kindness, than to rejoice that your letter did 
 not reach me a few days sooner. Had it done so, 
 I might have been the dupe of that artful villain, in 
 whom the guile, the malignity, the venom, and 
 the grovelling baseness of the serpent are all 
 blended. For once he overreached himself. The 
 rapidity of his journey defeated his own object. 
 Not seeing James, nor hearing from you, I was 
 suspicious of him ; and his eagerness to accomplish 
 his end had, before the arrival of your letter, con- 
 firmed my suspicions into a determination not to 
 trust him. But let me begin and tell my story. I 
 shall address this to the care of Mrs. Napier of 
 Craiganet, where you informed me you proposed 
 to be ere this. Later information satisfies me you 
 cannot be there for some weeks, and I shall have 
 time enough to detail to you all the machinations 
 of the wretch. Could you conceive the comfort 
 which it affords to a being desolate as I am, that 
 there is one worthy of all esteem and confidence, 
 who takes an interest in her, and will listen with- 
 out disgust to whatever tones the agony of re- 
 morse, the bitterness of grief, the gloom of despair, 
 or the hope that dawns from beyond the tomb may 
 draw from her heart, you would not wonder that 
 
124 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 I am disposed to fill the interval between this and 
 your expected return with a history of the events 
 that have befallen me since James left home. I go 
 to It as to a ' pleasant task,' which, like the poet's 
 dream, beguiled his dungeon's solitude, scarce less 
 lonely, less weary, less desolate than mine. The 
 light which Heaven sheds upon the mind, is mine 
 as it was his. All other is shut out. The sun may 
 shine. / see him not. 
 
 " A few days after poor James left me, a para- 
 lytic stroke brought my mother to the grave. I 
 need not describe my situation, thus left alone on 
 earth. The solitude of my cottage, before dreary, 
 was now frightful. It was a relief to me that the 
 only other being in Virginia who cared for my 
 existence, required my presence and aid. My old 
 nurse was taken ill. You remember she was the 
 housekeeper at Raby Hall. I hastened to see her } 
 and found her so ill that I passed the night by her 
 side. In the morning I threw myself on a pallet, 
 and slept a few hours. I was awakened by a 
 strange voice, and saw a venerable and benev- 
 olent-looking old gentleman standing by the 
 bed. I immediately conjectured that it was the 
 steward, whom I had never seen. It seems 
 that Mr. Raby had been imposed on by his over- 
 seers and agents, and lately determined to engage 
 the service of some reputable man in moderate cir- 
 cumstances to live on one of his estates, and exer- 
 cise a supervisory control over all of them. The 
 gentleman selected was one whose fortunes were 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 125 
 
 decayed, and whose family had all left him. He 
 and his wife, both old, had been reduced to pov- 
 erty. But I need not tell you more than this. He 
 is Major Swann, whose character you know ; for 
 I learn that in his better days he was a neighbour 
 and friend of Mr. Charles Raby, and knew you 
 when a youth. I rose on seeing him, and his at- 
 tention being drawn to me, Mammy Amy told 
 him who I was. He said something very kind, 
 and took occasion to speak feelingly of that strong 
 tie which binds the nursling to its foster-mother, 
 and which goes so far to mitigate the evils of sla-^ 
 very in Virginia. Leaving the room, he sent the 
 old woman her breakfast, and I found that some- 
 thing was added for me, prepared with a delicate 
 care that was more grateful to my heart than the 
 food to my palate. Not long after his wife ap- 
 peared. She, too, was very kind, and sat and con- 
 versed with me a long time. While she was there 
 servants came in, bringing a small cot bed, which 
 was set up silently in one corner of the room. The 
 old lady now left it, saying, that if I should have 
 occasion to stay all night I would be more com* 
 fortably lodged. I felt that there was great sin- 
 cerity and delicacy in this kindness, and made no 
 scruple to remain. I staid by my good old nurse 
 night and day, and she got better. I began to feel 
 some yearning for my solitary home, but my heart 
 shrunk from its desolate loneliness, and I would 
 gladly have staid where I was. Yet I had no 
 longer any excuse to remain, and was about to go 
 
 L2 
 
126 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 away, when the old gentleman told me that he 
 understood my situation, and begged me to con- 
 sider whether I could not be more comfortable 
 where I was. You remember the housekeeper's 
 room. It is quite snug ; and there was a little 
 girl to do for me many offices which, at home, I 
 must have done for myself. I could not afford a 
 servant. I could hardly afford myself bread. I 
 was much obliged, but said that I could not con- 
 sent to remain unemployed. This objection was 
 easily removed. The keys were put into my 
 hands; and knowing of old all the fixtures and 
 arrangements -of the house, I had no difficulty in 
 fulfilling the duties of housekeeper during my 
 nurse's illness. In this new vocation I was so for- 
 tunate as to give entire satisfaction, and as the 
 poor old, woman has never recovered her activity, 
 I was invited to consider Raby Hall my home in 
 future, and to take on myself the office she could 
 no longer fill. I was told that I should have the 
 benefit of such aid and advice as she could give, 
 but that her day of service was past ; that she had 
 reached that age at which she was entitled to 
 spend .her remaining years in repose and comfort; 
 and that my services would deserve a higher re- 
 muneration than mere subsistence. This last 
 idea I rejected, and insisted on even giving up 
 my lease, which was at last accepted. The few 
 articles I no longer needed were sold, and I was 
 duly installed as housekeeper at Raby Hall. 
 ' I was now invited to a seat at Major Swann's 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 127 
 
 table. This I declined. It was pressed upon me 
 until I was obliged to speak of my unfitness (my 
 pride would not let me say unworthiness) for soci- 
 ety such as that of Mrs. Swann. The kind old 
 gentleman said something very civil about the 
 place to which my manners and conversation en- 
 titled me, but acquiesced. Here I have been ever 
 since, dividing my time between my books and 
 household cares, and quietly eating my humble 
 but comfortable meals with Mammy Amy by her 
 little fire. 
 
 " Can you forgive the egotism of this preamble ? 
 I know you will ; and I will not aggravate my fault 
 by excusing it." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Look on this withered rose. Canst thou renew 
 Its bloomy freshness 1 the torn leaf repair 1 ? 
 Restore it to the stalk where once it grew, 
 
 To shed again its fragrance on the air, 
 And with its balmy breath repay thy fostering care ?" 
 
 " THINGS remained in this state, when one day 
 coming in from the dairy, I saw a man enter the 
 house. I supposed his visit to be to the major, and 
 quietly entered by the private door and went to 
 
128 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 my room. As I approached the door, I heard the 
 voice of the old woman, saying, 
 
 " * Sit down if you please, master. Did you say 
 you wanted to see me, sir ?' 
 
 " ' Yes/ was the answer, in a voice that did not 
 sound entirely new to me. * I have a message for 
 you.' 
 
 " * A message, sir ! And who's it from, master T 
 
 " * It is from a lady.' 
 
 " c A lady ! I'm sure I don't know what lady 
 it can be, unless it's Miss Ann, poor thing ! and 
 I reckon she don't hardly remember the old 
 woman.' 
 
 " ' It is a lady,' said the voice, now sounding 
 husky and choking, < who put something in your 
 hands to keep a long time ago, and she has sent me 
 for it.' 
 
 " I now perceived that the speaker was Mon- 
 tague, and nothing but my abhorrence of him pre- 
 vented my rushing into the room to ask him about 
 my brother. I restrained myself, and the old wo- 
 man made no answer. 
 
 " * You don't understand me, I believe/ said 
 Montague. 
 
 ttt Maybe I don't/ said she, with some sharpness 
 of tone. 
 
 " You know/ said he, * that the thing I speak 
 of was a bundle of papers, and that you were to 
 keep it until she came or sent for them.' 
 
 " No answer. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 129 
 
 "'I suppose you are waiting to see the token 
 that she sent.' 
 
 " ' I don't know what you call a token,' said the 
 old woman. 
 
 "* Well, 'said Montague, * you know you and 
 she broke a ring in two, and you have one half and 
 she the other. Whoever she sent for the bundle 
 was to bring it.' 
 
 " f You talk like you got something to show me, 
 master,' said the wary old woman. * Will you let 
 me see what it is, sir ?' 
 
 ' * I have lost it,' was the reply. 
 
 " * Well, I reckon it don't make no odds,' said 
 she, carelessly. 
 
 " Startled at this answer, which, however, . I 
 totally misunderstood, I entered the room. Mon- 
 tague was sitting opposite the door. He obviously 
 did not recollect me at first, and rose with a slight 
 salutation, such as he doubtless deemed appropriate 
 to my humble apparel. Before he resumed his 
 seat, however, his eye met mine, and he sunk into 
 it overwhelmed with trepidation and dismay. My 
 own agitation was scarcely less than his. I first 
 found my voice, and inquired for James. He hes- 
 itated, faltered, and stammered out that he had 
 parted with him on the way, and expected him in 
 a few days. 
 
 " ' Where did they separate ?' 
 
 " * In Missouri/ 
 
 " I inquired for you, and was told that you and 
 James would come together. 
 
130 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 "The manner in which this was said, indeed, 
 his whole deportment, would have filled me with 
 distrust, even if I had never known him. But when 
 I reflected on his habitual baseness, and remem- 
 bered his uneasy tone While speaking with the old 
 woman, and then the utter discomfiture with which 
 my appearance overwhelmed him, I had no doubt 
 that he had been guilty of some new villany. My 
 alarm was excessive, and I could scarcely com- 
 mand it so far as to continue the conversation. 
 He now turned to the old woman, who told him 
 with great composure, that if his message was 
 from me, I was present to speak for myself. Hav- 
 ing taken up this position, she remained perfectly 
 impracticable to all his attempts to draw her into 
 a discussion. With me he saw that his case was 
 hopeless for the present. Still he could not at 
 once desist from endeavouring to get me to talk of 
 the packet, but I had taken my cue from the old 
 woman, and resolutely imitated her obstinate si- 
 lence. At length he went away, and left me in a 
 state of anxiety and alarm for my poor boy which 
 I have no words to express. 
 
 "The next day he again made his appearance, 
 and, suppressing his impatience to get hold of the 
 packet, made a display of great interest in my 
 welfare, was full of concern for the humble and 
 dependant situation in which he saw me, and 
 hoped that James's return would place me in a 
 more desirable and suitable condition. To all 
 this I only answered that in my condition James's 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 131 
 
 return could make no difference. This baffled him 
 again by showing that I was not to be approached 
 on the side of pecuniary interest. 
 
 " He now lamented in pathetic terms his misfor- 
 tune in not being permitted to contribute, in any 
 way, to the happiness of one whose happiness 
 was so dear to him ; and he dropped many distant 
 hints which made me see that there was no depth 
 of hypocrisy, at least, perhaps no sacrifice, to 
 which he would not descend to carry his point. I 
 was therefore but the more resolved to maintain 
 mine, and at all events to hold the packet as a hos- 
 tage for the safe appearance of James. Accord- 
 ingly, when, after speaking me fair during a long 
 glozing conversation, he concluded with express- 
 ing a hope that I would give up the packet, seeing 
 that he had complied to the letter with all your re- 
 quirements, I coldly said that I should await the 
 return of James. 
 
 ' ' But,' said he, ' you may assure yourself that 
 your brother will certainly be here in a few days.' 
 
 '* * There can be the less inconvenience, then/ 
 said I, * in waiting for him.' 
 
 " This disconcerted him excessively : he mut- 
 tered something about the urgency of his affairs, 
 to which I answered, 
 
 " * I know nothing about your affairs, sir, and am 
 resolved to know nothing about your business with 
 me until I see my brother.' 
 
 " He now became silent, mused a while, and 
 again began to talk in a strain of great respect, 
 
132 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 with distant and guarded expressions of kindness. 
 I saw his drift, and let him go away without ob- 
 taining any further satisfaction, or giving him more 
 insight into my thoughts than I had already done. 
 
 " The next day he appeared again with a hand- 
 some equipage, and. dressed with studied care. 
 The topics of the preceding day were resumed. 
 He spoke of his departure from Virginia, of losses 
 and difficulties, which had embarrassed his affairs, 
 and rendered that measure necessary ; of the pain 
 it had cost him to think of the situation in which I 
 had been left, and of his inability to afford me re- 
 lief; of his subsequent successful enterprises, and 
 of the prosperous condition of his affairs at this 
 time ; of his respect for my mother, his sorrow for 
 her death ; and his deep regret that he had not 
 been so fortunate as to effect the arrangements 
 designed to provide for her comfort before she 
 was beyond the reach of human aid. My poor 
 mother ! You will hardly wonder that this allu- 
 sion to her wretched life and recent death brought 
 tears into my eyes. The hypocrite saw and mis- 
 understood them. He had found me, as he sup- 
 posed, in melting mood, and closed his long dis- 
 course of protestation and profession with an offer 
 of marriage. 
 
 " Humiliation has subdued my spirit, George ; and 
 the duty of bearing myself meekly under the seorn 
 and scoffs of the world, (of which, though unjust, I 
 have no right to complain, for the world's injus- 
 tice is but a rod in the hands of Him whose chas- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE, 
 
 133 
 
 tenings I have so well deserved,) has taught me 
 self-command. But though you will see that 
 such is the natural effect of past events upon my 
 character, you will hardly believe that I bore this 
 insult calmly. But I did. I quietly turned to the 
 little negro girl, and said, 
 
 " * Go to Major Swann, and ask him if he pleases 
 to come here.' 
 
 " She went out, and he remained completely 
 disconcerted. I have neglected to mention that 
 the old woman was out. As to the girl, she was 
 a mere child, to whom all she had heard was with- 
 out meaning. I now turned to Montague, and 
 said, with perfect composure, 
 
 " * After what has passed between us formerly, 
 sir, you cannot wonder that I should deem it neces- 
 sary to ask you to repeat, in the presence of a 
 witness, what you have just said/ 
 
 44 This added to his perplexity. The struggle 
 of contending passions was dreadful. I saw that 
 he deemed himself taken in a trap ; that his first 
 thought was to break away by retracting what he 
 had said, and escaping before the major's appear- 
 ance, and that he finally determined to yield to 
 necessity, and go through with what he had begun. 
 I did not interrupt his cogitations, but amused my- 
 self in silence with tracing in his countenance those 
 workings of his mind. At length the major ap- 
 peared. He looked surprised at the sight of a 
 well-dressed man in the housekeeper's room, and 
 stood a moment as if waiting for an introduction. 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
134 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 But waiving this ceremony, I respectfully begged 
 him to be seated, saying that I had sent for him to 
 be a witness of what should pass between that 
 gentleman and myself. Then turning to Mon- 
 tague, I said, * I will trouble you now, Mr. Mon- 
 tague, to repeat precisely and distinctly the prop- 
 osition which you just now made me.' 
 
 " He looked every way, and turned all colours, 
 and at length made out to say, that he had just 
 made me, and now repeated an offer of his hand in 
 marriage. 
 
 " It was sinful, George, the triumph of my feel- 
 ings at that moment. What had I to do with in- 
 solent exultation, even over the wretch to whom I 
 owed all the miseries of my wretched life ? But I 
 did not then ask myself that question. All my 
 overmastered feelings broke loose from my con- 
 trol. I felt my frame dilate, and my features 
 swell with abhorrence and disdain, as I fixed my 
 eye upon him, and said, 
 
 " ' And I spit my scorn at you, vile betrayer of 
 trusting innocence !' 
 
 " I never in my life expected to behold such a 
 tumult of rage, perplexity, and dismay as Mon- 
 tague's countenance now exhibited. I cannot de- 
 scribe anything that he did, or repeat anything that 
 he said* It was all spasm, tumult, and interjec- 
 tion, horrible to behold or hear. 
 
 u At length he went away, leaving the kind old 
 gentleman lost in amazement. He now spoke to 
 me, and with a good deal of hesitancy and embar- 
 
GEOBGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 rassment intimated to me that the words I had 
 used to Montague required explanation. 
 
 " * I am sensible of it, my dear sir,' said I ; * and 
 if the disclosure of what those words imported has 
 been delayed to this day, it has not been the effect 
 of duplicity, or a wish to deceive, but of a feeling 
 of delicacy. I beg you to remember that I cau- 
 tiously declined all those proposals which might 
 have given me more of the countenance and soci- 
 ety of your kind lady than I had a right to expect. 
 Even in my present humble condition I fear I may 
 be deemed a furtive intruder, and have long wished 
 to make known the whole truth. To you I cannot 
 speak it. Will you give me an opportunity of 
 conversing with Mrs. Swann, that she may have 
 it in her power to judge whether I am a proper in- 
 mate of this family V 
 
 11 i I will send her to you,' said he. 
 
 " ' I thank you sir, and beg that you will prepare 
 her for what I have to say by telling her what has 
 just passed.' 
 
 " He did so. The good old lady came ; and I 
 disclosed to her what, until then, was known to 
 none on earth but Montague and you. I did not 
 expect any harshness from her ; but I was unpre- 
 pared for her kindness. She wept over me, she 
 comforted me, she even praised me. Oh, what a 
 relief! To find myself in the presence of a high- 
 minded and delicate matron, who, knowing the 
 worst of me that I knew of myself, yet did not 
 spurn me, nor look on me with loathing, but re^ 
 
136 GEORGE BALCOMBB. 
 
 garding me as one c more sinned against than sin- 
 ning,' gave me her sympathy, and with all a mo- 
 ther's tenderness poured the balm of consolation 
 into my heart. Since the day that you so far 
 overcame the repugnance of outraged love, as to 
 let me feel that, though fallen, I was neither hate- 
 ful nor despicable to you, I have experienced no 
 such comfort as in that interview. The gratitude 
 I have owed you ever since has now a second 
 object. But not the less are my acknowledgments, 
 my thanks, my prayers, due to the generous effort 
 you then made, to spare the heart of her who had 
 placed a dagger in your own." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A fox, full fraught with seeming sanctity, 
 That feared an oath, but like the devil would lie j 
 Who looked like Lent, and had the holy leer, 
 And durst not sin before he said his prayer. 
 
 DRTDBN. 
 
 " 1 NOW found the full benefit of the advantage 
 Montague had given me over him. It entitled me 
 to entire credence in the history I gave, and I re- 
 ceived it. The kind old lady left me in tears, and 
 
 presently her husband returned with features work- 
 r J 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 137 
 
 ing with emotion, to say what he could not say. 
 He could but take my hand, press it in silence, and 
 leave me. 
 
 " I tell you these things because you will know 
 how. I was affected by them, and your kind heart 
 will rejoice that comfort has found its way to mine. 
 But to my tale. 
 
 " The next day Montague reappeared. As 
 soon as he was announced I sent for Major Swann, 
 and when that gentleman came admitted him, I 
 had not yet sufficiently rebuked the insolence of 
 triumph to repress something of a sneer, as I told 
 him that after what had passed the day before, 
 he would see the impropriety of my meeting him 
 again except in the presence of a witness. 
 
 "'I have no objection, madam,' said he; 'I 
 don't care how many witnesses are present. I 
 am come to demand my property, and I am glad 
 Mr. Swann is here, because if you don't give it up 
 I shall appeal to him.' 
 
 " ' I am not conscious that I have anything of 
 yours, sir. The only article that I ever received 
 at your hands you gave me to do with as 1 pleased. 
 Is it your purpose to reclaim that ?' 
 
 " * It is my purpose,' said he, * to reclaim the 
 packet you have kept from me so long.' 
 
 " ' Be pleased,' said I, ' to say how long, and 
 how I came by it.' 
 
 " ' It makes no difference,' he replied. ' It is a 
 packet of valuable papers belonging to the estate 
 of Mr. Raby, and if Mr. Swann has a proper care 
 M 2 
 
138 GEORGE fiALCOMBE. 
 
 of the interest of his employer, he will not suffer 
 them to be secreted in this very house.' 
 
 " * When I need to be instructed, sir,' said the 
 spirited old gentleman, ' in my duty to my em- 
 ployer, I shall be glad to learn of you. In the 
 mean time, Miss Mary, 1 have no doubt you will 
 inform me what all this means.' 
 
 "' I will tell you/ said I, 'all I know.' 
 
 " Accordingly, I gave him an account of so much 
 of the affair as it was necessary he should know. 
 He heard me through, and then said that it seemed 
 that the papers must be of small value, as it ap- 
 peared that Montague had been totally indifferent 
 to their destruction. To this he remarked that he 
 had not then known their value. 
 
 " ' If you did not then know what they were/ 
 asked the major, ' how have you found out since ?' 
 
 *' ' I did know what they were,' said he, ' but it is 
 only of late that I have been made acquainted with 
 their importance.' 
 
 " ' And where do you suppose them now to be T 
 
 " * In this house. In her possession, or in that of 
 old Amy.' 
 
 44 * What reason have you for thinking so ?' 
 
 " ' Her own letter/ 
 
 " ' Where is that V 
 
 " ' I have been robbed of it,' said Montague, 
 after hesitating a while. 
 
 " * This is a strange affair,' said the major. 
 
 " ' Strange or not strange,' said Montague, ' I 
 tell you it is so, and that the secreting of those 
 
GEORGE BALCOIOE. 139 
 
 papers is of the utmost importance to the interest 
 of Mr, Raby. Now, sir, if you do not choose,' 
 added he, petulantly, * to use your authority for his 
 benefit, so far as to search his own house for his 
 stolen property, I shall be under the necessity ' 
 
 " He paused as he caught the eye of the major, 
 who said coldly, 
 
 "' To do what, sir?' 
 
 " l To get a search warrant, sir,' said Montague, 
 after taking a second thought. 
 
 " ' You shall have one, sir, on making the proper 
 affidavit. I am a justice of the peace. I will send 
 for the constable to-night ; and though I have no 
 right, as master here for the time being, to outrage 
 Miss Scott's feelings by searching her apartment, 
 on your bare suggestion, yet, as an officer of the 
 law, I am no respecter of persons. Call in the 
 morning, sir,' added he, with an air of lofty polite- 
 ness, 'and you will find it so.' Montague took 
 the hint and disappeared. 
 
 " The next morning I felt somewhat indisposed. 
 I had been the day before invited to consult my 
 ease more than I had done ; and as Mammy Amy 
 was now well enough to attend to some trifling 
 duties, I kept my bed until ten o'clock. Before I 
 left it I was told a gentleman wished to see me. 
 
 "'Was it Montague?' 
 
 "'No.' 
 
 " I described you. No. It was a young man 
 of dark complexion ; a stranger. I excused my- 
 self to him, and he went away, leaving a packet 
 
140 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 hastily folded up, and directed, in pencil, l To Miss 
 Scott, with the compliments of James Brown.' I 
 opened it, and found a letter to him, the seal of 
 which was broken. Of course it was meant that 
 I should read it. It proved to be from a gentleman 
 of the name of Napier, and contained the history 
 of the machinations of Montague against you and 
 James. I was somewhat relieved, because it ex- 
 plained the poor boy's absence; and though it 
 showed that the arts of Montague had placed you 
 both in an unpleasant predicament, I saw that no 
 danger was apprehended. But I need not tell you 
 what you know. I now for the first time under- 
 stood the nature of this mysterious packet, and the 
 drift of Montague's strange conduct regarding it. 
 Knowing him as I do, it was all made plain to me. 
 He is at once the wickedest and the most supersti- 
 tious wretch on earth, and I doubt whether avarice 
 itself, or even mortar fear (his two master pas- 
 sions) could make him swear to a literal falsehood. 
 I remember, too, that at the critical moment when 
 his work of fraud was to be accomplished, he was 
 overtaken by one of those visitations which such 
 as he are apt to mistake for the workings of the 
 spirit of God. I remember the awful writhings of 
 his remorse ; and that his mind ran much on the 
 subject of perjury ; though he always spoke of it 
 with abhorrence, and seemed to seek consolation 
 in the thought that of that crime he was free. I 
 now see that at that very time the wretch was 
 contriving a scheme to cheat not only man but 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 141 
 
 God. I suppose he was unwilling to trust any one 
 capable of becoming a knowing accomplice in his 
 villany, and I see the motive of the pains he took 
 to establish such an intercourse with me, as would 
 give countenance to his request that I would take 
 charge of the packet. His strange behaviour on 
 the occasion, and the art he used after having got 
 it lodged in my custody, to beguile me of what I 
 should deem equivalent to an oath, left no doubt 
 of this. 
 
 " My first thought was to hand the letter and 
 packet to Major Swann, but it presently occurred 
 to me that, by doing so, I might place him in a 
 delicate situation between his duty to his employer 
 and his duty as a man. I resolved, therefore, to 
 let things take their course, but at the same time 
 to use effectual measures to keep the packet from 
 falling into Montague's hands. 
 
 " Before I gave it to Mammy Amy, I had put 
 it into a small toy trunk, which I locked, keeping 
 the key myself. Near the hearth was a place 
 where a hole had been burned in the floor, and 
 here a short plank had been laid down. This was 
 loose. I took it up, put down the trunk, and, with 
 the broom handle, pushed it away to the wall. I 
 had taken the precaution to tie a bit of tape to the 
 handle, the end of which I left in reach, but too 
 far under to be seen without stooping low and 
 putting the face to the hole. I did this while my 
 nurse was out, so that I alone knew where it was. 
 -.,. . 
 
142 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 Having thus completed my arrangements, I awaited 
 patiently the approach of the enemy. 
 
 " About noon Montague arrived. The constable 
 was already there. Montague was a long time 
 closeted with the major, I supposed engaged in 
 coining a suitable affidavit. At length they all 
 came together to my room. The kind old gentle- 
 man apologized with the utmost courtesy and 
 deference to my feelings for what he was about to 
 do, and handed me Montague's affidavit. This 
 testified that six years ago he had left at my mo- 
 ther's a packet which he described by external 
 marks and seals ; that he had reason to believe 
 and did believe that I had got possession of it, and 
 that it was secreted somewhere in the house. The 
 search was now commenced, and every corner of 
 the room was ransacked. Montague took little part 
 in it, but kept his eyes on me, and pointed out sus- 
 pected places. I became at last impatient of his 
 insolent gaze, I felt my spirit rise, and was con- 
 scious of that flash of the eye before which his 
 always quails, even when he sees it in the face of 
 a woman. I now kept my eye on him, and his 
 avoided it, though he occasionally stole a furtive 
 glance. At length, walking across the floor, he 
 felt the loose plank move under his feet. He 
 stooped and raised it. I felt my courage give way, 
 and as he lifted himself up after his short and fruit- 
 less search, our eyes met, and I was conscious that 
 mine had blenched. I felt that thick throbbing of 
 the heart which always displays itself in the coun- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 143 
 
 tenance, and again stole a look at him to see if he 
 had observed me. He had replaced the plank, 
 and looked on the protracted search with less ap- 
 parent interest than before. I saw, indeed, that 
 he was weary of its continuance, and he soon ex- 
 pressed himself satisfied. They now left the room ; 
 Montague last of all. There is no fastening to the 
 door, but a large bar inconveniently heavy, and a 
 slight latch. This caught as he closed the door 
 after him, and I was once more alone. I listened 
 a moment, and heard the trampling of many feet, 
 and the sound of many voices die away along the 
 passage. My uneasiness now took its natural 
 course. I ran to the hole and lifted the plank. At 
 the moment the door opened, and Montague reap- 
 peared. The sagacity of the cunning wretch had 
 taught him to expect what 1 would do under the 
 influence of my alarmed and excited feelings. He 
 had stopped at the door while the rest went on, 
 and came in suddenly as soon as he had allowed 
 time for nature to do her work. He now sprang 
 forward, while I, powerless with alarm, sank into 
 a chair. He stooped down, and looked eagerly 
 along the dark hole, and finally, groping, got hold 
 of the end of the string. He drew it out, and I 
 heard the little trunk come grating along over the 
 laths below. I screamed and sprang to him. He 
 pushed me back, drew out the trunk, crushed it 
 with his heel, and seizing the packet flung it into 
 the fire. 
 ' It was a mild October day, and there was just 
 
144 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 so much fire as an old woman needs to comfort her 
 rheumatic limbs. I rushed to it to rescue the 
 packet. He seized and held me back, and I strug- 
 gled, still screaming. The major, who had missed 
 Montague, and was returning to look for him, 
 alarmed at my cries, hurried back. As soon as I 
 saw him I exclaimed, 
 
 " ' In the fire ! In the fire !' 
 
 " He understood me and approached the hearth. 
 Montague flung me across the room to my bed, 
 on which I fell half insensible. But I saw Mon- 
 tague rudely seize the* major around the waist, and 
 jerk him back, when, at the moment, Charles, my 
 foster-brother, entered. He darted at Montague, 
 and with one blow of his fist felled him to the 
 floor. The major, disengaged, rescued the packet 
 from the fire, where its surface only was scorched, 
 and turned to confront Montague, who slowly 
 recovered his feet. 
 
 ' ' What means this, Mr. Montague ?' said he. 
 * Is this the way you treat valuable papers belong- 
 ing to your employer and mine V 
 
 "The stunning blow that Montague had re- 
 ceived gave him an excuse for not answering im- 
 mediately, and he stood the picture of rage, alarm, 
 and perplexity. At length he replied that he knew 
 his duty to Mr. Raby. and that gentleman's wishes, 
 and had therefore sought to destroy the packet. 
 He added that he was not accountable to any one 
 but his principal, and demanded to have the papers 
 delivered up. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 1 145 
 
 .,' 
 
 * * You forget that he is my principal, too, sir/ 
 rejoined the major. * I am not sure that I am at 
 liberty to permit the destruction of anything I find 
 under this roof.' 
 
 " Montague puzzled a while, and then said, that 
 having obtained the packet under a search warrant, 
 he had a right to demand it. 
 
 " * Pardon me, sir,' said the major ; * having 
 been found under a search warrant, it is in the 
 custody of the law until the title is proved.' 
 
 ** f Is it not proof enough,' said Montague, * that 
 I have described it in my affidavit ? Look at it, 
 sir, and you will see that I have given an accurate 
 account of the impressions of the seals, from a 
 memorandum made when it was sealed up/ 
 
 "'It may have been so, sir,' said the major; 
 'but I should rather suspect the impressions to 
 have been different from those described, judging 
 by your impatience to obliterate them. There is 
 nothing here, sir, but melted wax, with no impres- 
 sions at all.' 
 
 " You, who know Montague, need not be told 
 how he looked at the discovery of this effect of his 
 own impatience. I do think the keenest self- 
 reproach he ever feels is when his villany is baffled 
 by his own blunders. After a short pause the 
 major added, 
 
 " 4 There is a simple test of property here, Mr. 
 Montague. Describe the papers in this packet 
 you say you know what they are I will then 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
146 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 open it, and if they answer the description, you 
 shall have them.' 
 
 "To this Montague replied, that he was not at 
 liberty to disclose his patron's secrets. 
 
 " ' Perhaps not,' said the major ; * I have no wish 
 to pry into them. But the papers are, I presume, 
 endorsed, and I only ask such a description as is 
 commonly found in an endorsement.' 
 
 " This proposition also being declined by Mon- 
 tague, the major said, 
 
 " * Well, sir, the only remaining doubt in this 
 case is, whether there is enough proved to entitle 
 me to detain this parcel from Miss Scott another 
 moment. There is certainly not enough to justify 
 me in putting it out of the custody of the law into 
 any hand but hers. But as I may be better able 
 than she to secure it against ruffian violence, I 
 will with her approbation get rid of this difficulty, 
 by keeping it for her, or you, or Mr. Raby, or any 
 person who may show title to demand it.' 
 
 11 To this proposition I joyfully assented. At 
 this moment Charles caught the major's eye. 
 
 " ' Charles, my good boy,' said he, * you have 
 done me good service, and I thank you. And you, 
 sir,- turning to Montague, * having received the 
 chastisement of your insolence from a hand more 
 fit to touch your person than mine, may be thank- 
 ful that I dismiss you without any further punish- 
 ment. Go, sir. If you have occasion to call on 
 me in the way of business, I will attend you at 
 
 
GEORGE EALCOMBE. 147 
 
 some other place. Here you come no more while 
 I retain authority here.' 
 
 " This put an end to the scene and to Monta- 
 gue's visit. I have neither seen nor heard of him 
 since. I suppose it often happens that there are 
 men who seize upon such occasions as that of a 
 constable's search, to thrust themselves where 
 they have no business. This was the case in this 
 instance. My room was invaded by a promis- 
 cuous rabble of men and boys, some of whom, 
 judging by their dress, should have had more 
 respect for decorum. But there they were during 
 the search; and having heard the uproar which 
 afterward took place, they had all returned. 
 Among the number, I now remarked a very gen- 
 teel-looking young man, who, approaching me with 
 great courtesy, asked if I had that morning re- 
 ceived a packet. On my answering in the affirm- 
 ative, he informed me that he was the bearer. The 
 recollection of his manner, which was marked by 
 the most delicate respect, reminds me to thank 
 you, George, for the kind terms, in which, as I 
 gathered from Mr. Napier's letter, you had spoken 
 of me to him. Oh ! is it possible that I am yet to 
 be permitted to show myself among the good and 
 wise, to enjoy their society, to witness their vir- 
 tues, and even be blessed with their friendship, 
 after having so long been a * hissing and a byword,' 
 even for the low and vile ? Can I be ever grateful 
 enough to you, George ? Yet how little do I show 
 my gratitude, when I have forgotten, in the hurry 
 
148 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 of my own story, to express the pleasure with 
 which I also learned that you are blessed with a 
 wife every way worthy to bear your name and to 
 share your fortune. Dear George, may you both 
 be happy. 
 
 " But to return to Mr. Brown. He said as soon 
 as he heard what was passing, he had hastened to 
 afford me any aid in his power, but arrived only in 
 time to witness the closing scene. I now returned 
 him his letter, and he was about to go away when 
 Major Swann said, 
 
 " * I perceive, sir, you are an acquaintance of 
 Miss Scott's. I shall always be happy to see her 
 friends here, and hope you will not think of leaving 
 us before dinner.' 
 
 " The invitation was pressed and accepted, and 
 they left the room. Was it possible that I had 
 heard aright ? Was my friendship a passport to 
 the notice of a gentleman, who, though fallen in his 
 fortunes, possessed as much delicacy, refinement, 
 and honour as any man on earth? Judge my sur- 
 prise, when, as I asked myself this, he turned back, 
 and coming up to me, took my hand, and said, in 
 the gentlest tone of entreaty, 
 
 " ' Won't you dine with us to-day ? Pray do. 
 It will so much oblige us.' 
 
 " What could I do, George, but burst into tears, 
 and weep like a child ? He seated me, and stood 
 by me until I found words to say, ' I will I will.' 
 It was all I could say. 
 
 " I went to dinner, and behaved as well as I 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 149 
 
 could after thirteen years of banishment from so- 
 ciety. This movement was followed up. I was 
 beguiled by kindness from my resolution, and since, 
 except that I am privileged to breakfast in my 
 room, I take my meals at the table of this highly 
 finished specimen of that most honourable race of 
 men, the ancient gentry of Virginia. I find, too, 
 that my keys are wiled away from me, and by 
 degrees I have been made to feel that no service 
 of any kind is expected of me. On my expressing 
 my unwillingness to be thus a tax on Mr. Raby, 
 whom I did not know, I was told that Major Swann 
 had stipulated for the right to introduce into his 
 family a companion for his wife, and that they 
 would be delighted to entertain me in that charac- 
 ter. My objections thus overcome, I was trans- 
 ferred to a neat and well-furnished apartment, my 
 mammy's bed placed in a little room adjoining, and 
 a new housekeeper being fixed on, the good old 
 woman was discharged from all duty but that of 
 attending on me. Hence my leisure to inflict on 
 you this tedious narrative. 
 
 " The day after the search, the major, returning 
 from the post office, brought me your letter. It 
 may have been there a week. I had no one to 
 send, and it was a new thing to have a friend to 
 think of me when asking for his own letters. The 
 kind old gentleman had observed the postmark, 
 and, having understood that James was in Mis- 
 souri, supposing it to be from him, inquired of his 
 health, &c. I answered that he was well, but that 
 N 2 
 
150 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 the letter was from you. He immediately recol- 
 lected the name, and spoke of you with the kind- 
 ness of an old and partial friend. I was delighted 
 to hear this, and told him you had given me reason 
 to expect that you would be at Craiganet in a few 
 weeks. He expressed a great desire to see you, 
 and requested that I would write to you there and 
 beg you to visit him as soon as practicable. He 
 added, that he would at once have a room pre- 
 pared for you and your friend Mr. Napier, and 
 one for James ; and charged me to say that as the 
 days are short, and the distance almost too long 
 for a day's ride, and no convenient stopping-place 
 by the way, you must not mind coming at any 
 hour of the night as if to your own feme. You 
 cannot have forgotten the ways about this neigh- 
 bourhood ; the approach and grounds around the 
 house are all unchanged, and the handle of the 
 door bell is just where it was when Raby Hall was 
 your home. Then, too, it was mine ! 
 
 * Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 
 Ah, fields beloved in vain ! 
 
 Where once my careless childhood strayed; 
 A stranger yet to pain.' 
 
 Oh, that I could add, 
 
 * I feel the gales that from ye blow, 
 A momentary bliss bestow ; 
 
 As waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
 My weary soul they seem to sooth, 
 And redolent of joy and youth, 
 To breathe a second spring*' 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 151 
 
 But this can never be. All on which memory 
 could delight to dwell is shut out by that which 
 * eternity forbids me to forget.' But why do I 
 speak thus repiningly ? By comparison, my pres- 
 ent condition is one of bliss. And does not hope 
 now dawn on me, even on this side of the grave ? 
 The hope of such pleasures as my heart has ever 
 yearned after ; the pleasure springing from the 
 approbation of the good, the conversation of the 
 wise, the society of the refined and polite ? Oh ! 
 how my heart, at the thought of seeing you again, 
 leaps up, and then falls humbled in the dust, at the 
 recollections with which your name is associated. 
 But I will not offend you by prating about my 
 feelings. One only you must give me leave to 
 express in such language as I can command : the 
 devoted, heartfelt gratitude of will you permit 
 me to say? your friend, 
 
 .on 
 
152 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Joy shall be in heaven, over one sinner that repenteth, more- 
 than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance. 
 
 ST. LUKE. 
 
 WHILE I read this long letter, Balcombe amused 
 himself with a book. When I had got through I 
 did not immediately interrupt him, for I was glad 
 to steal a moment for my own thoughts. At 
 length I remarked, that it appeared to me as if the 
 present posture of our affairs rendered hurry un- 
 necessary f and that we might safely indulge our- 
 selves with a day or two of rest. 
 
 " Take ^care, William," said Balcombe. " Re- 
 member we have to do with one who never sleeps. 
 I know it is not sloth that would keep you here ; 
 but I am much mistaken if your absence has not 
 already served you better than your presence 
 could have done. You will lose nothing by a dis- 
 play of energy and hope of success. Make that 
 sure, and I deceive myself if you don't find influ- 
 ences exerted in your favour which have been 
 heretofore exerted against you." 
 
 " You don't mean," said I, "to impute mercenary 
 feelings to Ann I" 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 153 
 
 " By no means. I am not exactly sure of my 
 own meaning, nor will I permit myself to be so, 
 unless I become convinced that my thoughts do 
 no wrong to others. But we must betake our- 
 selves to rest, for the way is long to Raby Hall, 
 and we must sleep there to-morrow night." 
 
 He now left me and went to his room. At an 
 early hour the next morning we were in the saddle. 
 The day was pleasant for the season, but the roads 
 were deep, and we got on but slowly. Night 
 overtook us when we were yet ten miles from the 
 place of our destination. But Balcombe knew the 
 road, and we had a new moon, which promised to 
 give light until we should be within the compass 
 of his former daily walks. We therefore patiently 
 toiled along over ground roughened by a par- 
 tial thaw, which made it difficult for our weary 
 horses to pick their way. It was not very far 
 from midnight when we reached the stables, which 
 were perhaps a quarter of a mile from the house. 
 In passing these we met a negro man, of whom 
 Balcombe inquired if Major Swann was at home. 
 Being answered in the affirmative, he asked the 
 negro's name. 
 
 " Charles, sir," was the reply. 
 
 " What, old Amy's son Charles ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And how is your mother, Charles?" 
 
 " I thank you, sir. She been mighty low ; but 
 Miss Mary take such good care of her, she right 
 well again ; only just she mighty old, master." 
 
154 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " And are you hostler here still, Charles ?" 
 
 " Yes, master. But, master, I don't know who 
 you, for all you seems to know all about us." 
 
 " Don't you know my voice, Charles ? I think I 
 should know your's. Don't you remember George 
 Balcombe?" 
 
 The negro clapped his hands, and springing into 
 the air, alighted with Balcombe's hand in both of 
 his. To one not accustomed to the negro charac- 
 ter, their strong attachments and grotesque manner 
 of displaying their feelings, the contortions of his 
 dusky figure, bowing himself on Balcombe's hand, 
 then swaying his body back, and writhing from 
 side to side like a wounded serpent, would have 
 been amusing. 
 
 " Oh, Mass George," said he, " I so glad to see 
 you. And poor Miss Mary, she be so glad to see 
 you too, sir." 
 
 " And how is she, Charles ?" 
 
 " Oh, thank God ! she right well, sir, and mighty 
 comfortable. Old master and missis here, sir, 
 mighty good to her. But who this you got here 
 with you, master?" 
 
 " This is Mr. Napier, Charles ; your old mas- 
 ter's grandson." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the negro, " Mass William ! 
 my Miss Fanny's son ! Oh, bless God I live to see 
 him." 
 
 Then turning to me he added, in a plaintive tone, 
 " Master, I been afraid you never was coming to 
 see your poor negroes, now we don't belong to 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE, 155 
 
 you no more, but all gone to strange man that 
 lives away there in England, and don't care no- 
 thing at all about us. I was mightily in hopes we'd 
 all have gone to you, sir ; but you's my master for 
 all that." 
 
 As he spoke this in a tone of reverential affec- 
 tion, I held out my hand to him. He took it, and 
 drawing it strongly downward to accommodate it 
 to the lowliness of his prostration, bowed himself 
 upon it, and pressed it to his lips. I felt a tear 
 upon it ; and if an answering tear had not sprung 
 to my eye, I should have little deserved to be the 
 object of a loyalty as ardent and devoted as it was 
 hopeless. 
 
 " If you are as tired of the saddle as I am, Wil 
 Ham," said Balcombe, " you will not be sorry to 
 leave our horses with Charles, and walk to the 
 house." 
 
 I gladly assented to this; and Balcombe, ad- 
 dressing the negro, added, 
 
 " Charles, my good fellow, take care of our little 
 baggage, and bring it up to the house." 
 
 Saying this, he alighted, and we walked on, both 
 too busy with our own thoughts for conversation. 
 As we approached the house, we saw a dusky red 
 light glimmer fitfully from between the bars of a 
 cellar window. Just as we were about to enter, 
 it flashed up brighter than before, and we saw that 
 it came from the wall beneath a window at the 
 end of the house. Balcombe instantly turned 
 aside and dashed around the corner. Immediately 
 
156 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 I heard a rush, and the noise of feet clattering over 
 the frozen ground. I followed, and saw a man 
 leap the enclosure of the yard, and Balcombe, who 
 was almost near enough to touch him, drew a 
 pistol and fired it. 
 
 Without stopping to see the effect of his shot, he 
 returned hastily, and running to the door, rang the 
 bell violently. The shot had alarmed the family, 
 and the door was presently opened. He immedi- 
 ately gave the alarm of fire in the cellar, and 
 snatching a can of water which stood, as he well 
 remembered, on a three cornered shelf just within 
 the door, ran to the window and poured it in. The 
 light went down immediately, and servants going 
 into the cellar presently extinguished the fire. We 
 now saw that it was a wood cellar, with a quan- 
 tity of wood directly under the window. On this, 
 burning coals had been thrown, and some shavings 
 and splinters of dry pine wood had been added. 
 A part of these combustibles still lay in a pile on 
 the outside of the window. 
 
 Mr. Swann now appeared in his nightgown, and 
 Balcombe made himself known. He was a fine- 
 looking old gentleman, venerable, dignified, and 
 courteous. We were received with great cor- 
 diality, and ushered into a parlour, yet comfortable 
 with the glowing embers of the evening fire. Here 
 the old gentleman, having ordered some refresh- 
 ments, left us to dress himself. He soon returned, 
 accompanied by his wife, who seemed to be among 
 ladies just what he was among gentlemen. She 
 

 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 157 
 
 added her welcome to his ; and we would have 
 gone at once to bed, but supper was pressed on 
 us so earnestly, and so strongly recommended by 
 our own appetites, that we could not decline it. 
 
 In the mean time, James, having inquired for his 
 sister, had been conducted to her room. She had 
 been reading, and was not yet gone to bed. Their 
 meeting no one witnessed ; but she soon left him 
 alone to his grief and came to see Balcombe. We 
 were all standing when she entered. She looked 
 hastily around, and then approached him with an 
 eagerness of manner which, for the moment, re- 
 stored something of the brilliancy of countenance 
 I had remarked in the picture. He advanced to 
 meet her, when she suddenly stopped short, and 
 with a look of utter abasement fell on her knees, 
 and bowed her head to his very feet. Her action 
 was characterized by her own words. Her heart 
 had leaped up, and then fell prostrate in the dust. 
 Balcombe raised her with some difficulty, and 
 rather lifted than led her to- a sofa, against the arm 
 of which she hid her face and wept in silence. 
 Balcombe bent over her tenderly, and holding her 
 hand, said soothingly, " Dear Mary ! My dear, 
 good girl !" and continued thus to utter tones and 
 words which spoke comfort to her heart, until she 
 became more composed. She then looked up, and 
 gazing on him with an expression of timid affec- 
 tion, pressed his hand to her lips, and having dis- 
 engaged her own, cast down her eyes and re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 VOL. II. O 
 
158 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 If ever Divine mercy forgave a single error to 
 deep repentance and contrition ; if ever the voice 
 of God spoke audibly to the sinner's heart, saying, 
 ''Neither do I condemn thee ;" surely at that mo- 
 ment such consolation was not withheld from 
 hers. 
 
 In the mean time, the field through which the 
 incendiary had escaped was searched, to ascertain 
 the effect of Balcombe's shot. Nothing was found, 
 and we concluded that he had got off unhurt. 
 
 "I don't think I struck him," said Balcombe. 
 "If I did, it was somewhere about the right shoul- 
 der. Firing over the wall, I could not well bring 
 my pistol to bear." 
 
 " It was well for the fellow," said John, " that 
 something hindered you, for it an't often that you 
 miss." 
 
 Much conversation now ensued between Major 
 and Mrs. Swann about the attempt to burn the 
 house, and they seemed quite at a loss to guess 
 who the incendiary could be. At length we 
 retired for the night. As the ladies were about 
 to leave the room, Balcombe took Mary's hand, 
 and drawing her gently to him, passed his arm 
 around her waist and was about to kiss her. At 
 first she turned up her lips to him ; and then 
 suddenly averting her face and interposing her 
 hand, said, 
 
 I " No, George, no ! let that remain. I would die 
 with that on my lips." 
 
 He only answered by pressing her tenderly to- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 159 
 
 his bosom and kissing her forehead. I think I 
 never saw any man so affected as Major Swann 
 was, when, after she had left the room, Balcombe 
 told him the meaning of her words. 
 
 As soon as the servant had left us in our cham- 
 ber, Balcombe said to me, 
 
 " That was Montague." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said I. 
 
 " I mean," he replied, " that it was Montague 
 who attempted to burn the house down. The 
 stature and figure were his, and an exclamation 
 uttered as I laid my hand upon the fugitive was in 
 his voice." 
 
 " Did you seize him ?" said I. 
 
 " No ; I did but touch him, and at the moment 
 stumbled and fell. He was near the Avail and 
 over it before I could well recover. But I think I 
 have disabled him for mischief for a few days." 
 
 '* How so ?" 
 
 " Firing hastily," said he, " the trigger may give 
 way too soon. But I seldom fail to know where 
 my ball goes. I am deceived if he has it not in 
 his right arm or shoulder." 
 
 '* But what could be his motive ?" 
 
 " Motive ! Don't you see that had we not 
 arrived the fire must have advanced so far before 
 it was discovered as to make it impossible to save 
 anything ; and his worthy employer would doubt- 
 less be willing to forgive the destruction of the 
 house for the destruction of the will. As to Mon- 
 tague's conscience, arson is not mentioned in the 
 
160 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 decalogue ; and if this good old man and his wife, 
 and Mary and old Amy had been burned alive, why, 
 that would have been chargeable to Providence, 
 not to him. He would calm himself by saying it 
 was no part of his plan, and would not have hap- 
 pened had not God so willed it. However, I think 
 the rascal has had a taste of my pistol ; and if he 
 is not disabled for the time, he will 'hardly come 
 about the premises while he knows that I am 
 here." 
 
 The next day we took some pains to learn what 
 had become of Montague, but could hear nothing 
 of him since the day that the room of Mary Scott 
 was searched. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Shall I not love her, 
 
 When disease has pressed my wasted form, and bowed 
 My fainting head, who has supported it 1 
 Who has kindly bound my aching brow, 
 And wooed my loathing taste with dainty food ? 
 And when fierce fever dried the springs of life, 
 And my parched breast gave to my wailing babe 
 No nourishment, who fed him from her own 1" 
 
 THIS day happened to be Sunday. About noon 
 I observed that the yard was full of negroes, each 
 " clad in his Sunday's best." The old gentleman 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 161 
 
 observed it, and expressing some surprise at it, 
 went out to inquire the cause. Returning, he 
 said, 
 
 " I find that they are assembled to see you, Mr. 
 Napier, and you will gratify the poor creatures by 
 going out among them." 
 
 I did so, and every eye was fixed upon me. 
 Some saw a likeness to my grandfather, some to 
 my mother. One by one they approached me ; 
 and as I extended my hand to each, each bowed 
 himself with reverence and affection before me ;, 
 the expression only varying in each, as it seemed,, 
 with the character of the individual. The few; 
 words they uttered corresponded with those senti- 
 ments. They obviously restrained themselves in 
 the presence of Mr. Edward Raby's steward, 
 though the old gentleman was much moved at the 
 quiet expression of their feelings of hereditary 
 loyalty. When we returned into the house, he re- 
 marked on the universality of that sentiment 
 among them, saying he had no doubt they would 
 be worth twenty per cent, more to me than to 
 any other person. 
 
 "Nothing is more certain," said Balcombe, 
 " and nothing more natural than the prevalence of 
 this feeling. Here is a race of men incapable of 
 tracing themselves beyond ancestors who, a hun- 
 dred years ago, came out of a slave ship into the 
 family of Mr. Raby. They know nothing of them- 
 selves but in connection with that family, and that 
 connection has become, by tradition and u^e, to be 
 o2 
 
162 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 regarded as one of the conditions of their very 
 existence. Meantime, under the influence of the 
 kindly affections growing out of this connection, 
 there has been a gradual though steady improve- 
 ment in their situation. Every old negro can tell 
 the young how much has been added to the com- 
 forts of their common lot, and even those of a mid- 
 dle age can remember a change in their own. 
 Here is cause of gratitude ; and to man uncor- 
 rupted by unpurchased prosperity, gratitude is a 
 natural sentiment. Benefits conferred sparingly, 
 and in requital of merit and exertion, never fail to 
 excite it. This is Cod's plan for securing the hearts 
 of his creatures. They who win their bread, though 
 scanty, with the sweat of their brow, eat it and 
 give thanks. They on whom the good things of 
 this world descend in showers of abundance, 
 sicken over their full meal, and murmur at the 
 Being who gave the food without the appetite 
 which toil should purchase. 
 
 " Individual attachments, too, spring up. The 
 negro woman loves the child she nursed ; he loves 
 his foster-brother and is beloved in turn ; and all 
 the little woolly-headed urchins love the young 
 master, whose favours they continually experience. 
 These things produce a feeling not unlike that of 
 Scottish clanship. The tie of blood, indeed, is want- 
 ing in this case, but so it often is in that. But long 
 habitude supplies the place. These negroes are 
 accustomed to consider themselves of the Raby 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 163 
 
 family, and William, the head of the house, is their 
 Vich Ian Vohr. 
 
 " A little anecdote," continued Balcombe, " will 
 well illustrate the inextinguishable affection of the 
 negro for his master. A young friend of mine, 
 whose father lived on James River, was called by 
 business to St. Domingo. Walking along the 
 streets of Port-au-Prince, his hand was suddenly 
 caught between both hands of a well-dressed ne- 
 gro. You know the grotesque attitude with which 
 a negro, when much delighted, accompanies this 
 action springing into the air, alighting with his 
 feet a yard apart, and squatting nearly to the 
 ground. So it was in this instance, while he ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " * Lord God Almighty ! Mass' Ned ! this you T 
 " My friend immediately recognised him as one 
 who had run away from his father a few years 
 before, and was sincerely glad to see him. The 
 negro insisted on taking him home would hear 
 of no refusal and entertained him sumptuously 
 during his stay at Port-au-Prince. During the 
 whole time the negro had no name for him but 
 * Mass' Ned.' He was a merry and vain fellow. 
 Just before he ran away his young master had re- 
 ceived an ensign's commission in the militia, and 
 bought a splendid uniform. This had taken Cuf- 
 fy's fancy, and one of the first aspirations of his 
 recovered freedom was a like distinction. In this 
 he had been so successful as to have the right to 
 wear two epaulets. Of these he was very proud ^ 
 
164 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 and recollecting the commencement of Mass' Ned's 
 military career, he suddenly asked, 
 
 " ' Mass' Ned, what rank you now V 
 
 " { I am a captain,' said my friend. 
 
 " * Oh Lord !' cried the negro, exultingly, ' I rank 
 you all to hell ! I major.' 
 
 " It seems strange, too," said I, " that a natural 
 impatience of inferiority does not exacerbate the 
 feelings of these poor creatures, and especially 
 against the particular individuals by whom they 
 are kept under." 
 
 " It would be so," said Balcombe, " if that infe- 
 riority were in condition only. But, right or wrong, 
 they feel themselves inferior in point of fact, and 
 there is therefore nothing to prevent the formation 
 of that strong tie which is spun out of the inter- 
 change of service and protection. This, apart 
 from the instinct of blood, is the rationale of the 
 filial and parental bond. So long as the inferior- 
 ity is actual, and felt to be so, none but affection- 
 ate and loyal feelings grow out of it. Whether 
 the negro race is inferior to the white is not the 
 question. The inferiority of the individual is the 
 thing, and this inferiority, left to himself, he will 
 never question. What may be the result if the 
 amis des noirs succeed in eradicating their sense 
 of this, and substituting in place of it a theory of 
 equality which is to abolish all distinctions, natural 
 as well as artificial, actual as well as imaginary, is 
 a question which their philanthropy might do well 
 to consider. That it will make them better or 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 165 
 
 wiser I must be permitted to doubt. That it will 
 make them miserable is sure. For my part I 
 am well pleased with the established order of the 
 universe. I see gradations in everything. I see 
 subordination everywhere. And when I find the 
 subordinate content with his actual condition, and 
 recognising his place in the scale of being as that 
 to which he properly belongs, I am content to 
 leave him there. If I raise him from his place, 
 some other must fall into it, and I cannot be sure 
 that the other will be equally fitted for its duties, 
 or equally happy in their performance. The diffi- 
 culty you have, William, in conceiving how a man 
 can sit down contented in established inferiority, 
 shows that the lesson is hard to learn. Yet, to be 
 happy in this condition, which some must submit to-, 
 this lesson must have been learned, hard as it is. 
 Now, I don't see the wisdom of making this learn- 
 ing useless to those who have been acquiring it 
 from infancy, and setting others to the same lesson 
 who are too old to go to school. Would it be pos- 
 sible, at this time of day, to imbue your mind with 
 the feeling which last night bowed the head of 
 Charles upon your hand ? By no means. Yet, 
 do you doubt the sincerity of that feeling ? and do 
 you, not see how highly conducive to his happiness 
 it would be if you were his master? Will you 
 shut your eyes to this because you cannot con- 
 ceive of that state of mind. Do you wonder that 
 you cannot conceive what sort of an animal you 
 would have been, if you had been born a slave ?" 
 
166 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 "But," said I, "is it not worth while to risk 
 something for the sake of elevating this race in a 
 moral point of view ?" 
 
 " Yes," said he. " The only question is, what 
 is moral elevation. Do you find it in the burning 
 crown of Lucifer, or in the humility of the angels 
 who cast their crowns at the feet of God? Is 
 there nothing analogous to this last in the prostra- 
 tion of that poor negro's spirit last night before 
 you, from whom he can neither expect harm nor 
 good, and whom he did but identify with the au- 
 thors of bygone benefits magnified by his gratitude 
 to a debt which his spirit yearns to discharge to 
 you. Is gratitude abject? Is self-abandoning, 
 zealous devotion abject? If the duties of heaven 
 require these sentiments, and its happiness con- 
 sist in their exercise, which of us is it that is but 
 a little lower than the angels the negro or the 
 white man ? No, William. Let women and ne- 
 groes alone, and instead of quacking with them, 
 physic your own diseases. Leave them in their 
 humility, their grateful affection, their self-renounc- 
 ing loyalty, their subordination of the heart, and 
 let it be your study to become worthy to be the 
 object of these sentiments." 
 
 " My own observation," said Major Swann, 
 " corresponds with your ideas. When you knew 
 me, George, I was or seemed to be wealthy and 
 had many slaves. All have been taken from me. 
 Yet while I remained in the same neighbourhood, 
 they never missed an opportunity to serve me in 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 167 
 
 any way in their power. There was hardly one 
 among them who did not force favours of some 
 sort on me, when I could make no return ; and, if 
 I would have suffered it, they would have devoted 
 to me at least half their waking hours not spent 
 in labouring for their master. The world, I be- 
 lieve, gave me credit for hospitality and benevo- 
 lence. I am not going to quarrel with these things, 
 or to begin, as too many do, by repenting of my 
 few good qualities ; but how much better would I 
 have shown my benevolence, by husbanding the 
 means of keeping these poor creatures together, 
 under the light and easy yoke of a master whom 
 they loved to serve. There, as you suggest, is the 
 point in which we fail. Instead of initiating them 
 in the code of a false and spurious philosophy, did 
 we look into our own hearts and watch narrowly 
 our own actions, we should effectually preserve 
 that superiority over them, on a deep and abiding 
 sense of which their happiness depends ; and, by 
 a prudent management of our affairs, we might 
 give permanency and efficiency to that protection, 
 for which their labour is, as they feel it to be-, a fair 
 equivalent." 
 
 Here, again, I would jiot have the reader to 
 believe that I was convinced because I did not take 
 up the argument with so sturdy a disputant as Bal- 
 combe, or contest the inferences drawn by a ven- 
 erable old man from his own experience. I have 
 set down here the thoughts of these gentlemen, be- 
 cause they were new to me, and I have never yet 
 
168 GEORGE BALCOMBE, 
 
 seen them in print. I do not add my own, partly 
 because I am not writing essays, and partly be- 
 cause all I could say on my side of the question, 
 has been better said by others, and is before the 
 world. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. WiJKr . 
 
 " Such is the game of life. The fox's craft, 
 And the fierce instinct of the patient hound, 
 Are both from Him whose works inscrutable 
 Show not to which he leans." 
 
 BALCOMBE'S tongue was now loosened, and he 
 talked with all his wonted spirit and* animation, 
 but restraining himself so far as to make the major 
 a fair partaker in the conversation. James and 
 Mary sat by in silence, the latter swallowing his 
 words .with a greediness surpassing even that of 
 Mrs. Balcombe herself. Her excited feelings and 
 greater readiness of apprehension, made, as I sup- 
 posed, this difference. It was only in her counte- 
 nance that I saw any token of the powers of mind 
 of which Balcombe had spoken, and which her 
 letters displayed. She seemed restrained rather 
 by humility than by diffidence or modesty. She 
 scarcely ever spoke that a blush did not suffuse her 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 169 
 
 whole face immediately after. It seemed as if a 
 feeling within rebuked her presumption, and what 
 she feared might be an abuse of the forbearance of 
 her friends. The day passed rationally and pleas- 
 antly, and was to us weary travellers a day of 
 welcome rest. 
 
 There was no longer anything to agitate or ex- 
 cite in the difficulties with which we had to con- 
 tend. We therefore passed that subject by for the 
 day, and though my thoughts would wander to 
 Ann at times, and again would pry into the possi- 
 ble contents of that mysterious packet, I trust the 
 day was passed essentially as the Sabbath should 
 be. I found myself again restored to a trusting 
 confidence in Providence, and a thorough convert 
 to Balcombe's doctrine that the difficulties which 
 we encounter in life are so much unrecompensed 
 evil, if we do not lay them to heart and study out 
 the hidden wisdom with which they are fraught. 
 I was sure I was a wiser, and I trust a better man 
 for the use he had taught me to make of my trials. 
 
 The next day was spent in consulting about our 
 ulterior measures, and the result of our consulta- 
 tion was that I should go to Fredericksburg and 
 take the advice of a lawyer on the subject of the 
 supposed will. I would gladly have had Bal- 
 combe's company, which now began to seem a 
 necessary of life to me, but he suggested that 
 Montague's late attempt made it necessary to keep 
 an eye upon him. If in the neighbourhood, he 
 would know that Balcombe and Keizer were there, 
 
 VOL. II. P 
 
170 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 and his habitual dread of them would keep him in 
 check more effectually than anything else. 
 
 "This last attempt/' said Balcombe, "shows 
 that he is becoming desperate. Nothing but 
 phrensy would make him risk the halter." 
 
 I therefore determined to go alone. Indeed it 
 was time I should act the man once more, and 
 attend to my own affairs ; but Balcombe's quick- 
 ness, perspicacity, and resources, had given me 
 such a habit of depending on him, that I found 
 myself hardly able to walk without leadingstrings. 
 This rendered the effort the more necessary, and 
 I resolved to make it. 
 
 " Before you go," said Balcombe, " it may be as 
 well to try if we cannot come at our object by a 
 shorter road. Montague cannot be far off, and if 
 by any chance I can once lay my eye upon him, 
 I should know how to manage the matter at 
 once." 
 
 " What would yo do ?" said I. 
 
 "Cast a spell upon him," replied Balcombe, 
 " and bring him here ; give him the packet, and 
 make him open it with his own hands, and put the 
 will into mine." 
 
 " This is a strange power you exercise over 
 him." 
 
 " It is partly habit," said Balcombe, " and partly 
 the power of circumstances. He can hardly have 
 heard of my arrival. He had no means of recog- 
 nising me on Saturday night. He probably thinks 
 me hanged by this time in Missouri, and would 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 171 
 
 take me for my own ghost. Recollecting his at- 
 tempts against me, his fears would hardly be 
 relieved (superstitious as he is) by finding me a 
 being of flesh and blood ; and a braver man than 
 he would cower under my eye at such a moment. 
 Besides, I have but to hint at the fire, and he would 
 have no doubt that I was prepared to swear to his 
 identity and bring him to the gallows. Indeed, if, 
 as I suspect, I have set my mark upon him, 1 should 
 have little scruple to speak so decisively as to put 
 his neck in some jeopardy. To escape this he 
 would not hesitate to give up the will. It may 
 perhaps be as well therefore to defer your journey 
 for a day or two, and let us see if John cannot 
 strike his trail. Mr. Raby bears your grand- 
 father's name, William ; we must not dishonour 
 that, if it can be avoided. Let us recover the will, 
 and we shall have no occasion to go to law for the 
 purpose of obtaining justice ; and no one here or 
 in England will suspect how we came by it. He 
 will take care not to ask, and to hush inquiry by 
 expressing himself to be entirely satisfied." 
 
 John was now summoned, and asked if he saw 
 which way the incendiary ran. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir," said he. " You see I hadn't no 
 notion the house was afire, and I wasn't thinking 
 of nothing but him. So I run just because I seed 
 you run, and the minute you fired I jumped on the 
 wall, and there I sot and looked at him till I heard 
 the cry of fire.' I seed him just as plain as I see 
 you, and I had my rifle, and could have fetched 
 
172 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 him down mighty handy, but then I did not know 
 who he was nor what he had done. I seed which 
 way he went plain enough." 
 
 " And have you any notion who it was, John V 
 
 " Lord ! no, sir. I don't know nobody in these 
 parts." 
 
 " Yes you do, John. What do you think of 
 Montague V 9 
 
 " The dear Lord !" said John, with a start. 
 " You don't think it was him, colonel ? I God ! if 
 I had thought that I'd have fixed him for slow trav- 
 elling." 
 
 "I do suspect it was he, John," said Balcombe ; 
 "and I want you to find out what has become of 
 him." 
 
 " He's got two days start," said John ; " and if 
 he has any notion we are here, he's a good way off 
 before now." * r- 
 
 " I dare say," replied Balcombe ; " but he has 
 no chance to know that ; and besides I suspect 
 that I fixed him for slow travelling, as you call it, 
 myself, though not so effectually as you would 
 have done." 
 
 " Why, you don't think you hit him, colonel ?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. My pistol went off too soon, but 
 the ball did not go far from his right shoulder." 
 
 " I God ! colonel, if you think you hit him, I'm 
 pretty sure you did ; 'cause you an't apt to send 
 a ball and not know where it's gone to. If he's 
 got a slug of lead in him just to stop his headway, 
 I an't so sure but what I could run him down." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 173 
 
 " I am sure you can,? said Balcombe. " And as 
 there are neither deer nor Indians here to amuse 
 you, you may as well take a turn to hunt for this 
 fellow." 
 
 " That I will," said John ; " but it's well for the 
 folks in our country that the deer an't half so scary 
 and the Indians an't half so cunning as he is. I 
 only wish I had him in the prairie or a cane brake, 
 I'd know what to do him there. But here in the 
 settlements I am mightily afraid he'll dodge me. 
 Anyhow, I can but take my rifle, and if I can't 
 do nothing else, I can burst the heads of a few 
 squirrels." 
 
 "Well, John," said Balcombe, "remember by 
 all means not to let him see you." 
 
 " I'll take care of that, sir ; but if he was to see 
 me, with these things on, I reckon he'd hardly 
 know me, unless he was near enough to look me 
 right in the eye. If I know myself it's as much." 
 
 John went off, and did not return till night. As 
 soon as we retired he came to our room. 
 
 " Well, John," said Balcombe, " what luck ?" 
 
 " Pretty good, I'm a thinking," replied the 
 other. 
 
 " Did you see Montague ?" 
 
 " No, sir. I didn't want to see him, because I 
 didn't want him to see me ; but I think I've found 
 out where he is." 
 
 " Well, come, John," said Balcombe, " tell us all 
 about it." 
 
 " Well, sir, you see I went in the field, and I 
 p 2 
 
174 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 took my course just the way I saw him running ; 
 and I looked for a track, but the ground was too 
 hard frozen that night. Well, I kept on, and I 
 thought maybe I might see some sign where he got 
 over the fence. So when I got to the fence, sir, I 
 looked all along at every pannel as close as if I 
 had been looking for Indian sign, and at last I 
 comes to the place where he got over." 
 
 " How did you know it, John?" 
 
 " By the blood, sir. There was a good many 
 drops of blood on the fence, and there was a large 
 flat rail at top, and there was the mark of his whole 
 hand as he got over, all bloody ; all the four fingers 
 and the thumb too. And sure enough, as you say, 
 it was the right hand. So I gets over the fence, 
 and looks sharp t'other side, where the briers looked 
 mashed down, almost as if he had fallen on them ; 
 and I do suppose he had, for just there right close 
 to the fence there was a smart chance of blood, 
 that looked as if he had laid there some time. So 
 you see I made pretty sure that he wasn't gone 
 far. So I keeps right on pretty much the same 
 course, and looked sharp for blood, but I couldn't 
 see none ; and after a while I comes to a right big 
 road. So then you see, colonel, I did not know 
 rightly which end of the road to take, 'cause I 
 come into it right square. If I had come into it 
 sorter slantindickler like, I'd have known what to 
 do. But it wasn't no use standing there, so I starts 
 on the way my head happened to stand. There 
 wasn't no occasion to be in any hurry, 'cause, you 
 
GEOUGE BALCOMBE. 175 
 
 if. ifc 
 
 see, I knowed if Montague wasn't clean off before 
 then he must be pretty close by, and could not get 
 away directly. So I sees a squirrel, and I downs 
 him, and picks him up and goes along. Lord! I 
 could hardly help laughing to think of me going 
 along with a squirrel in my hand, like he was worth 
 taking home ; and I reckon if all the carcasses of 
 deer, and elk, and buffalo, that I have left in the 
 prairies after I took their jackets off, were here, 
 some of these tallow-faced poor devils that I see 
 about would get right fat. But I hear 'em say 
 that everything that has life will do to keep life, 
 and I thought somebody would be glad of the 
 squirrel in this scarce country, so I just walks 
 along the road with him in my hand. 
 
 " So I walked a good smart bit, and seed nothing 
 but poor land and pine woods, till at last I meets a 
 man. And he had a string of wild ducks in his 
 hand, and a monstrous great gun on his shoulder, 
 big enough to swallow my rifle, stock, lock, and 
 barrel. So I stops him for a talk, and I axed 
 where he killed so many ducks. And he tells me 
 down in a place I most think he called it a Pocoson. 
 (I never heard of any such place before.) And 
 with that he looks at the squirrel, and he sees his 
 head all smashed, and he just thought I had done 
 it with a rock ; and he axed me what I did that 
 for, ' 'cause,' said he, * the brains is amazing good/ 
 And then I telPd him how 'twas, and that I never 
 hit 'em anywhere else, and he looks at my rifle, 
 and maybe it did not astonish him. So then he 
 
176 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 looks at his ducks, and he finds one little bit of a 
 thing, it wasn't much bigger than a partridge, and 
 he looks at it, and then he looks at the squirrel, and 
 then at the duck again, and at last says he, 
 
 " ' I'll give you this here teal for that squirrel.' 
 
 " * You are heartily welcome to the squirrel/ 
 says I. 
 
 " Then he looked sorter shamed and sheepish- 
 like, and says he, 
 
 " ' I don't want your squirrel for nothing.' 
 
 Well,' says I, that's all fair, but your duck is 
 worth two squirrels.' 
 
 , " ' I dare say it is,' says he ; * but I have a par- 
 ticular use for the squirrel.' 
 
 " ' Well, then,' says I, * here he is, for I an't got 
 no use for him at all, and was just looking for 
 somebody to give him to.' 
 
 "So with that he takes it, and looks at it mighty 
 pleased and smilinglike, and says he, 
 
 " l Well, this will do. This is better than throw- 
 ing away a whole handful of powder and shot out 
 of this drotted old gun of mine that takes half a 
 pound at a load. I an't sorry,' says he, ' that I 
 didn't find one myself.' 
 
 "Says I, 'You must have wanted a squirrel 
 mighty bad. But maybe some of your folks is 
 sick.' 
 
 " Not rightly one of my own family,' says he. 
 But I was going out a ducking, and I promised to 
 kill a squirrel or a partridge if I could see one, 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 177 
 
 and I don't make no doubt I'd have got more for 
 it than would have paid me for my ammunition/ 
 
 " So the minute I heard that, says I, 
 
 " * Well, if there an't no game this way, it's no 
 use of my going any further, so I'll just turn back 
 with you.' 
 
 " So we keeps talking as we goes along, and at 
 last says I, 
 
 " ' What gentleman is that you say is sick at 
 your house ?' 
 
 " With that he started and looked sorter wild- 
 like, and says he, 
 
 " * Sick gentleman ! I didn't say there was any 
 sick gentleman at my house.' 
 
 " Well, maybe you didn't,' says I ; for I seed 
 how it was, colonel, and I didn't want to give the 
 fellow any scare. So I says no more about that, 
 and we walks on till I seed where his house was, 
 and he stops, and I goes on till I was out of sight, 
 and then I takes the woods and comes home." 
 
 "Did you ask the fellow's name?" said Bal- 
 combe. 
 
 " No, sir/' replied Keizer ; " I hear 'em say it 
 an't the fashion in this country to ask people's 
 names ; but I reckon I could find out mighty 
 handy." 
 
 " It's not worth while," said Balcombe. " Was 
 he a long-legged, parrot-toed fellow, with a scar on 
 his right cheek ?" 
 
 " That's the very fellow," said John. 
 
 "Jim Porter," said Balcombe. "He is about 
 
178 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 my age, and when I lived here his father paid fifty 
 pairs of canvass-back ducks annually for the exclu- 
 sive privilege of hunting ducks and muskrats in 
 Mr. Raby's marshes. The good old gentleman 
 gave me the whole benefit of this rent for my table. 
 I used sometimes to hunt with Jim ; and often 
 when he has come with his weekly tribute, with- 
 out hat or shoes, I have made him happy by telling 
 him to sell the ducks for his own benefit. I see 
 that he is somehow bound to Montague, but I think 
 my hold on him will prove the stronger." 
 
 In the morning Balcombe led the conversation 
 from a fine brandered duck which smoked on the 
 table to the marsh from which it had been taken ; 
 and soon learned that Jim Porter had fallen heir to 
 his father's cottage and occupation. He therefore 
 needed no guide, and he could never want aid in 
 a conflict with Montague face to face. I felt it, 
 however, to be my duty to accompany him, and 
 as he made no objection, we walked out together 
 soon after breakfast. Balcombe, who had worn 
 arms until they were as familiar to him as his 
 garments, had no occasion to add anything to his 
 equipment, so that we did nothing to attract obser- 
 vation. A walk of two or three miles brought us 
 to Porter's cottage. 
 
 He was in act to go out to the marsh, the tide 
 being then at the proper stage. Balcombe gave 
 him to understand that his visit was to the gentle- 
 man who was sick there, and was at once told that 
 there was no such gentleman. 
 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 179 
 
 " Gone !" said Balcombe, quietly. " Well, I have 
 not lost my labour, Jim, for I am right glad to see 
 you again. I suppose the poor old man is gone, 
 and you are just living here in the old place, and 
 at the old business." 
 
 While he said this, the poor fellow gazed at him 
 with intense curiosity, and at length exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, good Lord ! To be sure now ! This 
 an't Mr. Balcombe?" 
 
 " Yes it is, Jim," said Balcombe, extending his 
 hand. " Your old friend George Balcombe come 
 back again once more." 
 
 The man seemed much moved, and exhibited an 
 amusing struggle between habitual respect and 
 the desire to give free utterance to his pleasure at 
 seeing Balcombe. After some few kind inquiries, 
 Balcombe asked Jim when his guest had left him. 
 The fellow looked a little queer, but at last said, 
 
 " I suppose it don't make no difference talking 
 to you, Mr. Balcombe ; but he didn't want any- 
 body to know he was here, or where he was 
 gone." 
 
 " He is gone, then ?" said Balcombe. 
 
 * Oh, yes, sir. He started this morning at day- 
 light." 
 
 "How did he travel?" said Balcombe. "I 
 thought he had been badly hurt." 
 
 " I don't know about that, sir," said Jim. " He 
 did keep a mighty moaning, and he didn't seem to 
 have the use of his right arm ; but he just said he 
 was sick, and kept his bed/' 
 
180 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " How long has he been sick ?" asked Balcombe. 
 
 "Only since Sunday morning. He came in 
 after I was gone to bed, and in the morning he 
 said he had caught a mighty bad cold the over- 
 night ; and sure enough he did look desperate 
 bad." 
 
 " And how long had he been here ?" 
 
 " He came here little more than a week ago, 
 sir, and said he wanted to stay with me a while 
 just to see how things was going on. You know, 
 sir, he was mighty fond of the old man of all, and 
 the old man of him. Ah, Lord ! I wish we had 
 him back here again. If you please to believe me, 
 Mr. Balcombe, they make me pay more now for 
 hunting in the Pocoson than I used to do when there 
 were ten times as many ducks ; and the devil a 
 one do they give me back again, but send them all 
 away to Fredericksburg and them places. Well, 
 sir, you see Mr. Montague gave me sort of a hint 
 that maybe all wasn't right, and if every one had 
 their own, he wasn't sure that poor Miss Fanny 
 that married Mr. Napier, and has not got a house 
 over her head, they say, would not be right well 
 off. So he said he had come here to see if he could 
 not find out something, and when he went to the 
 hall they sorter suspicioned him and drove him 
 away. So he went away a while, and then come 
 back and staid here so with me." 
 
 "And what made him go away in such a 
 hurry?" 
 
 " Why that's what I cannot find out rightly," 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 181 
 
 said Jim. " I don't believe he had any notion of 
 it yesterday morning ; but when I went out a duck- 
 ing he said he would be glad to get a squirrel, and 
 axed me to kill one for him. So I went, sir, but 
 never saw one ; and as I come back I meets a man 
 with one, and I wanted to buy it, but he gave it to 
 me. And he had a gun that he called a rifle. I 
 never saw one before ; and he talked about putting 
 a ball into a squirrel's eye just as if he had put it 
 there with his finger and thumb. And sure enough 
 he had hit the poor thing right in the eye, and scat- 
 tered all its brains. So he turned back with me, 
 and we had a heap of talk, and when we got here 
 he went on, and I don't know what became of him. 
 So when I went in says Mr. Montague, 
 
 " * Well, Jim, did you kill me a squirrel f 
 
 **' No.' said I, * but I have brought you one I got 
 from another man.' 
 
 "And with that I showed him the squirrel, and 
 how the fellow had hit him just where he pleased 
 with a single ball. And as soon as he seed it 1 
 thought he looked uneasy, and says he, 
 
 " ' That was the very rifle I heard two hours 
 ago.' 
 
 " ' Why,' says I, * there's been a good many 
 people out to-day, and I have heard guns myself 
 where by good rights nobody ought to shoot but 
 me.' 
 
 " * I reckon they were shot guns,' said he ; ' but 
 that I heard was a rifle.' 
 
 " ' And what's the difference ?' says I. 
 
 VOL II.- 
 
182 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 "Oh,' says he, * they an't no more alike than the 
 bark of a dog and the howl of a wolf.' And says 
 he, * Does not anybody about here use a rifle ?' 
 
 " * No,' says I ; l and I never seen or heard of 
 one before to-day.' 
 
 " ' Then the man that shot the squirrel had a 
 rifle ?' says he. 
 
 " ' To be sure/ says I, * else he never could 
 have done that,' says I, pointing to the squirrel's 
 head. 
 
 " Did you see it ?' says he. 
 
 " * Yes,' says I, * and the sorriest, rustiest looking 
 old thing it was I ever saw. My old gun's a beauty 
 to it,' says I. * But then the man said she was the 
 real stuff, and he would give her, he said, for ne'er 
 a shooting iron in the whole country/ 
 
 4< And with that, sir, I seed Mr. Montague begin 
 to look worse than he did, and I thought maybe he 
 talked too much, and so I told him, and was going 
 away. 
 
 " * No,' says he, * Jim, talking don't do me no 
 harm, only the light hurts my eyes/ 
 
 " And so, sir, he laid back his head upon the 
 pillow, and puts his hand over his eyes, and then 
 says he, 
 
 " ' What sort of a looking man was that, that 
 had the rifle ?' 
 
 ' So I tells him, sir, he was a little dark-skinned 
 man, with black eyes. 
 
 " ' Did he look like a gentleman??' says he. 
 
 " ' I can't say he did/ says I, * for all he had on 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 183 
 
 pretty good clothes, but he didn't look like he was 
 used to them ; and as to his talk,' says I, * sir, he 
 didn't talk no better than me, nor so well neither/ 
 
 " And while I was talking, Mr. Balcombe, I 
 could not see Mr. Montague's eyes, but the lower 
 part of his face was as pale as a corpse, and he got 
 right black about the mouth, and I was scared, and 
 asked him what was the matter, but he just mo- 
 tioned me to go away. So after a while he calls 
 me back, and says he, 
 
 " ' Jim, is there any chance to hire any sort of a 
 carriage in the neighbourhood ?' 
 
 " ' No/ says I, ' sir, except it be old Tom that 
 old Mr. Raby set free, and he has got just an old 
 rattletrap of a gig that he sometimes rides in when 
 he carries cakes to musters and the like/ 
 
 " ' Well,' says he, * that must do, if there's no 
 better to be had. And I have no doubt,' says he, 
 1 old Tom would be glad to oblige me by taking me 
 as far as Tapahannock/ 
 
 " * Why, Lord !' says I, c Mr. Montague, you are 
 too sick to go/ 
 
 '* ' That's the very reason,' says he. ' Besides, 
 my business wants me at Fredericksburg, and 
 there I can see a doctor tind get help; and,' says 
 he, ' it an't so far to Tapahannock, and there I can 
 get a carriage. So now, Jim,' says he, * I want to 
 get to Fredericksburg to-morrow night, and old 
 Tom must be here before light, and I must be at 
 Tapahannock a little after sunrise/ 
 
 44 * Won't that be too much of a journey V says I. 
 
184 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " * I cannot help it,' says he ; ' it's better than 
 stopping on the road.' 
 
 "So with that, sir, I speaks to old Tom, and sure 
 enough he was here by a little after light, and off 
 they went." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The bird that sings within the brake, 
 The swan that swims upon the lake, 
 One mate, and one alone, will take. 
 
 BYRON: 
 
 AFTER some little more conversation we re- 
 turned to the hall. 
 
 " What is to be done now ?" said I. 
 
 " Boot and saddle," said ; Balcombe, cheerily ; " to 
 horse and pursue." 
 
 Accordingly, we hurried back, and were pres- 
 ently on the road, after a word of apology and a 
 promise of explanation to our host. We had not 
 ridden two miles, before we came to a little grog- 
 shop on the confines of the estate, established, I 
 have no doubt, for the especial benefit of Mr. 
 Raby's negroes. Here stood a genuine rattletrap 
 of a gig, and a sorry old horse, apparently spent 
 with fatigue, his hair all matted and crusted with 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 185 
 
 the sweat that had dried on him as he stood in the 
 cold air. An old negro was just staggering from 
 the house, and was in the act of clambering up into 
 the gig, when Balcombe inquired what he had done 
 with the gentleman he had taken to Tapahannock. 
 Tom, who was too drunk to remember any cau- 
 tion if he had received one, said he had gone on 
 with his own carriage and servant. This was 
 poor encouragement ; but we pressed on. At Port 
 Royal we obtained fresh horses, and having learned 
 that Montague had passed only two hours before, 
 we made a race from thence to Fredericksburg. 
 But all in vain. He was there and housed before 
 we arrived. We tried in vain to find where. At 
 the principal tavern he had not stopped. So much 
 we learned with certainty, and this was all that 
 we could learn, for it was already bedtime when 
 we arrived. 
 
 The next morning John was on the scent be- 
 times, and ascertained that Montague had stopped 
 at Falmouth for the night, and had at an early hour 
 left that place for Baltimore. Here, then, we were 
 fairly beaten in a straight race ; but being at Fred- 
 ericksburg, it was as well to execute the business 
 for which I had proposed to come there, if it should 
 prove necessary. I accordingly laid my case at 
 large before an eminent attorney. As there was 
 no doubt of the result if the papers could be secured, 
 he determined to take such a course as would 
 at once put them safely in the custody of the law. 
 With that view he drafted a bill, to which Mr. Ed 
 
186 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ward Raby was made defendant, setting forth the 
 whole transaction, as I believed it to have taken 
 place. Mr. Swann was also made defendant, and 
 was charged with the possession of the will, and 
 called on to produce it. It was anticipated that in 
 his answer he would disclaim the possession of any 
 such paper, unless such a one might be concealed 
 in the packet, and that he would file that along with 
 his answer. 
 
 Having arranged this matter we returned to our 
 lodging, where we spent a pleasant evening. In 
 the morning, we called again on the attorney to 
 obtain , the .proper process along with a copy of my 
 bill. He was out at the time, but soon came in 
 provided with the necessary papers. After some 
 little conversation, he said he had been called on 
 the, night before by a gentleman whose business he 
 .had v declined, because he apprehended that his en- 
 gagement with me did not leave him at liberty to 
 undertake it. On further inquiry, we ascertained 
 that Montague, on leaving Falmouth, must have 
 come around by Chatham, and back into Freder- 
 icksburg. We were, of course, eager to learn 
 where he was ; but Mr. L. (the attorney) observing 
 this, told us he was not at liberty to inform us. I 
 therefore remonstrated against any concealment 
 on the part of one whose professional services I 
 had engaged ; but he stopped me short at once, by 
 saying that it was only professionally that he had 
 become acquainted with Montague's whereabout, 
 and though not free to engage in his service, he 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 187 
 
 was alike prohibited by the duties of his profession 
 from disclosing anything which Montague wished 
 to conceal, and which, in any other character, 
 would not have been made known to him. To the 
 scrupulous delicacy of this reserve we could object 
 nothing, and even felt some hesitancy about acting 
 so far on what we had learned as to renew our 
 search for Montague. From this difficulty we were 
 however relieved by Mr. L., who assured us that 
 Montague had at an early hour that morning set 
 out for Baltimore. We had therefore nothing left 
 for it but to return to Raby Hall. 
 
 We returned, accordingly, and I committed to 
 Balcombe the task of breaking the matter to the 
 major. There was no occasion to offend him by 
 taking an officer with us, as his acknowledgment 
 of the process would answer every purpose. He 
 was much surprised, but saw at once the solution 
 of Montague's strange behaviour. He expressed 
 himself obliged, too, at our having refrained from 
 giving him any hint of our suspicions, until we had 
 taken such measures as made the line of duty plain 
 to him. This was to answer that he had no such 
 paper as the supposed will unless it was contained 
 in the packet ; to tell how he came by that, and 
 deliver it into court as a part of his answer. 
 
 We were now secure from everything but vio- 
 lence, unless our conjectures (of the truth of which 
 we had no doubt) should prove false. As the major 
 was now effectually on his guard, and Montague 
 fairly chased off, we ventured to return to Craiga- 
 

 188 GEORGE BALCOMBE". 
 
 net, leaving John at Raby Hall, with instructions 
 to keep a sharp lookout, and notify us if he saw 
 any signs of the reappearance of Montague in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Our return was welcomed by the undissembled 
 pleasure of our friends, which was enhanced by the 
 history of our late adventures. My confidence 
 in the ultimate success of our endeavours to recover 
 my property, seemed now to communicate itself 
 to my mother and sisters. To Ann the subject 
 seemed one of less exciting interest, though she 
 expressed and doubtless felt a quiet pleasure, but 
 not less deep than theirs, in the prospect of afflu- 
 ence for herself, and of all the comforts of life for 
 one who had been to her a second mother. The 
 day after our return had been appropriated fora 
 visit to Oak wood, where it was proposed to spend 
 a few days. As the custom of the country included 
 in such invitations all chance comers in the invited 
 family, the arrival of Balcombe and myself made 
 no difference but the addition of two to the party. 
 The mother of Howard, as formerly, presided over 
 the hospitalities of the household, of which he did 
 the honours in the frank and courteous spirit of a 
 Virginia gentleman of the old school. I went 
 with a predetermination to take whatever part 
 might be assigned me by circumstances ; while 
 Balcombe, who was but a looker-on, promised to 
 aid me by his observation to ascertain how matters 
 stood between the several parties. I was agree- 
 ably surprised to find myself, in a good measure, 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 189 
 
 discharged from the necessity of giving a very 
 marked attention to Miss Howard. Whenever I 
 approached her I found myself received as formerly 
 with a manner that showed that my person was 
 respected and my conversation not unacceptable. 
 But, contrary to his former habit, young Douglas 
 was seldom absent from his cousin's side, and 
 always ready to strike into any chitchat in which 
 she might be engaged. Howard was, as usual, 
 respectfully and delicately attentive to Ann, still 
 approaching and addressing her with the same 
 guarded consideration for all her wishes and feel- 
 ings, which displayed not more a desire to please 
 than a fear of alarming her. I thought, too, that 
 his attentions were not received with the same 
 placid satisfaction as formerly. Whether the 
 pleasure was more or less I could not determine ; 
 but it was not the same. 
 
 There was more excitement, more flutter in her 
 manner, and occasionally I thought I saw a stolen 
 glance directed towards me, and that her ear 
 was sometimes listening to catch my words ad- 
 dressed to others. In this change of partners Jane 
 and I seemed thrown out of the game, for it was 
 one we could not play at altogether ; and but for 
 the presence of some other lads and lasses, whose 
 characters form no part of my history, we should 
 have been absolute supernumeraries. To this I 
 had no objection. I had little wish to be attentive 
 to Ann in company ; and the rest, just then, were 
 more than indifferent to me. I accordingly joined 
 
190 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 myself to Balcombe, and with him mixed in the 
 conversation, now of one party, now of another, 
 while he occasionally threw off remarks that 
 arrested the attention of all. 
 
 I was curious, on my sister's account, to dis- 
 cover whether the attention of Douglas to his 
 cousin was the spontaneous result of his own feel- 
 ings, or the effect of some effort on her part to keep 
 him near her. I suspected the last, and felt 
 obliged by finding myself by her own act emanci- 
 pated from the necessity of paying constant though 
 unmeaning attention to her. But was there any- 
 thing of coquetry or pique in this ? I thought not. 
 I was always welcomed as a third party in their 
 dialogues, and not unfrequently appeals were made 
 to me by which I seemed purposely drawn into 
 them. But no effort was made to detain me ; no 
 attempt, after engaging me in conversation, to 
 shake him off. In short, no lady could carry her- 
 self towards anygentleman in a manner more clear- 
 ly indicative of every favourable sentiment but 
 that of love. 
 
 Poor Jane 1 saw was in a state of great uneasi- 
 ness. She received as a matter of course from the 
 young men of the party such attentions as were 
 paid her ; but she took no interest in them. Her 
 eye wandered continually towards Douglas and 
 Margaret Howard, and sometimes, as I thought, 
 looked imploringly at me, and sometimes glanced 
 reproachfully at Ann. The courtesy- of Howard 
 at length provided her with a temporary relief, by 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 191 
 
 seating her at the piano. She played well and sung 
 in fine taste, so that she appeared to more advan- 
 tage at the instrument than in any other situation. 
 Most of the young men clustered around her, 
 while Balcombe and I stood aloof. 
 
 After playing one or two overtures, she sud- 
 denly struck into that beautiful song of Moore's, 
 in which he characterizes the constancy of a faith- 
 ful heart by likening it to the fancied devotion of 
 the sunflower to the god of day. This she sung 
 with a pathos which arrested the attention of the 
 whole company, and, having closed the strain, 
 folded her hands in her lap, and sat silent and with 
 downcast eyes. Immediately some conversation 
 arose, which I did not at first hear, but to which 
 my attention was presently drawn by an appeal 
 from Miss Howard. 
 
 " Do, Mr. Napier," said she, " come here and 
 talk a little reason to your sister. She is not con- 
 tent that we shall beguile ourselves, with the aid of 
 poetry and music, into such pretty fancies as Moore 
 has expressed in that beautiful song, but she in- 
 sists in sober-spoken prose that undying constancy 
 is the only test of truth in love. She would not 
 only persuade herself, but others, that neither man 
 nor woman ever can love more than once with 
 genuine passion. How say you ?" 
 
 " I can only say," replied I, " that her opinion 
 shows that she has had no proof to the contrary 
 in her own feelings ; and as I have had none, I 
 
192 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 cannot take upon myself to condemn her notion 
 on the subject. But if we give credence either to 
 the words or actions of others, we must suspect 
 her of error." 
 
 " And what," said Jane, " do the words and ac- 
 tions of others prove, but that they who are inca- 
 pable of that imperishable devotion which alone 
 deserves the name of love, may feel a hundred 
 times that which passes with them for it ? It will 
 still be a question whether they ever felt it once." 
 
 " I have never learned to chop logic," said Miss 
 Howard, " but I have heard of something which is 
 called ' begging the question,' Is not this some- 
 thing like it, Mr. Balcombe ?" 
 
 " I cannot say," said Balcombe, laughing ; " but 
 if a lady condescends to be a beggar, no gentle- 
 man would deny her suit. Therefore either way 
 Miss Napier's argument is unanswerable." 
 
 " Why, really, you gentlemen are so insufferably 
 polite and acquiescing," said the lady, " that one 
 might as well expect truth from a love ditty. So 
 I suppose we must take Mr. Moore's word for all 
 that sort of nonsense, because it is in vain to hope 
 for anything better. Certainly not from Mr. Na- 
 pier ; but as to you, Mr. Balcombe, I supposed that 
 you had spent so much time among the unsophisti- 
 cated sons and daughters of nature, that the habit 
 of speaking frankly had overcome the fear of offend- 
 ing. Now, I do beseech you, if you can compli- 
 ment us so highly, imagine us a company of squaws, 
 and tell us what you think of this matter." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE, 193 
 
 <c I think of love," said Balcombe," as I do of a 
 fever. He who dies of the first attack will never 
 have another." 
 
 " But suppose," said Miss Howard, 4C he don't 
 die of it." 
 
 " Then he will get well." 
 
 " And what then ?" 
 
 " According to Miss Napier, he may be immor- 
 tal" 
 
 " Pshaw !" said Miss Howard, " you are too 
 provoking. But what do you say to his case while 
 he is yet alive, though badly in love ?" 
 
 " That if he expects to die of it, he never ex- 
 pects to be in love again/' 
 
 " Still you evade the question," said Miss How- 
 ard. 
 
 <c On the contrary," said Balcombe, " I offer a 
 solution to which no one can object. If Miss Na- 
 pier expects to die of love, it ought to be satisfac- 
 tory to her, and equally so to you, who manifestly 
 have no such expectation." 
 
 " At least," said Jane, " / will not affect to mis- 
 understand you. You clearly are against me. 
 No one, thinking as I do, could jest with the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 If those who don't think love a jest, Miss Na- 
 pier; agree with you," said Balcombe, " I certainly 
 am on your side." 
 
 " What, then, seriously speaking," asked Jane, 
 4t would you admit a a sufficient cause for loving 
 3. second time ?** 
 
 VOL, II. R 
 
194 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Accident, blind contact, or the strong necessity 
 of loving," said Balcombe, carelessly. 
 
 " I declare, Mr. Balcombe," said Jane, " I shall 
 hate you if you talk so." 
 
 " You must think more favourably of hate than 
 love, Miss Napier," replied Balcombe, " if you can 
 hate on so slight a cause, and yet will not allow 
 that love shall spring from the habits of social in- 
 tercourse, from an interchange of good offices, 
 from a common destiny, or from that law of our 
 nature which makes us incapable of happiness 
 which there is none to share." 
 
 Well," said Jane, " for my part, I would not 
 give a straw for the love of any man who had ever 
 loved another." 
 
 " Take care, Jane," said Margaret ; " your own 
 maxim may be turned against you. The time 
 may come when you would be glad to get a better 
 market for what is left of your heart, after having 
 loved more than one." 
 
 " Oh, Margaret !" said Jane, reproachfully. .,;** 
 
 " Nay," said Margaret, " I mean no insinuation, 
 dear ; I only mean to say that I have such an 
 opinion of the indestructible good qualities of your 
 heart as to believe they can stand the fire of love, 
 and be none the worse. Now, if you can pay me 
 as high a compliment, 1 certainly shall not take 
 offence at it." 
 
 "lam sure you mean no offence," said Jane ; 
 " but, really, the idea of having one's heart burned 
 to a cinder is shocking." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 195 
 
 " That's your idea," said Margaret, " not mine. 
 I only hope the cinder may yet answer to kindle 
 the fire of love in another bosom. But come, Mr. 
 Balcombe, let us have one of your oracular re- 
 sponses on the subject." 
 
 " The ancient sibyl," answered Balcombe, with 
 much solemnity, " is the type of her sex. Her 
 books are the type of woman's heart. They were 
 a treasure beyond price, containing all that was 
 necessary to happiness and virtue. This was 
 alike in all and in every part ; and when more than 
 half were burned, the great arcanum was still 
 there." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Margaret, dropping a 
 courtesy. " The compliment deserves my best 
 courtesy ; but I feel interested to have your sex 
 included in it, because, as I am not quite young 
 enough for a boy of fifteen, I expect I shall have 
 to content myself with such small remnant of a 
 heart as some good man may offer me after having 
 been in love half a dozen times." 
 
 " It would not become me," said Balcombe, " to 
 praise my own sex; but if you will return the 
 compliment, I will not deny its justice." 
 
 " Then, sir," said the lady, bowing graciously, 
 " I pray you to consider it reciprocated in your 
 own words. And so, my dear Jane, for all that's 
 come and gone yet, I may hope to pick up of the 
 rejected leavings of you and Ann, and all the other 
 belles, a piece of a heart worth having." 
 
 This was said with an arch glance at Douglas 
 
196 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE, 
 
 and myself. He laughed, Jane bit her lip, and 
 Ann coloured to the tips of her ears. How I 
 looked I know not ; as little can I tell how I felt, 
 except my delight at observing that some not un- 
 pleasant feeling seemed to mingle with Ann's con- 
 fusion. She did not raise her eyes, but I fancied 
 that they tried to peep through their half trans- 
 parent snowy lids at me. She was standing be- 
 hind Jane's chair, between Howard and Balcombe. 
 The latter now turned to her, and said, 
 
 "You give no opinion on this- subject, my 
 dear.'! 
 
 <c I cannot," said she. *' William said he could 
 not condemn Jane's opinion, because he had no 
 experience to the contrary, and I can neither 
 condemn nor adopt it, because I have no experi- 
 ence at all." 
 
 " What a sweet innocent !" said Miss How- 
 ard, with an arch and playful frankness which 
 showed that what she said did not touch her own 
 feelings. " Sisterly affection is the warmest feel- 
 ing she has ever experienced, and such as it is, I 
 dare swear it is the warmest she ever will feel." 
 
 " Oh, Margaret !" said Howard, observing that 
 Ann was overwhelmed with confusion. 
 
 " Never mind, Henry," said his sister ; " you 
 have no need to guard Ann's sensibilities from me. 
 She knows I love her," continued she, gliding be- 
 tween her brother and Ann, and kindly taking her 
 hand. She knows I love her, and I love her be- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 197 
 
 cause I understand her better than she understands, 
 herself." 
 
 \ '' Ann looked up timidly and affectionately in her 
 face, and meeting her half-tender, half-playful 
 glance, bowed her head on her friend's shoulder, 
 and hid her blushes there. Balcombe turned his 
 quick eye inquiringly on Miss Howard, and she 
 answered it with a look at me so full of encourage- 
 ment, that I could no longer misunderstand her 
 hint. Howard, with a moody and uneasy counte- 
 nance, fell back behind the circle. Jane tore her 
 handkerchief in the eager vexation with which she 
 pulled the edge of it, and rising abruptly, broke up 
 the conversation. There was little disposition to 
 renew it. Every one seemed thoughtful, and all 
 but Balcombe and Margaret Howard rather grave. 
 His eye sparkled as it always did when he saw 
 his way clearly, and she wore an air of high and 
 generous excitement, which made her look more 
 noble in my eyes than any being I had ever seen, 
 We soon separated for the night, when, holding 
 out her hand to me, she pressed mine cordially and 
 unreservedly, and said, "Good-night, Mr. Wil- 
 liam ;" and then added, in a lower tone, " You have 
 acted delicately and nobly. You deserve to bo 
 happy, and you will be." 
 
198 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Her sex's dignity is woman's care." 
 
 FOR almost the first time in her life Ann had 
 stolen away without bidding me good-night ; and 
 for the very first time the omission gave me no 
 pain. I now began to flatter myself that Bal- 
 combe's conjectures were right, and that she was 
 at length beginning to discover the secret of her 
 heart. That: Ho ward's attention had at first given 
 her great pleasure was certain ; but it was like the 
 pleasure of an ingenuous child at any expression of 
 approbation from one highly esteemed. To the 
 admiration of such a man as Howard no woman 
 could be insensible ; for none could be indifferent 
 to the possession of such qualities as alone could 
 command it. His attentions, too, were so tem- 
 pered by respect and delicacy, and managed with 
 such address, that they could not be unacceptable 
 in themselves, though he should be an object of 
 indifference. But now they were not received 
 exactly as before. Though flattered and gratified, 
 there was a sort of restlessness in the manner of 
 the receiver which showed that they awakened 
 thoughts in which he had no part. These things 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 had occurred to me ; and Miss Howard's dexter- 
 ous hint that what Ann had been accustomed to 
 consider as sisterly affection was in fact the warm- 
 est feeling of which her warm heart was capable, 
 could not be misunderstood. 
 
 There was something, indeed, in the conduct of 
 that young lady which I could not comprehend. 
 Could she have any objection to the success of her 
 brother's suit ? Certainly not. For Ann she ex- 
 pressed and unequivocally displayed the most cor- 
 dial friendship. Towards her* brother she mani- 
 festly felt the most devoted affection, and enthusi- 
 astic admiration. It was impossible to doubt that 
 his happiness was dear to her. One thing at least 
 was clear ; that her imputed partiality to me either 
 never had existed, or had settled down into senti- 
 ments such as do not often survive a preference 
 which is not reciprocated. I therefore began to 
 suspect some mistake in the matter from the first. 
 
 In these ideas I found that Balcombe fully con- 
 curred. It may be well supposed, therefore, that 
 I was impatient to obtain their full confirmation. 
 My first step would, of course, have been to seek 
 an interview with Ann ; but from this I was re- 
 strained by a solemn promise, the more binding 
 because she had no security for it but my word. 
 Not only had I no right to take a step which might 
 wound her, but I knew that scrupulous regard to 
 that and all other pledges was indispensable to her 
 favour. I felt myself, therefore, condemned ta 
 
200 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 silence, of which I could not help complaining to 
 Balcombe. 
 
 " You forget," said he, " that enforced silence is 
 the most eloquent of all pleaders. She who has 
 imposed it is all the time speaking to her heart on 
 your behalf; not indeed to awaken love, (that were 
 superfluous,) but gratitude and admiration. Under 
 such circumstances esteem it a privilege to be 
 silent. If, as I suspect, Margaret Howard is 
 aware of the interdict, she has left little for you to 
 say, and will soon obtain leave for you to say that 
 little." 
 
 " But what motive can she have," asked I, " to 
 interest herself in my behalf?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," said Balcombe, " what there may 
 be besides the manifest generosity of her temper, 
 and something, perhaps, of that disposition, which 
 so many women have, to take a part in such mat- 
 ters. But I suspect some nearer motive besides. 
 Perhaps a desire to rescue herself from some mis- 
 construction. But go to sleep, William ; and this 
 time be sure you mingle thanksgivings with your 
 prayers, for I think I see the dawn of happiness 
 opening such as may well deserve your thanks." 
 
 The next day I saw, and not without concern, 
 that Howard's spirits were depressed. His duties 
 to his guests were obviously a burden upon him. 
 The excitement of his sister's feelings, too, seemed 
 painful ; and, though she carried herself with the 
 cheerful air of one sure of the right and bent to do- 
 it, yet it was plain that her mind needed an oppor- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 201 
 
 tunity for that guidance and support which are best 
 sought in retirement. As our visit was for no de- 
 terminate time, we accommodated it to these symp- 
 toms, and in the evening of a somewhat dull day 
 returned to Craiganet. 
 
 The next day, while Balcombe and I were out 
 with our guns, Howard and his sister drove over. 
 We returned to the house just as he was about to 
 leave it. 
 
 " I shall ride the servant's horse, Margaret," said 
 he ; " and you will command him and the barouche 
 until you choose to go home." 
 
 He said this with polite kindness ; but I thought 
 I saw some little pique in his manner. His brow, 
 too, was flushed, and his eye wandering ; his ad- 
 dress to Balcombe was hurried, and towards myself 
 there was something quite different from his accus- 
 tomed cordiality. In this mood he took his leave ; 
 and our party, after an interchange of sundry 
 blank looks, separated to dress for dinner. Until 
 we met at table, Ann did not make her appearance. 
 As soon as she entered the room, I was struck with 
 her excited countenance. Her eye swam in light, 
 her cheek glowed, and, though she manifestly 
 shrank from the gaze of others, there was an air of 
 individuality and resolve about her which con- 
 trasted strongly with her accustomed timidity. 
 Her whole manner was that of one who sees an 
 object distinctly, with a fixed purpose of pursuing 
 it. She leaned on the arm of Miss Howard, from 
 whose countenance every shade of embarrassment 
 
202 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 and perplexity was banished. She was full of ani- 
 mation, and, with the aid of Balcombe, roused up 
 the spirit of conversation once more among us. As 
 soon as dinner was over she called for her carriage, 
 and I, ordering a horse for the servant, offered to 
 accompany her. 
 
 " No, no, Mr. William," said she ; " you are not 
 the beau for my money. You belong to the sun- 
 flower school. Mr. Balcombe's versatile notions 
 of love and gallantry give me better hopes of 
 him ; and if, like Major Dalgetty, he'll take service 
 with me, I shall be glad to enlist him for the cam- 
 paign." 
 
 " Under what prouder banner than that of the 
 white lion," said Balcombe, " could a soldier 
 serve ? Command me, Lady Margaret ; and be- 
 lieve that, if I have been less prompt to offer ser- 
 vice than you to demand it, it was but because I 
 thought that younger knights might be more 
 acceptable." 
 
 " Younger, indeed !" said the lady, *' and why 
 younger ? Time was when men did not give them- 
 selves up to selfishness till they grew old ; but now 
 they are so carefully trained to it, that, if a lady 
 should have need to find a champion fitted to deeds 
 of chivalrous em prize, she must take one whose 
 beard is gray. But we have no right to expect 
 anything better. When woman sets up for her- 
 self, and contends for the mastery with man, she 
 makes him her rival, not her protector. But come, 
 Mr. Balcombe ; these notions are too oldfashioned 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 203 
 
 for our friends here. Let us be off, and discourse 
 at will of the degeneracy of the men and women 
 of modern days." 
 
 So saying, she kissed Ann, courtesied to the 
 rest, and giving her hand to Balcombe, tripped 
 away to her carriage. 
 
 The evening was pleasant, and I proposed a 
 walk to Ann. She coloured slightly, but assented, 
 when a glance from Jane brought the blood again 
 to her face, and she seemed to hesitate. 
 
 " Do you doubt my promise ?" said I, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " No, I do not," said she, firmly ; adding, after a 
 short pause, " and I will walk with you." 
 
 " I have never seen your friend Miss Howard in 
 so attractive a light before," said I, as soon as we 
 had left the house. 
 
 " She is a noble creature," said Ann. " She has 
 as little of selfishness, and as much zealous devotion 
 to her friends as human nature is capable of. 
 You have never seen this before, because you 
 have heretofore seen her through a discolouring 
 medium." 
 
 " I do not understand you," said I. 
 
 " I suppose not," replied Ann ; "but I can 
 assure you that she has as much in common with 
 your generous friend Mr. Balcombe as befits her 
 sex." 
 
 " I am glad," said I, " to hear the approbation of 
 him which your remark implies." 
 
 " Of him ! Surely approbation is quite too cold 
 
204 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 a word for such a character, even in the mouth of 
 one never benefited by him. But I must be dead 
 to gratitude if I did not already feel a warm affec- 
 tion for a man who has perilled his life in our ser- 
 vice, and whose heart seems to cleave to me with 
 a father's affection. I feel as if I had known him 
 all my life, and am already disposed to give him 
 all my confidence, as to a father or elder brother." 
 
 " You will find it well placed," said 1. " A truer 
 friend cannot be ; and his sagacity and wisdom 
 make him the safest adviser I ever knew. The 
 qualities that glitter on the surface of his character, 
 brilliant as they are, are of little value compared 
 to his intrinsic worth." 
 
 " Poor Margaret !" said Ann. " She said true, 
 that the cultivated selfishness of the young men of 
 this day unfits them to mate with a woman capable 
 of genuine feminine devotion. It is almost a pity 
 Mr. Balcombe is married." 
 
 " You would not think so if you knew his wife," 
 said I. " I have no mind to disparage your friend, 
 but I am not sure that I know any woman worthy 
 to be the wife of George Balcombe, but her who 
 is so." 
 
 I now gave some of the details of our late adven- 
 tures for the purpose of illustrating Mrs. Bal- 
 combe's character. 
 
 " She is certainly a noble woman,'* said Ann ; 
 ** but she can hardly be a very agreeable acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " I found her very much so," said I, " as soon as 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE, 205 
 
 I became an acquaintance. But whether I ever 
 should have known her, but for the circumstances 
 which broke down her reserve, is uncertain. As 
 to your solicitude for Miss Howard," continued I, 
 "there seems no great call for that, as from ap- 
 pearances, she and her cousin Angus are at last 
 disposed to fulfil the anxious wish of his father. 
 He is certainly a fine young man, and well worthy 
 of any woman." 
 
 " That may be," said Ann ; " but old Mr. Doug- 
 las will never see the accomplishment of that 
 wish." 
 
 "There seems to be a perfect understanding 
 between them," said I. 
 
 " I believe there is," she replied, " but not such 
 as you suppose. They have a great affection for 
 each other, and the utmost mutual confidence^ but 
 that is all. I profess no skill in such matters ; but 
 knowing Margaret Howard as I now do, it appears 
 to me that any one may discover that her heart is 
 yet untouched." 
 
 " Knowing her as you now do," said I, marking 
 her emphasis on the word. " You have then 
 thought otherwise ?" 
 
 She coloured deeply at this question, and at last 
 replied simply that she had. 
 
 " And whom," said I, " did you suppose to be 
 the happy man ?" 
 
 I felt her relax her hold on my arm as if to with- 
 draw her's; but she commanded herself, and an- 
 swered, with an effort at firmness, 
 
 VOL. II. S 
 
206 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " I cannot tell you that. It is enough to say that 
 I now know that I was deceived." 
 
 I did not know what to say to this. I was con- 
 scious that I had rather kept my promise in the 
 letter than in the spirit ; for Ann could not suppose 
 me to be ignorant that I was the person alluded 
 to, and that I had wiled from her an admission that 
 she had been under a delusion concerning me 
 which was now removed. I felt that I had been 
 guilty of a breach of faith ; but acknowledgment 
 or apology would but make the matter worse. 
 But though I reproached myself, I did not fail to 
 enjoy the discovery of a fact which might explain 
 her former conduct. I wished to ask if she also 
 supposed the attachment of Miss Howard recipro- 
 cated, but did not dare to go so far. But of that I 
 could hardly entertain a doubt. She at length 
 broke the embarrassing silence by some question 
 about James Scott, and this led to a conversation 
 of indifferent matters, in which she got rid of 
 the slight reserve that had shown itself for the 
 moment. 
 
 Balcombe returned late, and with a mind ob- 
 viously full of something ; but showed no disposi- 
 tion to talk. As soon as we went to our room he 
 began. 
 
 ' Well, William ; I have had a long and inter- 
 esting conversation with Miss Howard." 
 
 " And what have you learned ?" asked I. 
 
 " Much that concerns you," was the reply. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 207 
 
 " And nothing that has not increased my admira- 
 tion of her." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," said I, " unbuckle your 
 mail, then, and give us the news." 
 
 " Softly, softly, my dear fellow. I must begin 
 at the beginning, if I can find where it is, and tell 
 my story as she did, so as to do justice to all 
 parties." 
 
 " Then tell it in your own way/' said I. " Let 
 me have your conversation." 
 
 " Well, then," said Balcombe, " we were hardly 
 seated before she began. 
 
 " ' Mr. Balcombe,' said she, ' you don't deserve 
 half the credit for sagacity that your friend Napier 
 gives you, if you haven't found out that I had a 
 design in thus laying violent hands upon you/ 
 
 " * To say the truth,' said I, * I had some suspi- 
 cion of the sort ; but, as I feared no ill, I was will- 
 ing to let time make proof.' 
 
 " * I mean nothing but good,* said she, * to you 
 and your's ; but I have that to say which I would 
 have to reach the ears of your friend Mr. Napier, 
 just as I say it. But there would be an impropriety 
 in speaking or writing to him. A third person is 
 the proper filter to take off any indelicacy from 
 my communication.' 
 
 " She began then by telling me just what I have 
 heard from you about Douglas and your sister. 
 
 " ' Angus and I,' said she, * are first cousins ; we 
 have been brought up almost together, and our 
 intimacy has never been interrupted. I was soon 
 
208 GEORGE FALCOHBE. 
 
 apprised of what had been proposed, and he and 
 I soon came to a perfect understanding. He is a 
 fine, noble spirited youth, in whose happiness I take 
 a deep interest, and I saw that his union with Jane 
 was essential to it. My brother, on a visit to Oak- 
 wood, became enamoured of Ann. My confidence 
 in his taste and judgment disposed me to think 
 favourably of any woman whom he might select 
 as a wife, and I was eager to make an acquaint- 
 ance with her. I therefore readily acquiesced in 
 his proposal to transfer our residence to Oakwood 
 for a season, and my mother was easily drawn into 
 the measure. Angus immediately struck at the 
 opening ; and, having taken Henry into our confi- 
 dence, it was arranged that my cousin should, with 
 my connivance, commence such a course of atten- 
 tion to me, as should make his father wish him to 
 become one of our party. He was impatient to 
 see Jane, to show her that he had not changed, 
 and to assure himself of her constancy. Besides, 
 he was not without a hope, that Henry's success, 
 of which (admiring him as we do) we had little 
 doubt, would reconcile his father to his own mar- 
 riage with Jane ; so that on every account we 
 were desirous to do what we might in support of 
 my brother's suit. Accordingly, after a little deli- 
 cate and well-managed flirtation, of which we 
 took care to have but few witnesses besides my 
 uncle Douglas, the scheme was proposed by him, 
 and we all came together to Oakwood. 
 ** ' I at once set myself to study the character of 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 209 
 
 Ann. I saw that she experienced a pure and child- 
 like pleasure in Henry's attentions, but that as yet 
 love entered not into it. I was sure that if her 
 heart were ripe for love, she had not yet found it 
 out, and I admonished my brother to make his ap- 
 proaches with great caution. This he did, and 
 displayed so much address and delicacy in the 
 midst of all his tenderness, that, partiality aside, 
 I had no idea that any disengaged heart could 
 withstand him. At length he declared his wishes, 
 but was careful not to press for a peremptory an- 
 swer. The poor little flattered thing was so re- 
 lieved by this, that I wondered she did not love him 
 for very gratitude. This feeling did indeed ope- 
 rate so far as to make her receive his attentions 
 with as much kindness, and very little more embar- 
 rassment than before. In the mean, time, my sur- 
 prise at Henry's want of success set me to looking 
 about for a cause, and I soon saw enough of Mr. 
 Napier to suspect that I had found one. The de- 
 votion of Henry to Ann, and of Angus to Jane, 
 had thrown us much together. I found him one 
 that a girl brought up in the house with could 
 hardly fail to love, and yet might well Jove with- 
 out knowing it/ 
 
 " I will not tell you, William, the points in your 
 character which led Miss Howard to this conclu- 
 sion. 
 
 " ' But I saw,' said she, ' that Ann had not found 
 out her own secret. She was pleased and satis- 
 fied with Henry's attentions ; and I was not sorry 
 s 2 
 
210 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 that circumstances put it in my power to prevent 
 much interruption from Mr. Napier. I soon found 
 that he was ill at ease. His wandering glances 
 presently told me that if Ann did not know her 
 own secret, he had at length discovered his ; and 
 being sure of this, I did not apprehend that I could 
 do him any injury by receiving, as if from choice, 
 his enforced attentions. In doing this I did not 
 dream of anything more than to leave Henry 
 without interruption to pursue his well-managed 
 course of attention to Ann, and lo give her time to 
 wean herself from a habit of admiring and lean- 
 ing on her cousin, which might in time give birth 
 to love. As to Douglas, I had discharged him 
 from all attendance on me as soon as we arrived 
 at Oakwood ; but still it was well the gallantry of 
 Napier should always be at hand to excuse him to 
 others for neglecting me. Having established 
 things on this footing, I quietly awaited what 
 seemed to me the inevitable result of Henry's 
 attentions to Ann. In this, however, I was disap- 
 pointed. The interruption in our intercourse oc- 
 casioned by the death of Mr. Napier may have had 
 a disastrous influence. But I was led to look fur- 
 ther back for the cause of his failure, and at length 
 suspecj.d that the place which her cousin occupied 
 in Ann's heart, seeming as it did to her but that of 
 a brother, was in truth that of a favoured lover. 
 On our return to Oakwood, her manifest anxiety 
 concerning Mr. Napier exceeding that of his sis- 
 ters, and at the same time expressed more guard- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 211 
 
 edly ; the unusual flush of her cold cheek produced 
 by any allusion to him ; her frequent abstraction, 
 and occasional unconsciousness of my brother's 
 presence, left little doubt in my mind that my con- 
 jecture had been right. 
 
 " * At first I saw this with no feeling but that of 
 regret on Henry's account. But a circumstance 
 soon occurred which showed that it touched me 
 on a more delicate point. I had of late observed 
 that that amiable, ingenuous girl Laura Napier 
 had become very much attached to me. She was 
 always hanging about me, and always ready to 
 perform the little offices of a younger sister, with a 
 zeal which showed that she found great pleasure 
 in them. Not long ago she begged me to let her 
 take down my hair and comb it, and while thus 
 employed she kept me amused with her playful 
 rattle. At length she ventured to say something 
 of the pleasure with which she looked forward to 
 the time when I was to be her sister. I started at 
 this with a vehemence that alarmed her, and in 
 her eagerness to excuse herself, she assured me 
 that the whole family considered Mr. Napier and 
 me as engaged. You may believe that this in- 
 formation convinced me that in my care of others 
 I ought to have been more chary of myself. My 
 inquiries of Laura gave me no clew to the source 
 or grounds of this tale, and I determined to seek it 
 of one who might give more satisfactory informa- 
 tion. 
 
 " ' I accordingly inquired of Jane, who knew 
 
212 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE, 
 
 nothing, it seemed, of the origin of the rumour^ 
 but had had no doubt of its truth. This was 
 provoking. Why did she not doubt it? Oh, 
 nobody doubted it. 
 
 " " Does not Ann doubt it?" 
 
 " * " Certainly not : how should she ? William 
 is handsome and agreeable ; he has been very 
 attentive ; and really," said she, " he has been so 
 well received that I could not doubt it." 
 
 " * " And Ann ?" repeated I ; " Does she believe 
 it ? can she believe it ?" 
 
 " * Saying this, I was going in quest of her, when 
 Jane said, " Hadn't you better not undeceive her? 
 It would distress her very much. Her heart is 
 set on the connection, and the expectation of it 
 must certainly dispose her more favourably to an 
 alliance with your brother." 
 
 " * This staggered me, but I presently reflected 
 that in such matters a woman's first duty is to her- 
 self, not as self, but as one of the guardians of her 
 sex's honour. I accordingly sought out Ann, and 
 asked her how she had heard the report. She 
 seemed much agitated, and instead of answering 
 my question, asked in turn why I had put it. 
 
 " * " Because," said I, " I have learned that it had 
 reached you, and am anxious to know its source, 
 as well as anxious to contradict it effectually." 
 
 " * " Contradict it !" she exclaimed, with a coun- 
 tenance of eager surprise, while every feature 
 quivered with emotion, and she trembled in every 
 joint. " Is it not then true ? w 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 11 1 " True !" said I ; " certainly not. I never 
 had a serious thought of Mr. Napier, and I doubt 
 if he ever thought of me at all. Certainly, if he 
 did, he never told me so." 
 
 " ' While I spoke, she gazed at me with a look 
 of intense interest, and as I uttered the last words, 
 her colour flushed over cheek, and neck, and brow,, 
 then faded, then returned, and at last she burst 
 into tears, and hid her face in my bosom. Jane 
 would have said she was very much distressed. 
 But there was no mistaking those tears. They 
 flowed from the rapture of reviving hope. I did 
 not probe her heart with words. I saw it plainly 
 enough. I contented myself with pursuing my 
 original inquiry, and found that a foolish girl, who 
 pretended to be my confidential friend, had told 
 Jane that I had acknowledged a partiality for Mr. 
 Napier. This was wrong in Jane, Mr. Balcombe. 
 Doubtless the silly thing had told her so ; but she 
 must have known that I would repose such confi- 
 dence nowhere, and certainly not with such a per- 
 son as that. 
 
 " * From this time I saw that Ann was an 
 altered being. She, was obviously more happy. 
 Her colour, which had faded, resumed its fresh- 
 ness ; her look of abstraction now became that of 
 one that chews the cud only of sweet fancies ; her 
 eye brightened ; her smile became spontaneous ; 
 and, though less volatile, she was obviously more 
 cheerful. Mrs. Napier, who had, with all a mo- 
 ther's solicitude, remarked a former change of the 
 
214 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 opposite character, one day spoke of this to me in 
 terms which led me to hint my suspicion of the 
 cause. Judge my astonishment when she assured 
 me that I must be mistaken ; as William, not long 
 before he left home, had addressed Ann, and was 
 not only rejected, but condemned to be for ever 
 silent on that subject. I was the more amazed, 
 because this conduct was so much the reverse of 
 that observed towards my brother. I could only 
 account for it by supposing that she, believing that 
 idle rumour about me, had considered Mr. Napier 
 as having trifled unjustifiably with her feelings. 
 Further inquiry showed that her conduct on the 
 occasion had been that of one who felt herself 
 injured and insulted. 
 
 "'Now, Mr. Balcombe/ continued the young 
 lady, ' I find that with none but good intentions I 
 have suffered myself to be made an instrument 
 of much mischief. Mr. Napier and Ann have 
 both been rendered unhappy, and my poor bro- 
 ther has been kept wearing his heart out in a vain 
 pursuit. Worse than vain it might have been, had 
 Ann, in the desperation of her wounded feelings, 
 deserted, and even insulted, as she supposed, by 
 the man she loved, thrown herself into Howard's 
 arms, they must have been wretched. Notwith- 
 standing what I said the other night, I do think 
 there are hearts that can know no second love. 
 Ann Napier's is one of them. My first duty was 
 to undeceive my brother. He could hardly be ex- 
 pected to take this kindly ; and when I advised 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 215 
 
 him to urge for a decisive and final answer, he 
 seemed as if he thought I had turned against him. 
 But he knows me better ; though it is natural he 
 should feel hurt when he sees me (though he ac- 
 knowledges it to be my duty) seeking to repair 
 my error at his expense. I at length prevailed 
 with him to put his fate to the final test ; and to- 
 day he did so, with the result I had anticipated. 
 He is now out of the field, but Napier will hold 
 himself bound in honour to his promised silence, 
 and from Ann he will certainly never get a hint 
 to speak. Now it is for me who made this diffi- 
 culty to remove it, and I invoke your aid in doing 
 so. I mistake very much if you will be long at 
 a loss to bring together two young people whose 
 hearts are panting to fly into each other's bosoms.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo. 
 
 SHAKSPEAKE. 
 
 " THIS," continued Balcombe, " is the substance 
 of Miss Howard's communication. Now go to 
 sleep and dream about it, and to-morrow we will 
 think what is to be done." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 I would at once have entered into the discussion 
 of measures, but Balcombe cut me short by saying, 
 " What you are bound not to do in person, you 
 have no right to do by another. I am free to act 
 as I please. Leave me so, and beware of proposing 
 that I shall do anything ; for whatever you may pro- 
 pose, that I certainly will never do." 
 
 I could reply nothing to this. I saw that with 
 all Balcombe's zeal for my happiness, his aid was 
 like some talismans of which we read in oriental 
 tales, the virtue of which was lost to the possessor 
 the moment fear entered his heart, or any tempta- 
 tion turned him from the straight line of duty. I 
 therefore obeyed him so far as to hold my tongue. 
 Whether I slept much the reader will judge. 
 
 After breakfast the next day, when my mother 
 went to her household affairs, and Laura to her 
 lessons, Balcombe detained Ann in the parlour by 
 some slight pretence, and then kept her in chat too 
 busily to let her get away. I would have left 
 them, but I found that Jane, with a countenance 
 of great demureness, was fixing herself to her 
 work, with a full purpose to sit them out. I loi- 
 tered a moment, trying to devise some means to 
 draw her away, when Balcombe, with his accus- 
 tomed directness, said to Ann, 
 
 *' I wish to have some private conversation with 
 you, my dear. Where shall it be ?" 
 
 Jane instantly rose, and without raising her 
 eyes, began to gather up her work, saying some- 
 thing about leaving the room to them, in that pecu- 
 
GEORGE BALOOMBE. 217 
 
 liar tone which is meant to be soft and complying, 
 but which, proceeding from the lips of a woman, is 
 a sound that no practised ear will ever hear with- 
 out some apprehension of mischief. For my part, 
 I seized my gun, and betook myself to the fields ; 
 but whether. I saw hare or partridge that day, 
 the reader knows as well as I. As little do I know 
 how long I was out. It might have been a cen- 
 tury, or perhaps not more than half as much. It 
 certainly was no short time, though I am not sure 
 that the sun had moved more than fifteen or twenty 
 degrees before I returned to the house. As I en- 
 tered, Balcombe opened the parlour door and met 
 me with a smile and an extended hand. He took 
 mine, led me into the room, drew back, and closed 
 the door after him. Ann was there, and alone. 
 
 What passed ? That, reader, you shall never 
 know. As a stranger, you cannot complain that 
 you have not enough of my confidence. I know 
 that there is precedent of high authority in favour 
 of my telling you of every word, and look, and 
 tear, and blush. But you must be content to know 
 that I left the room the plighted lover of one to 
 whom, the day before, I had not been at liberty to 
 speak even the name of love. 
 
 What passed for some days after this I do not 
 remember. My brain was in a whirl, my mind 
 in a tumult of bliss. I was greeted with the warm- 
 est gratulations by my dear mother, who lost sight 
 of all prudential considerations in contemplating 
 the happiness of her children. Laura was per- 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
218 GEORGE EALCOMBE. 
 
 fectly wild with delight, and even Jane felt the 
 necessity of trying to seem glad. She made a 
 poor hand of it. She was gloomy and sad, and I 
 thought it cost her an effort not to be peevish and 
 morose. , 
 
 The cause of this, perhaps, may have been that 
 she saw nothing of Douglas. During our last visit 
 to Oakwood, he had paid her little attention, and 
 seemed wholly occupied with his attractive cousin. 
 Several days had now passed, and he had not 
 come near us. I had no right to complain that 
 under such circumstances Jane thought more of 
 herself than of me. At last he came, but in attend- 
 ance on Miss Howard. I was sitting with Ann 
 in the little parlour when they drove to the door. 
 She leaped from the barouche, and while he staid 
 to give some orders about the horses, ran into the 
 house, and entered the parlour. 
 
 One glance at Ann's blushing countenance told 
 her all. She stopped, and looked first at one and 
 then at the other, until Ann, advancing, took her 
 hand. Miss Howard, without speaking, stooped 
 to kiss her, when the timid girl suddenly bowed 
 her head, and hid it in the bosom of her friend. 
 Miss Howard caressed her tenderly, and then 
 looking up at me, with a smile and a tear, said, 
 All right ! all well ! Thank God ! thank God !" 
 She extended her hand to me, and had just dis- 
 engaged herself from Ann's embrace, when Doug- 
 las entered. The family now collected, all but 
 Jane. After a while I went to look for her. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 219 
 
 Nobody wanted to see her. she said. Besides, 
 she had never permitted herself to sit in the par- 
 lour since the day she had been dismissed from 
 thence so cavalierly. I tried to rally away her 
 ill humour, and told her she was not sure she 
 might not have her turn in the exclusive use of 
 that room before night. 
 
 As it chanced, I had an opportunity to fulfil my 
 prediction. In the course of the evening, finding 
 none but her, Douglas, and myself in the room, I 
 went out, after casting a significant look at her, 
 which she answered by biting her lip, and looking 
 anything but amiable. What passed I never knew. 
 She was plainly out of humour with Douglas, and 
 a lover's quarrel, with its usual consequences, was 
 a matter of course. When we met again, I saw 
 that a perfect understanding had been restored, 
 but the countenance of Douglas showed that some 
 unpleasant feeling was on his mind ; while Jane, 
 with the complacency of secret satisfaction, de- 
 murely kept her eyes upon her work. 
 
 Once or twice I saw her glance at Balcombe 
 with some slight expression of malicious pleasure, 
 for which I was unwilling to account by attributing 
 such a feeling to the part he had acted between 
 me and Ann. Perhaps he had incurred her dis- 
 pleasure by taking less notice of her than of either 
 her cousin or sister. But the grounds of his attach- 
 ment to Ann were natural and had been openly 
 avowed. No invidious distinction was implied in 
 his preference of one with whom he had been 
 
220 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 domesticated when a child. As to Laura, she had 
 taken to Balcombe at first sight, and her playful 
 manners had long removed every feeling of 
 strangeness on his part. Jane, on the contrary, 
 not only to him but to every person, bore herself 
 habitually with an air which not only forbade any 
 familiar approach to herself, but seemed to rebuke 
 it between others. She had therefore no right to 
 complain, or be hurt that she did not receive more 
 of his attention than he had reason to believe would 
 be acceptable to herself. But perhaps she thought, 
 as I sometimes did, that Balcombe had looked on 
 her with an air of suspicion, and had tasked his 
 keen sagacity to find out what part she might have 
 had in weaving the tangled web which he had set 
 himself to unravel. But this was now past ; and 
 having accomplished his object he had thrown him- 
 self into our amusements and conversations like a 
 playful child, forgetful of the past, reckless of the 
 future, and intent only on the present moment. 
 An occasional allusion to his wife and child alone 
 showed that he had a thought or feeling not in 
 common with us all. Them he was impatient to 
 see ; but the interval between the adjustment of 
 my little affair with Ann, and the session of the 
 chancery court at Fredericksburg, was too short 
 for a visit to' them. It was his wish, too, to bring 
 them to see us, but the unsettled condition of our 
 affairs forbade that. 
 
 At a late hour Douglas returned to Oakwood, 
 leaving Miss Howard. The next morning he 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 221 
 
 came back, and handed her a letter from her bro- 
 ther. She seemed a good deal moved while read- 
 ing it, but presently called for the barouche and 
 prepared to go home. The movement was so un- 
 expected as to excite some solicitude, with earnest 
 remonstrances from our whole party against her 
 departure. Jane seemed particularly uneasy, and 
 pressed so eagerly to know the cause of Miss 
 Howard's sudden departure, that I saw she hoped 
 to obtain, by that means, a sight of the letter that 
 occasioned it. She was not gratified, however ; 
 and I thought the young lady met her expostula- 
 tions with an air in which there was something of 
 reproach. At length Jane made up to Douglas, 
 and I thought she asked the explanation of him. 
 His answer seemed to increase her uneasiness, 
 and in the close of the conference I thought I heard 
 him say, 
 
 " We could not have anticipated any such thing ; 
 but his feelings are so wrought up that he cannot 
 stop on any middle ground. But this will not pre- 
 vent my seeing you as often as possible, though 
 not so often as heretofore." 
 
 They now left us to wonder and guess ; for Miss 
 Howard displayed great emotion at parting, ex- 
 pressing strongly in some way her feelings towards 
 each of us ; affectionate reverence for my mother, 
 the highest respect for Balcombe, kindness to me, 
 fondness to Laura, the most melting tenderness to 
 Ann, and a something the reverse of all these to 
 Jane. This last, however, was only manifested 
 
 T2 
 
222 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 so far as a lady may properly permit herself to 
 display such feelings. 
 
 The very next day, in riding out, Balcombe and 
 I met Howard. He looked wretchedly, was much 
 reduced, and the momentary flush which passed 
 over his face at the first encounter was succeeded 
 by ashy paleness. His salutation to me was 
 friendly, though I saw that he shrank from the 
 touch of a favoured rival's hand. To Balcombe 
 he merely bowed with stately coldness, which 
 seemed unnoticed by him. I now expressed my 
 regret that we had seen so little of him, reminded 
 him of our long visit, and pressed him to return it. 
 To all this he answered evasively at first ; but at 
 length said, 
 
 " I perceive that my sister did not deliver my 
 message yesterday. It was not exactly suited to 
 a lady's mouth, but she might have handed you 
 my note. Did she do so ?" 
 
 44 She did not. What message could she have 
 been charged with which should have prevented 
 me from saying anything that I have now said f " 
 
 " I will tell you," said Howard, gravely. " I 
 charged her to give you an assurance of my con- 
 tinued esteem and friendship, but to say to you 
 that I could neither visit in person, nor permit her 
 to visit at a house, where we must meet on equal 
 terms, and treat as a gentleman, an impertinent 
 intermeddler in other men's affairs." 
 
 I was completely thunderstruck at these words ; 
 and Balcombe, with all his quickness, did not seem 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 223 
 
 at once to understand them. As soon as he did 
 he said, with perfect calmness, 
 
 " If I could perceive any motive, sir, that you 
 can have to fasten a quarrel on me, I should sup- 
 pose that remark was meant to apply to me." 
 
 " You have no concern with my motives, sir," 
 said Howard. " It is enough for you to know that 
 the remark was meant for you. But I have no- 
 need, it seems, to tell you that. Conscience was 
 beforehand with me, and leaves nothing for me but 
 to punish the offence.'' 
 
 ' Mr. Howard," replied Balcombe, speaking 
 with measured deliberation, "I have heretofore 
 cherished a high respect for you, and the most per- 
 fect good will. I should now be loath to be angry 
 at anything you may say under the influence of a 
 distempered excitement. But it is necessary to 
 admonish you, sir, that he who attempts to inflict 
 unmerited punishment, must himself be punished.'' 1 
 
 During the first part of Balcombe's speech, 
 Howard had permitted his countenance to relax 
 into cool scorn, at what perhaps seemed to him an 
 ill-timed expression of regard. The last three 
 words, and the startling coldness of the emphasis 
 upon them, completely undeceived him, and threw 
 him into a paroxysm of rage. 
 
 " Punishment, sir !" exclaimed he. " Do you 
 talk of punishment to me T 
 
 " Such punishment as you talked of to me, sir, 
 exactly such as you propose to inflict, just suck 
 shall recoil on your own head." : > 
 
224 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ' * 
 
 " I understand you, sir," said Howard. " For 
 the sake of a paltry advantage you would affect to 
 consider me the party aggrieved. You are wel- 
 come to it, sir, if you think that any call that I can 
 make upon you will discharge the indignity which 
 I have just hurled in your teeth. I repeat, sir, 
 that you are an impertinent intermeddler in other 
 men's affairs." 
 
 " And I," said Balcombe, " must be savage in- 
 deed if I could wish to add to the torture which a 
 man bred in the school of honour must endure, 
 when he comes to reflect on having uttered what 
 he knows to be false" 
 
 tl False, sir 1" exclaimed Howard, foaming with 
 rage. 
 
 '* False, sir," said Balcombe. " Your sister's 
 ingenuousness is my pledge that she told you what 
 passed between us. You know of my relation to 
 Ann and William Napier. Therefore you know 
 that what you have said is false" 
 
 " It is well, sir," said Howard, recovering him- 
 self. " I am glad that you will soon know that I 
 have not sought to withhold the advantage which 
 you have endeavoured to secure by this inso- 
 lence." 
 
 He now touched his hat, and moved on 
 haughtily. 
 
 ' I am sorry for that young fellow," said Bal- 
 combe. " His life has been one of such prosperity, 
 that he is utterly incapable of bearing disappoint- 
 ment. His unquestioned right to everything he 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 225 
 
 has wanted heretofore, makes him imagine that he 
 must be wronged when any wish is not gratified. 
 He is obviously quite beside himself; and if I am 
 to judge by his last speech, he has already entered 
 on some course of measures to obtain redress for 
 his imagined wrong." 
 
 " How do you infer that ?" asked I. 
 
 ''He seems," said Balcombe, "to think that I 
 wished to bandy insults with him, that I might 
 secure to myself the privilege of the challenged 
 party, and this, I understand, his magnanimity has 
 already accorded to me." 
 
 "Good God !" exclaimed I, " is it possible he has 
 been guilty of such folly V 9 
 
 ' The man is mad," said Balcombe, " and must 
 be dealt with as a madman." 
 
 Arriving at home, we found Douglas there. He 
 was chatting with the ladies, and seemed more 
 than usually gay. Premonished, however, as to 
 the purpose of his visit, I discovered that he had 
 something on his mind, and was not surprised to 
 see him seize an occasion to speak apart to Bal- 
 combe, and slip a note into his hand. I guessed 
 the nature of it, and soon gave the latter an oppor- 
 tunity to speak to me. 
 
 " As I conjectured," said he, putting the paper 
 into my hand. " This pampered child of fortune 
 has actually summoned me to the field." 
 
 "Surely," said I, "you don't mean to fight on 
 such a fool's quarrel as this?" 
 
 " Had I not been personally insulted this morn- 
 
226 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ing," said Balcombe, " I might have thought it my 
 duty to find some pacific means of bringing the 
 young man to his senses ; as it is, he must take his 
 course, until he brings up with the consequences of 
 his own folly." 
 
 " Say rather madness/' said I. "He is incapa- 
 ble of anything so silly or unjust as this would be, 
 considered as the act of a man in his right mind. 
 It is perfect phrensy." 
 
 "You say right," said Balcombe, "and I must 
 therefore not indulge the idea of punishing it. But 
 I must do the best I can to do myself justice with- 
 out hurting him." 
 
 " And what will that be ?" asked I. 
 
 " Let time and circumstances decide," said Bal- 
 combe. ' Mean time speak with Douglas, and tell 
 him, that after what passed to-day, I waive all the 
 privileges of a challenged party, and not only ac- 
 cord to Mr. Howard the satisfaction he claims, but 
 leave it to him to decide on all the circumstances 
 of time, place, and mode." 
 
 " Do you not make an important and gratuitous 
 concession 1" 
 
 " Not at all," said Balcombe. " I shall not fight 
 to humour this foolish boy. I do it only to redeem 
 my own honour, and that is not to be done by half 
 measures. I shall therefore give him all the game 
 into his own hands, and let him play it as he will." 
 
 " This is provoking," said I, " that one man's 
 folly should have power to neutralize the wisdom 
 of another." 
 

 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 227 
 
 "It cannot be helped," said Balcombe. "As 
 long as God is pleased to send fools into the world, 
 they must be treated according to their folly. We 
 must defend ourselves against all noxious animals, 
 each according to his nature, and that of his attack. 
 A helmet is no defence against a rattlesnake, nor 
 can all the wisdom of man protect his honour from 
 the poisonous breath of insult, but by showing a 
 spirit to repel and chastise it." 
 
 " Still," said I, " at your time of life, and with 
 your established character, it seems superfluous to 
 incur a peril which may leave your wife and child 
 without a protector. I do wish, therefore, you 
 would authorize me to try to accommodate this 
 matter with Douglas." 
 
 " I have no objection," said Balcombe, " to your 
 listening to any suggestions Mr. Douglas may make, 
 but none must come from us. I dare say he begins 
 to repent of the hand he has had in this foolish 
 business, but he must pacify his own conscience as 
 he may. As to my wife, were the peril real and 
 formidable, she would never have me shrink from 
 it. But there is no danger, in fact, and I am half 
 ashamed to see that you are giving me great credit 
 for coolness, and all that, when there is nothing at 
 all to jar my nerves." 
 
 " The idea is new to me," said I, " that there is 
 no danger in such rencounters." 
 
 " They are dangerous enough," said Balcombe, 
 "but little so to a man whose familiarity with 
 greater dangers has given him command of his 
 
228 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 nerves and weapons, unless he meets one having 
 the same advantages." 
 
 " He is a capital shot," said I. 
 
 " I dare say he is," replied Balcombe ; " but the 
 skill of a man who can shake with rage as he did 
 to-day is of little avail. He who cannot command 
 one feeling has but little power over any other. I 
 don't mean to question Mr. Howard's courage. I 
 have no doubt he is brave. But the bravery which 
 shall enable a man to possess all his faculties in 
 danger, is not commonly found in men who have 
 never had to contend with their own passions. 
 But enough of this. You must see Douglas and 
 arrange preliminaries." 
 
 I did see Douglas, and communicated Bal- 
 combe's resolution. He seemed surprised that he 
 should renounce his privilege, but saw the suffi- 
 ciency of his motive as soon as I told him what had 
 passed in the morning. 
 
 ''At least," said he, "I shall give Howard as 
 little advantage as possible. Indeed none ; as I 
 shall name pistols, and I presume Mr. Balcombe is 
 a good shot. But I must ask the liberty to be 
 present when you communicate the result of our 
 conference. I don't expect he will offer any ob- 
 jection, but I may discover if anything is unaccept- 
 able to him, and take occasion to change it." 
 
 We accordingly made a formal set of regulations 
 by which the proposed combat was to be governed, 
 of which each took a copy, and giving a hint to 
 Balcombe, we all walked out together. I then 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 handed Balcombe the paper, which he read without 
 suggesting any difficulty. As we were about to 
 separate, however, he said, 
 
 "Mr. Douglas, it is but fair to tell you that you 
 have perhaps given me an advantage of which I 
 ought not to avail myself. I see you limit us to 
 fire after one and not after three. Now, sir, I am 
 so quick a shot, that this short notice is altogether 
 in my favour." 
 
 " I admire your frankness, sir," said Douglas, 
 " and at your suggestion will substitute five for 
 three ; but my friend will perhaps have no more 
 occasion for the additional time than you.* 7 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Balcombe ; and drawing 
 his pistol at the moment, he cocked it, threw a 
 dollar into the air, and struck it as it fell.* 
 
 " You see," said he to the astonished Douglas, 
 " that I have dealt fairly with you. This is not 
 done by way of bravado, to be reported to Mr. 
 Howard. On the contrary, on his behalf I advise, 
 and on my own I beg, that you will say nothing of 
 it to him." 
 
 " You are right, sir," said Douglas ; " I will be 
 silent ; and the time shall be enlarged from three 
 to five." 
 
 The hour was now fixed for twelve o'clock the 
 
 * There is no exaggeration in this. Lieutenant Scott, of the 
 United States army, has a thousand times performed feats with 
 the pistol, to which this is but a trifle. The fatal result of duels 
 so common in the western country, is in accordance with the spe- 
 cimen of skill here given. 
 
 VOL. 1J. U 
 
230 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 next day, during our morning ride, at a place con- 
 venient to both parties ; and Balcombe, leaving us, 
 returned to the house alone. 
 
 " This is a foolish business, William," said 
 Douglas. 
 
 " It is so," I replied, " and I am afraid you have 
 had some hand in it." 
 
 " I fear so too," said he, " though I have ear- 
 nestly endeavoured to prevent it. But there is a 
 desperation in Howard's feelings that will hear no 
 reason. I had no idea that he would be so moved 
 at the information that I gave him, especially as, 
 his own pretensions being withdrawn, he had 
 really no right to take offence." 
 
 " And what information did you give him 1" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Only what Jane told me, that the match be- 
 tween you and Ann was brought about by Bal- 
 combe's interference." 
 
 ' And did Jane tell you that ?" 
 
 " Yes. ' She had no time to give particulars ; 
 but when I inquired how the barrier which pre- 
 vented your approach to Ann on that subject had 
 been removed, she gave me that answer." 
 
 " Were you aware of that barrier V 9 said I. 
 
 " I was." 
 
 " By what means ?" 
 
 " From Jane." 
 
 What could I say to this ? Jane was my sister, 
 and Douglas but an instrument in her hands. He 
 had, indeed, made her fault his own, but / could 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 231 
 
 never hold him responsible for it. I could but be 
 mortified and hurt, and bear my mortification in 
 silence. Indeed, seeing no motive for Jane's con- 
 duct, and not suspecting that it could spring from 
 the mere wantonness of causeless malice, I could 
 only attribute it to indiscretion. At least I should 
 have been glad to do so ; but I could not help 
 remembering that her whole manner showed that 
 she took little interest in my happiness, and had 
 thoughts and feelings of her own, of which none 
 of the family were made partakers. 
 
 My uneasiness at the probable consequence of 
 the adventure was of course increased at finding 
 that it had had its origin in the folly of my own 
 sister, and I thought with horror of the punishment 
 she had perhaps prepared for herself. Of all this 
 I could say nothing to Douglas. His esteem was 
 necessary to her happiness, and the care of that 
 was still my duty. 
 
 He left us after dinner, and returned to Oak- 
 wood. I passed the evening and night in great 
 uneasiness ; but Balcombe was calm and cheerful 
 as usual, and slept like an unweaned child. 
 
232 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Beware of entrance into quarrel ; but, being in y 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of you. 
 
 SHAKSPEARB. 
 
 IN the morning, as we rode together to the 
 ground, he said to me, 
 
 " I see you feel some solicitude on my account, 
 and more, perhaps, on that of your friend Howard. 
 I will tell you, therefore, that I don't mean to hurt 
 him, or to let him hurt me." 
 
 " The first," said I, " depends on your will, but 
 how will you guard against the other ?" 
 
 " Quite easily," he replied. " Our pistols are to 
 be held perpendicular until the word 'one' is ut- 
 tered ; and I have no doubt that I can strike his 
 from his hand before he can bring it down." 
 
 " Will you not throw away your fire on a tick- 
 lish experiment V said I. 
 
 " If it were doubtful," replied he, " I would not 
 hazard it. I would make his arm my mark, and. 
 as it is, I shall take care if I miss the pistol to strike 
 that. 1 stipulated to have the time prolonged on 
 purpose that he might not be hurried. Douglas 
 will certainly advise him not to contend vainly for 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 233 
 
 the first shot, and his dependence will be on firing 
 deliberately after drawing my fire. So be under 
 no uneasiness on my account/" 
 
 We reached the ground in time. Douglas and 
 Howard were there already. The latter seemed 
 quite resolute, but his air was haughty and con- 
 strained, and his manner rather cold than simply 
 cool. Balcombe, on the contrary, was bland, cour- 
 teous, and easy in his deportment, displaying the 
 same unpretending simplicity of character which 
 always graced his noblest actions. The one either 
 required, or thought he required an effort to 
 command himself. The other made none, and 
 needed none. 
 
 The ground was measured, and the parties 
 posted. Douglas gave the word ; and hardly had 
 it reached my ear before I heard the report of Bal- 
 combe's pistol, and saw that of Howard fly from 
 his grasp. I perceived by the twitching of his fin- 
 gers, that the hand was, for the time, disabled by 
 the jar, but he immediately asked for another pistol. 
 I now said, in a low voice, to Douglas, 
 
 " Are you aware that that shot was not acci- 
 dental?" 
 
 " How do you mean ?" said he. 
 
 " I mean that Balcombe told me he would do 
 exactly what he has done, and the precision of his 
 shot shows that the life of Howard was absolutely 
 in his power." 
 
 " You say true," said Douglas. " Howard must 
 know this." 
 
234 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 He accordingly approached his friend, and told 
 him in a low voice what I had said. I never saw 
 mortification and perplexity greater than the coun- 
 tenance of Howard displayed at this communica- 
 tion. At length he said aloud, 
 
 " I see, gentlemen, that I can go no further with 
 this business. But I am sensible I ought not to 
 accept my life at Mr. Balcombe's hands without 
 making an apology, which, wronged as I am, I do 
 not in my conscience feel to be due." 
 
 On hearing this I turned to Balcombe, whose 
 countenance, now for the first time, showed resent- 
 ment. I asked him privately whether he would 
 insist on an apology from Howard. 
 
 *' None is necessary," said he. " But to him I 
 do not say so. I am here at his bidding. I prom- 
 ised that his proposed punishment should recoil 
 on his own head, and I shall not help him to escape 
 or mitigate it." 
 
 I was now asked if Mr. Balcombe required an 
 apology, and replied that Mr. Balcombe had no 
 answer to give. 
 
 " What did he propose ?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Did he wish another fire ?" 
 
 " To that he had no answer to give." 
 
 The perplexity of Howard was now at its 
 height; and he at length sought to escape it by 
 saying that if Mr. Balcombe would do nothing 
 else, the business for which he came must go on. 
 To this Balcombe only replied by coolly holding 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE- 235 
 
 out his hand to me for another pistol. This, of 
 course, I did not give him. Howard had received 
 his before his friend had been informed of Bal- 
 combe's intention ; but Douglas insisted on know- 
 ing whether Mr. Balcombe would fire at Howard. 
 To this question he received no answer, and then 
 declared that the affair should proceed no further. 
 Howard immediately, with an impatient gesture,, 
 turned, moved a step or two, and then went back 
 to Douglas. Balcombe remained stationary. Ob- 
 serving this, I said to him, that Mr. Howard hav- 
 ing left his post, he was at liberty to do so too. 
 
 " I am aware of what Mr. Howard has done," 
 said Balcombe ; " but, as I don't mean to govern 
 myself by his example, I shall stay here until 1 
 am discharged by the voice of his friend." 
 
 " You are discharged, sir," said Douglas, giving 
 his hand to Balcombe. " You have done all that 
 becomes a gentleman." 
 
 " Then,'* said Balcombe, without moving, " 1 
 have done nearly all that I proposed. But I have 
 kept my promise to Mr. Howard but in part. 
 The full weight of the punishment he proposed for 
 me must now fall on his own head. I will now say 
 that I ask no acknowledgment from him. I have 
 no need to ask it. If he is satisfied without re- 
 dressing the wrong he imagines he has received, 
 or acknowledging that which he has actually done, 
 it is his affair, not mine. It is enough for me to 
 know that Mr. Howard can have no doubt that the 
 injurious language applied by him to me is not 
 
236 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 warranted by the fact. I can have no interest in 
 his admitting this. That is a matter which con- 
 cerns his own honour. Mine is clear." 
 
 While Balcombe said this, Howard stood pale 
 and ghastly, with his eyes fixed on the ground. 
 During the last sentence he lifted them, and glared 
 wildly on Balcombe, and then turning fiercely on 
 Douglas, said, 
 
 " How is this, sir ? Is it in your keeping that 
 my honour has been tarnished ?" 
 
 " Had you acted by my advice, Henry," replied 
 Douglas, " I should hold myself bound to answer 
 that question." 
 
 " By'your advice !" cried Howard. " And was 
 it not by your advice I left my post ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Douglas ; " but against my consent 
 you first took it. But if you think your honour 
 can be cleared by lifting your hand against the 
 life of one who has given you yours, you can re- 
 sume it. Mr. Balcombe is still at his post." 
 
 " My life ! my life !" cried Howard, furiously. 
 " And is it that paltry boon, the enforced accept- 
 ance of which has bound me hand and foot to sub- 
 mit to dishonour and insult?" 
 
 Saying this, he suddenly turned his pistol against 
 himself. It was not cocked, and Douglas, wrest- 
 ing it from his hand, fired it in the air. The fury 
 of Howard was now uncontrollable, and he was 
 restrained with difficulty from doing mischief to 
 himself or others. His im potent struggles at length 
 exhausted the violence of his passion. He sunk 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 237 
 
 into a sort of sullen calm, and permitted himself 
 to be led by Douglas to his barouche, and carried 
 home. 
 
 On our part we took the road to Craiganet. 
 Balcombe rode a while in silence, and at length 
 said, 
 
 " I can never be thankful enough to Heaven for 
 having been enabled to save myself without hurt- 
 ing that unfortunate young man. I only regret 
 having said so much before I discovered his situ- 
 ation." 
 
 " What have you discovered ?" I asked. 
 
 " That he is actually mad," said Balcombe; 
 " unequivocally mad. You will find it so. His 
 disappointment has shaken his brain, and his phren- 
 sy would naturally turn itself against you or me." 
 
 This idea had not occurred to me before ; but I 
 now clearly saw that it was well founded, and re- 
 joiced with Balcombe at his forbearance. We 
 reached home too early to give occasion to any 
 remark on our absence ; and, but for my concern 
 on account of poor Howard, I should again have 
 enjoyed without alloy the pleasures which flow 
 from the perennial fountain of love avowed, ap- 
 proved, and reciprocated. There was, indeed, an- 
 other drawback. I could not consider Jane as the 
 intentional author of the mischief that had been 
 done, but her cold selfishness, her heartless indif- 
 ference to the happiness of her friends, her ingrati- 
 tude for Balcombe's generous zeal in our service, 
 and her peevish disposition to take offence at every- 
 
238 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 thing in which her wishes were not chiefly con- 
 sulted, were sources of deep mortification. What 
 effect the discovery of what had just passed might 
 have upon her I could not anticipate. It could 
 not change her nature, but I did hope it might 
 bring her to a sense of her fault, and dispose her 
 to live in future not so wholly for and in herself. 
 Her very attachment to Douglas seemed, indeed, 
 but a modification, and a slight one, of her ruling 
 principle of self-love. Decidedly his superior in 
 intellect, she exercised over him an influence 
 which seemed exerted only for her own gratifica- 
 tion. Indeed, her chief delight appeared to be in 
 the amusement she found in playing on his feel- 
 ings. She was well-pleased to make him happy ; 
 but if that could not be, the next best thing was to 
 make him miserable. That she should form no 
 part in the happiness or misery of any with whom 
 she had to do, and of him especially, was what she 
 could not bear. That he should be either grave 
 or gay, merry or mad, or neither, without her 
 agency or in spite of her, was nothing short of 
 high treason. Poor fellow! the spell was upon 
 him, and he could not break it. She had talent, 
 accomplishment, beauty, address, and tact ; and it 
 was vain to expect that he should ever escape 
 from her toils. He was much her junior, too ; a 
 circumstance that, up to a certain age, much in- 
 creases a woman's power over her lover. As her 
 brother, I was glad to have his constancy thus se- 
 cured; as his friend, I might have regretted it. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 239 
 
 But, though an amiable and honourable young 
 man, he had not the qualities which I would choose 
 in a friend, though I could not object to him as a 
 future brother-in-law. 
 
 We saw nothing of him for a day or two, nor 
 did we hear directly from Oakwood. A flying 
 rumour, indeed, reached us, that Howard was ill 
 and delirious. Of the truth of this Balcombe and 
 I had little doubt ; but it was our cue to seem to 
 disregard it. At last the intelligence came direct 
 in a note from Douglas to Jane, excusing his ab- 
 sence. My mother immediately urged me to visit 
 Howard. I made such objections as I could with- 
 out hinting at the truth, but they were overruled. 
 I could ascertain whether the sight of me might 
 have an injurious effect, and keep myself aloof, if 
 necessary. I went, accordingly, and at the door 
 was met by Miss Howard, who seemed in the 
 greatest distress. 
 
 " For God's sake, Mr. Napier," said she, u what 
 can be the matter ? My poor brother raves con- 
 tinually about Ann, and you, and Mr. Balcombe, 
 and dirks, and pistols, and duels ; and seems, at 
 times, bent even on self-destruction. Surely he 
 has not been so unreasonable as to quarrel with 
 you?" 
 
 " Not at all," said I, " I have seen him, and we 
 parted on the most friendly terms." 
 
 " His pique against Mr. Balcombe," said Miss 
 Howard, "is the most unaccountable thing; and if 
 it is not altogether the effect of the disorder of his 
 
240 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 mind, I ought perhaps to rejoice that his illness 
 disables him to prosecute his revenge." 
 
 I now inquired for Douglas, and ascertained that 
 the tone of Howard's ravings generally softened 
 whenever my name occurred to him, and that he 
 seemed to connect me in his imagination with the 
 happiness of Ann, of whom he always spoke with 
 the most melting tenderness. We thence inferred 
 that the sight of me might be rather beneficial to 
 him than otherwise. I accordingly proposed to 
 Douglas to conduct me to his room. 
 
 I found him in bed, pale and squalid, with his 
 hands and face besmeared with blood, which I 
 supposed had been taken from his arm. As I en- 
 tered, he looked at me with a stupid, vacant gaze, 
 in which there was little of recognition, and, as I 
 approached the bed, held out his hand in -i silence. 
 I took it, and he, grasping mine, continued to keep 
 his eye upon me. For a moment a glimpse of 
 meaning gleamed in it, and then relapsing into the 
 same appearance of stolidity, he let go my hand, 
 and hid his under the bedclothes. I seated myself 
 by him, and remained silent. In a few minutes 
 he turned to me, and said, in a deep, hoarse 
 whisper, 
 
 " Did you say she was well ?" 
 
 ' She is," said I, guessing at his meaning. 
 
 " And happy ?" added he, 
 
 " As happy," said I, " as her concern for your 
 illness will permit." 
 
 * Her concern for me 1" he exclaimed, with a 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 241 
 
 wild, dissonant laugh. " But she is good. Yes, 
 she is concerned for me," he added, in a touching 
 tone. " She is so good. But she must not mind 
 me. She must be happy. I am well very 
 well." 
 
 Saying this, he raised himself, and seemed about 
 to leave his bed, when he fell back dizzy with loss 
 of blood. Indeed, I ascertained that the calm state 
 in which I found him had been the effect of pro- 
 fuse and repeated bleeding, which had left him 
 utterly exhausted. I learned, also, that he had 
 passed several days without sleep, and that ano- 
 dynes had been administered which appeared to 
 have composed him. The doctor, it seemed, looked 
 to sleep as his great auxiliary, and his efforts now 
 were to bring that to his aid. 
 
 Finding the effect of my presence not injurious, 
 I determined to spend the night by his bedside, and 
 give poor Douglas a chance to snatch some repose. 
 I accordingly obtained the necessary instructions, 
 and after supper took my post for the night. My 
 patient continued until a late hour to oscillate be- 
 tween stupor and occasional fits of excitement. 
 At length after midnight he sank into a profound 
 sleep. About daylight I roused Douglas, and went 
 to bed. It was near noon when I awoke, and 
 Howard still slept. When I entered his room he 
 lay still and pale, and but for his low deep breath- 
 ing I should have thought him dead. I was impa- 
 tient to see him open his eyes, for I could not look 
 at him without fearing he might never open them 
 
 VOL. n. x 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 again. But the doctor, stealing his hand to the 
 pulse of the patient, pronounced that he was doing 
 well, and encouraged us to hope he would awake 
 in his senses. 
 
 He was not mistaken. Howard at length slowly 
 opened his eyes, and looked around the room with 
 a countenance intelligent and calm, though bewil- 
 dered. He looked inquiringly at every person 
 present, then at his hands, and at the bloody bed- 
 clothes, and at length said, 
 
 " What does all this mean ? Have I been ill ?" 
 
 Being told that he had been, he asked a few 
 more questions, the answers to which seemed to 
 awaken a sort of dreaming recollection. After 
 musing some minutes, he requested all to leave the 
 room but Douglas and me. Then turning to him 
 he said, 
 
 "How is this, Angus? How much of this is 
 true how much a dream ?" 
 
 "I cannot tell that," said Douglas; "but you 
 have been ill, and delirious many days." 
 
 " Then I have perhaps imagined it all ?" 
 
 He relapsed into silence, and at length with 
 some quickness asked for his pistols. Douglas 
 brought him one. 
 
 44 The other ! the other !" said he. " I want 
 both." 
 
 Douglas now handed him the other, which had 
 been shattered by Balcombe's ball. It had struck 
 near the lock, and torn it off. As Howard looked 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 243 
 
 at it his pale cheek flushed slightly, and closing his 
 eyes he said, 
 
 " It was no dream. Where is Mr. Balcombe ? 
 Not hurt! was he? I hope not. I think not. 
 Perhaps I don't remember all things aright." 
 
 " He is well," said I, " and will be glad to learn 
 that you are better." 
 
 " I thank him," said Howard. " He is a noble 
 fellow. Have I not acted foolishly, wickedly, 
 madly ? I fear so. I wish to see Mr. Balcombe 
 and tell him so. I must learn to love him for her 
 sake" 
 
 He now held out his hand to me and grasped 
 mine feebly. A tear rose to his eye as he said, 
 
 " I once thought to love you, William, for my 
 -sister's sake. But you must be still dearer to me 
 now. You must make her happy, William, and 
 when she sheds a tear to my memory, tell her I 
 died blessing her, and her tears will not be bitter." 
 
 He was again silent. After a few minutes he 
 spoke again. 
 
 " I have been selfish and unjust," said he. " Will 
 not Mr. Balcombe come to see me ? I have no 
 right to ask it, but I wish to take him by the hand, 
 and hear him say he forgives my insolence. I 
 remember something of it, but I fear not all. I 
 remember, too, he acted nobly, and shamed me 
 into the dust. But I deserved it. Did I not ?" 
 
 " You were not yourself, Henry. We are all 
 now sensible of that. Mr. Balcombe was the first 
 to discover it. He has no unkind feeling towards 
 
244 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 you, and will be here as soon as he knows that you 
 can see him." 
 
 We now prevailed on Howard to take some 
 nourishment, and a servant was despatched to 
 Craiganet to say that he was better, and expressed 
 a wish to see Balcombe. I enforced this request 
 by a note which removed all Baleombe's difficul- 
 ties, and he came next morning. Another night's 
 rest had completely calmed Howard's mind, and 
 he now seemed to distinguish clearly between 
 those recollections in which he could, and those in 
 which he could not trust his memory. There was, 
 indeed, a cloud on all that had happened, since 
 the day he left Craiganet a discarded suitor ; 
 and he obtained from Douglas an exact account 
 of all. 
 
 When Balcombe arrived, he was immediately 
 conducted to Howard's room. Miss Howard was 
 present when he entered. She was the first to 
 greet him with great cordiality. He then ap- 
 proached Howard, who holding out his hand, said, 
 
 " This is very kind, Mr. Balcombe. I take your 
 visit as a pledge that I am forgiven. But it will 
 be gratifying to me, because it will humble my 
 pride, to hear you say so." 
 
 Balcombe now, with the utmost delicacy, gave 
 him the desired assurance, telling him he had no 
 idea that he could be justly blamed for anything 
 he did in the distempered condition of his mind. 
 
 4< But you were not aware of that at the time, 
 and therefore my gratitude must be measured by 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 245 
 
 your forbearance. You don't know, Margaret, 
 that it is due to Mr. Balcombe's magnanimity that 
 you still have a protector. I will not offend his 
 delicacy by telling the story in his presence, but 
 you must know all. Angus must tell you all." 
 
 Miss Howard turned an inquiring look on Bal- 
 combe, but he merely smiled and shook his head, 
 saying, 
 
 " A foolish quarrel ; nothing more." 
 
 " Yes, there was much more," said Howard ; 
 "and when you know all, Margaret, you must 
 thank Mr. Balcombe for me as he deserves." 
 
 " I do thank him," said the young lady. " I know 
 he deserves all my thanks." 
 
 Saying this, she left the room. I returned home, 
 and Balcombe remained all night. The next day 
 I returned to relieve Balcombe, but was told by 
 the doctor that the presence of my friend was of 
 great advantage to Howard, and that he had pre- 
 vailed on him to stay there. Indeed it was delight- 
 ful to see how the mind of Howard calmed itself 
 under the mild ministrations of Balcombe, and 
 how the originality of his thoughts, and the vivid- 
 ness of his conceptions and language, took posses- 
 sion of the faculties of the patient, and wiled him 
 away from all subjects of painful reflection. There 
 was, indeed, a healthfulness in the action of Bal- 
 combe's mind, which seemed to impart itself to all 
 he associated with, dispelling phantasies, and heal- 
 ing sickly sensibilities as if by magic. His philos- 
 ophy was nothing but plain common sense. The 
 
246 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 art of making this acceptable was his great excel- 
 lence. 
 
 The time now approached when it would be 
 necessary to attend the chancery court at Freder- 
 icksburg. A few days before a letter was received 
 from Major Swann, saying that he had intended 
 to go to Fredericksburg, and there prepare his 
 answer, but that his health would not permit it. 
 As it was desirable to me that this document should 
 be full and clear, I had expressed a wish to see it 
 before filing. He therefore proposed that Bal- 
 combe and I should return to Raby Hall, and take 
 with us a professional gentleman of the major's 
 acquaintance to prepare the answer. I deter- 
 mined, therefore, to set out immediately, and would 
 have asked the company of Balcombe, but that I 
 saw he was become a sort of necessary of life to 
 Howard. We parted, therefore, with an agree- 
 ment to meet the night before court in Fredericks- 
 burg. Balcombe also requested, that as there 
 would be no longer any need of John's services 
 at Raby Hall, I would send him to Craiganet. 
 
 "I have no particular use for him," said he, 
 " but I like to have him about me. He is quick 
 and apprehensive, and I am never at a loss when 
 I have him with me. Besides, I have been listen- 
 ing to good English so long, that I begin to long 
 for some of his stories told in his own terse 
 dialect." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 247 
 
 <it -wti *nw ' ;# 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 il $ i 
 
 With every pleasing, every prudent part, 
 Say what can Chloe want ? She wants a heart. 
 She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought, 
 But never, never reached one generous thought. 
 Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, 
 Content to dwell in decencies for ever. 
 
 POPS. 
 
 WHEN I reached home, I discovered by the first 
 glance at Jane that she had heard all from Dou- 
 glas, who had been there. At the same time a 
 mysterious look, as she rolled up her eyes, lifted 
 one hand, and heaved a short sigh, told me that the 
 secret was known to herself alone of all the house- 
 hold. As soon as she could catch me alone she 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, William ! to think of the mischief that my 
 indiscretion was so near producing 1" 
 
 " You are mistaken as to the cause, Jane," said I. 
 
 " Oh no 1" said she, " I know. Douglas told me 
 it was the effect of my foolish speech to him, which 
 he repeated to Howard. Though, to tell the truth, 
 I don't see that I am so much to blame, for how 
 did I know that Howard was crazy enough to 
 quarrel about such a thing. Indeed I am glad to 
 
248 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 hear you say that I was not the cause of the 
 quarrel." 
 
 " I said that your indiscretion was not the cause. 
 You are never indiscreet, Jane. I almost wish 
 you were sometimes." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven, William !" she exclaimed, 
 with a look of horror quite theatrical ; " you do 
 not mean to impute to me any design to bring about 
 such consequences ?" 
 
 " Nothing like it," said I. " No design at all. 
 Nothing but a perfect indifference to consequences 
 which you did not foresee might react on your- 
 self." 
 
 She now looked at me with an expression of 
 undissembled amazement. Up to this time she 
 had always used freely the elder sister's privilege 
 of rebuking my faults. Of hers I had yever pre- 
 sumed to speak. But the tone of calm displeasure 
 in which I spoke reversed our position at once, 
 and she said with an air of anxious humility, 
 
 " William ! what does this mean ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied I, " but that I would not 
 have you deceive yourself, and so aggravate a real 
 fault by endeavouring to correct one which is alto- 
 gether imaginary." 
 
 " And what is that real fault, brother?" said she, 
 meekly. 
 
 "Selfishness," replied I. 
 
 " Selfishness ! selfishness !* screamed Jane, in- 
 dignantly, and immediately endeavouring to resume 
 the ascendant. " Selfish ! I who but I won't be 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 249 
 
 my own trumpeter. But you know enough to 
 know, William, that I am anything but selfish" 
 
 " I know you think so, Jane, and I say this to 
 undeceive you. Were I merely disposed to wound, 
 I might call it malevolence ; but it is not that." 
 
 " Selfishness and malevolence !" said she. " I 
 selfish and malevolent ? I who " 
 
 " I know what you would say," I replied. " The 
 proofs of benevolence to which you would appeal 
 are no secret. If they were, I might judge of them 
 differently. But I am not mistaken. Now look 
 at this business. Had you not been wrapped up 
 in your own schemes, could you not have spared 
 enough of sympathy to me, and gratitude to one to 
 whom we both owe so much, to refrain from ap- 
 plying to Balcombe the epithet of matchmaker ? 
 Could you not have heard of the late occurrence 
 with pleasure at the escape of our friends, instead 
 of losing all other interest in the affair but that 
 which grew out of your own part in it ? Could 
 you not bear the well meant remonstrance of a 
 brother, without endeavouring to put him in the 
 wrong, by imputing to him words he never uttered ? 
 Did I say you were malevolent?" 
 
 " You said malevolence" said she. 
 
 " Still struggling for victory," replied I, " still 
 all for self. I did say malevolence. I said I did 
 not impute to you malevolence. Was not that 
 it?" 
 
 *' That was not what you meant," said she* 
 
250 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " Am I then in the habit," asked I, " of saying 
 one thing when I mean another ?" 
 
 She half raised her eyes and looked spitefully at 
 me, but did not dare to say " Yes." But she 
 would say nothing else, and so her spirit again 
 gave way, and she burst into tears. 
 
 I would not have the reader suppose I saw this 
 with indifference. A woman in tears, and that 
 woman my sister, was no pleasant sight. But I 
 manned myself to bear it, and saw her through a 
 fit of hysterics without running away, or calling 
 for help. What 1 had begun I determined to go 
 through with. She at length reached that point 
 of exhaustion at which the pathetic seems more 
 practicable than any other mode of eloquence, and 
 lifting up her hands and eyes, exclaimed plain- 
 tively, 
 
 M Oh me ! to be accused of selfishness by my 
 own brother 1" 
 
 " Was it then a brother," asked I, " whose hopes 
 of happiness you sought to destroy for the chance 
 of bettering yours ?" 
 
 " Good Heaven, William !" she exclaimed, with 
 well acted amazement, " what do you mean ?" 
 
 " Did you not tell my father and Ann," I asked, 
 " that Miss Howard had avowed a decided prefer- 
 ence for me ?" 
 
 " I said I had been told so by another," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " By a confidential friend. Was it not so ?" 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 251 
 
 " I said I was told that the communication was 
 made in confidence." 
 
 " And the object of that confidence was Sally 
 Grey ! The silly, flippant, indiscreet, and vulgar 
 Sally Grey, the confidant of the highminded, deli- 
 cate, refined, intellectual Margaret Howard ! I 
 will not ask you, Jane, if you believed that. But 
 I will ask you if you did not tell Ann that I was 
 engaged to Miss Howard ?" 
 
 " I told her everybody said so." 
 
 " And believing it yourself, doubtless, you en- 
 couraged her to believe it." 
 
 " And what right had I to doubt it ?" she asked. 
 
 " You could not believe it," I replied, " because 
 you were in the secret. I was not. But you and 
 Douglas perfectly understood how it was that Miss 
 Howard and I were thrown so much together, 
 He is an honourable young fellow. Are you con- 
 tent that he should know that you encouraged Ann 
 to believe it, and that the notable device of keeping 
 her room unless I would promise eternal silence 
 was of your suggestion ?" 
 
 " Oh, William I" she exclaimed, with an alarmed 
 look. 
 
 " Douglas," I continued, " does know of the in- 
 terdict. Does he know how it was brought about ? 
 Your silence says no. And though your love for 
 him prompted the deception, yet for the world 
 you would not have him know it. What is it, 
 Jane, that bribes conscience, and makes it a more 
 
252 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 lenient judge than a devoted lover T Can selfish- 
 ness achieve a greater triumph ?" 
 
 She made no answer, but at length sobbed out 
 in a reproachful and querulous tone, 
 
 " I have no home but yours ; no protector but 
 you." 
 
 " Still harping on self," said I. " Will it not 
 even suffer you to remember that none of us has 
 any home. That your mother has no home ? And 
 if you ever have a home, at least while you are 
 single, you will owe it to one who has perilled his 
 life to serve you, and towards whom you have 
 never permitted yourself to feel one sentiment of 
 gratitude." 
 
 " I am sure," said she, " he never did anything 
 on my account, and does not care a straw what 
 becomes of me" 
 
 " And therefore you, who are not at all selfish, 
 wantonly asperse and endanger the life of one, 
 whose only merit is his gratitude to your grand- 
 father, and his generous Devotion to your brother, 
 because, if he serves you at all, it will be but inci- 
 dentally." 
 
 She saw that in her eagerness to defend herself 
 she had given up her cause, and again had recourse 
 to tears. I went on : 
 
 " As to your having no protector, Jane, but me, 
 that is true, and I therefore am doing the duty of 
 one, painful as it is. It is my duty to free your 
 mind from the delusions which self-love, and the 
 flattery of a certain clique of sentimentalists, have 
 
253 
 
 palmed on you for truth. I have no wish to mor* 
 lify you. You have qualities of the highest order, 
 which fit you to be the happiness or the torment of 
 your friends. Which you shall be depends on 
 your coming to a right understanding of yourself. 
 Learn to bear the thought that others may be 
 happy, without owing their happiness to you, and 
 then, if you cannot make them so, you will at least 
 not make them wretched. Look into your own 
 heart, and you will see that there has been the 
 root of all this bitterness. Instead, therefore, of 
 cherishing angry feelings against your brother, 
 remember that he not only forgave his own 
 wrongs, but forbore to speak of them. Let that 
 be my pledge, that having done my duty now, you 
 shall not find me inclined to recur to this unpleasant 
 topic. On the contrary, assure yourself, that I 
 shall never foil in the respect and tenderness due 
 to a lady and a sister." 
 
 Saying this, I took her hand, and she, subdued 
 and softened, threw her arms around my neck, 
 and now wept penitential and salutary tears. 
 
 As the affair between Balcombe and Howard 
 was no longer a secret, I made no scruple of telling 
 the whole story to my mother and Ann. I knew 
 they would hear it all after I was gone, and I 
 wished to witness the pleasure with which Ann 
 would look on this new display of the noble quali- 
 ties of her friend. She was by this time as far 
 gone as I in confidence in the resources of Bal- 
 ombe ; and if he had promised her the crown of 
 
 VOL. II. - Y 
 
254 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 China, she would hardly have doubted the fulfil- 
 ment of the promise. 
 
 The next day I left home, and went as far as 
 
 the house of Mr. W , the lawyer mentioned by 
 
 Major Swann, and the day after we rode together 
 to Raby Hall. 
 
 I was pleased to find the old gentleman only so 
 much indisposed with a slight rheumatism, as to 
 make it unadvisable to go from home at that in- 
 clement season. James had in a great measure 
 recovered his spirits. He seemed quite domes- 
 ticated at the hall, and happy in the free use of 
 books which he read with his sister. In her I saw 
 no change, except that she had been drawn out by 
 degrees from that shrinking reserve to which she 
 had condemned herself, and now showed in con- 
 versation the same superiority of intellect of which 
 I had seen so many other proofs. What punish- 
 ment could be too severe for the wretch by whose 
 villany such a woman had been lost to the world 
 and to herself? 
 
 Mr. W , whose business required his pres- 
 ence elsewhere, at once betook himself to that 
 which brought him to Raby Hall. He did not 
 sleep until he had done his work, and next morn- 
 ing left us immediately after breakfast. 
 
 Before his departure, he admonished Mr. Swann 
 that it was proper he should send the answer and 
 packet by some confidential person, and turning to 
 me, added, 
 
 " No person can be more worthy of such confi- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE, 
 
 255 
 
 dence than yourself, Mr. Napier; but you will 
 nevertheless see that this paper should reach the 
 court without ever having been in your hands." 
 
 I felt the justice of this, and therefore did not 
 touch it ; though I saw, with some anticipation of 
 disappointment, that the packet was too large to 
 contain merely such a will as my father's memo- 
 randum spoke of. I saw, too, where the scorched 
 envelope had crumbled away, nothing but the ap- 
 pearance as of an old newspaper. But a moment's 
 reflection satisfied me, that whatever unimportant 
 papers it might contain, there was certainly some 
 document there of great consequence, and that 
 Montague was especially anxious to keep that 
 from falling into my hands. Why else had my 
 appearance broken up his repose, and determined 
 him even to risk his life to destroy it or possess 
 himself of it? 
 
 After some reflection, the major determined to 
 ask James to take charge of the packet, which he 
 agreed to do, and it was settled that we should go 
 together. The next day but one was court day, 
 and the distance almost too great for a day's ride. 
 I had intended to go as far as Tapahannock that 
 evening, but James could not be ready until morn- 
 ing. I therefore determined to wait for him. 
 
 Walking out in the evening, I met a man 
 mounted on a fine roan horse, of remarkable action 
 and fleetness. I thought I had rarely seen one 
 that got over the ground with so much ease to 
 himself and his rider. I turned as he moved 
 
 
256 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 rapidly by, and remarked the fine and vigorous 
 movements of the animal as he went from me- 
 Charles was not far behind me, and I saw the 
 horseman stop and speak to him. He then passed 
 on, and I waited till Charles came up. 
 
 " Who was that, Charles V 9 said I. 
 
 " I don't know, sir. He stranger to me, 
 master." 
 
 " What did he want with you V 9 
 
 " Just ask me if that was you, sir, and if you 
 was going to start to Fredericksburg this evening. 
 He say he want company." 
 
 " And what did you tell him ?" said I, not liking 
 to give my company to one so free of his. 
 
 " I tell him, sir, I hear 'em say you wasn't going 
 to start 'fore morning. Then he say you have 
 mighty long ride, and I tell him you got a good 
 horse, carry you to Fredericksburg mighty handy 
 before bedtime." 
 
 Returning to the house, I sat with Mr. Swann, 
 who could not take his usual exercise, and to whom, 
 therefore, a companion was more necessary than 
 usual. Before I came in he had been talking with 
 James, who no sooner found me engaged in con- 
 versation than he resumed his book. Our thoughts 
 necessarily ran on Montague and his machinations, 
 and we spoke of him, forgetting the presence of 
 poor James. I am not sure that the major was 
 aware of his ignorance of his sister's history. Be 
 that as it may, he let fall some expression which 
 struck on James's ear with a shock that made him 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 257 
 
 spring into the middle of the floor. Startled at 
 this movement, I looked at him, and saw him sta- 
 ring wildly on the major. At length he recovered 
 himself enough to ask the meaning of what he had 
 heard. Unluckily the major gave an answer, which 
 he perceived to be designedly evasive. 
 
 The change in his whole appearance and manner 
 at once made me sensible of the reason of Mary's 
 caution to Balcombe concerning him. I have 
 never seen the wildness of rage and desperation 
 so displayed as in his countenance. The glare of 
 his eye, the paleness of his face, the blackness 
 about the mouth, and the foam that gathered at its 
 corners, as he stood grinding his teeth in silence, 
 were horrible to behold. At last he exclaimed, " I 
 will know the truth,'* and rushed from the room. 
 
 I afterward learned that he had found Charles, 
 and wrung from him the whole story, which he had 
 probably heard from his mother. 
 
258 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 He knew and crossed me in the fray. 
 I gazed upon him where he lay, 
 And watched his spirit ebb away. 
 
 BTROW. 
 
 I SAW no more of James that evening, nor did 
 poor Mary appear at supper. Late at night he 
 came into my room, where he lay, and went to 
 bed, but not to sleep. By daylight our horses were 
 at the door, and James made his appearance. 
 Something had put it into my head to take my 
 pistols, and I asked James if he was armed. He 
 only replied by grasping the handle of his dirk 
 with one hand, and pointing with the other to his 
 pistols under his coat. These were all the same 
 weapons of which Balcombe had been robbed. He 
 had given them to James, saying, 
 
 * Here, my boy, are a dirk and a pair of pistols 
 that never failed their master. I hope you may 
 never have cause to use them ; but if you do, that 
 they may serve you as well as they have me." 
 
 " I am afraid," said James, " they may lose their 
 virtue in my hands." 
 
 " Never fear," said Balcombe. " Be always 
 sure that your cause is good, and learn to use them 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 259 
 
 with deliberate promptitude, and they'll not fail 
 you." 
 
 James had not forgotten this, and as he turned 
 I heard him mutter, 
 
 " A good cause, and deliberate promptitude." 
 
 In these words I was sure I heard the doom of 
 Montague. It was in vain to think of saying any- 
 thing to calm his excited feelings, so we mounted 
 our horses and rode away in silence. 
 
 At Tapahannock we stopped for breakfast, and 
 there found the knight of the roan horse, who 
 breakfasted with us, and immediately rode off. I 
 was pleased at this, for it gave me a favourable 
 opinion of my own address and dignity. Having 
 no desire for his company, and remembering the 
 wish he had expressed, I took care to meet all his 
 advances towards my acquaintance with a cold 
 and stately courtesy which was intended to repel 
 without offending. Seeing him, then, ride off 
 without having proposed to travel with me, I had 
 little doubt that I had acquitted myself well of this 
 delicate task, and perhaps made him feel that there 
 was some difference between us, which forbade 
 his intended overture. This was fifteen years ago, 
 reader, and I was then a boy ; and though the 
 fortunes of my family were fallen, I had not yet 
 lost a vague notion of some peculiar merit belong- 
 ing to the blood of Raby and Napier which flowed 
 in my veins. Such notions had indeed been ex- 
 ploded long before, but I did not know that. In 
 the progress of events and manners, I am not sure 
 
260 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 that the ancient order has not been reversed. It- 
 is perhaps a disadvantage now to be what was 
 once called " well born." It is considered merely 
 as affording prima facie evidence that a man is 
 arrogant, self-important, and satisfied to be a fool, 
 because he does not know it. I mention this error 
 of my youth, only that I may proclaim my repent- 
 ance of it. Having had occasion to allude fre- 
 quently to my family, I feel that it may be neces- 
 sary to bespeak your favour, and, perhaps, forbear- 
 ance, by disclaiming that foolish family pride which 
 I then cherished. I did cherish it. Notwithstand- 
 ing my professions to Balcombe, I had more of it 
 than he would have approved. Indeed I did not 
 pride myself on the individual merit of any ances- 
 tor ; for I am not aware that, since the old baron 
 whose name I bear, there was any such merit to 
 be proud of. The name alone, as that of a family, 
 which, through several generations of uninterrupted 
 prosperity, had been looked up to by the less 
 wealthy, was the source of my self-complacency. 
 I had been aware of my relation to the noble pa- 
 triot, of whose magnanimous devotion of life and 
 fortune to his country Balcombe had spoken ; but 
 the idea of being proud of him had not occurred 
 to me. My habit of thinking on the subject had 
 been, that all the honour of the alliance was the 
 other way. Whf/ ? If I could have found any 
 rational answer to the question, I should have 
 cherished this pride. As it was, I made haste to 
 get rid of it, as so^n as I discovered, that, in those 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 26t 
 
 who still retain it, it is commonly in the inverse 
 ratio to the respect of others. 
 
 We stopped again at a house between Tapa- 
 hannock and Port Royal, and there again found the 
 gentleman of the roan horse. Having now, as I 
 supposed, taught him his distance, I thought I 
 might condescend so far as to speak of the merits 
 of his noble horse. The theme proved a grateful 
 one. He expatiated on the performance of the 
 animal and his own care for him. 
 
 " He could travel," said he, " as far again in a 
 day as any common horse ; and he travels so fast 
 and so easy, that I should impose on him if I did 
 not make short stages and long stops. 1 have 
 been here an hour, and shall stay an hour longer, 
 and pass you again before you get to Port Royal." 
 
 He now took advantage of the opening I had 
 made, and ran on with a great deal of horse lan- 
 guage. Being, like all young fellows of my stand- 
 ing in Virginia, a mighty foxhunter, I was of 
 course an enthusiast in regard to horses; and 
 found myself disposed to recognise a sort of equal- 
 ity in a man who conversed as learnedly, and with 
 as much unction as any of my highborn compan- 
 ions, on this their favourite topic. 
 
 At length we went on, and left him taking his 
 rest. We had not gone far before he swept past 
 us at a rapid pace, and then, reining up his horse, 
 said, as he would get to Port Royal some time 
 before us, he would, if we thought proper, order 
 dinner for us with himself, and await our arrival ^ 
 
 
262 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 unless we proposed to spend the night there, and 
 to wait for supper. I told him it was uncertain 
 whether we should stop or go on, but that the 
 dinner would be by no means unacceptable. He 
 then said he would do as he had proposed, and 
 pushed on. 
 
 On our arrival we found that he had been as 
 good as his word, and that an excellent dinner was 
 waiting for us. We dined heartily, and with the 
 help of a good glass of wine, I found myself so 
 much refreshed, that the distance to Fredericks- 
 burg seemed much less formidable than before. 
 The stranger now called for his horse, and said, 
 
 "I now find the benefit of my mode of travel- 
 ling. I have half an hour start of you ; my horse 
 is quite refreshed, and I shall reach Fredericks^ 
 burg by dark, while you will have to spend the 
 night here." 
 
 I was not in the humour to have my horse, or 
 my skill in his management disparaged, and replied 
 that, though I had ridden farther than he, I should 
 still be in Fredericksburg by bedtime, which, as 
 the weather was good, and the moon would give 
 some light, would answer just as well as an earlier 
 hour. 
 
 He now rode oflf, and the landlord, looking after 
 him, said to me, 
 
 " You are a young traveller." 
 
 " I am young," said I ; " but having travelled in 
 the western settlements beyond the Missouri, I 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 263 
 
 think that, young as I am, I might pass for a pretty 
 old traveller." 
 
 ** There must be less danger travelling in that 
 wild country," said he, " than I had thought." 
 
 " Why so ?" asked I, with some pique. 
 
 " Because if you were as free of travelling in the 
 night there as you are here, and of telling strangers 
 about it, I should think you might have lost your 
 money, or maybe your scalp." 
 
 " Do you know anything of that fellow ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " I do not," said he ; " but he has travelled up 
 and down this road frequently of late, as if he had 
 some business, and I cannot find out what it is. I 
 should take him for a gambler, but he don't play ; 
 or a horse jockey, but he will neither buy, nor sell, 
 nor swap. Altogether I don't like his ways, though 
 1 cannot well say why ; but I have a notion I have 
 seen honester men. If you'll take my advice, 
 gentlemen, you'll stay where you are to-night, and 
 go into town in the morning." 
 
 " We are both well armed," said I. 
 
 " And if you took notice," said the landlord, " he 
 is armed too. Didn't you see his pistols under his 
 coat ?" 
 
 I had not observed them. 
 
 " There is a gang of them, I'm thinking," con- 
 tinued our host. " I have seen three or four fel- 
 lows dodging about here for a day or two. They 
 all seem to know one another, though they are 
 
64 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 strangers to everybody here ; and I see they all 
 ride fine horses, and all carry pistols." 
 
 " Do you know none of them ?" asked I. 
 
 " I have seen one of them, I think, a month or 
 two ago," said the landlord, " but he don't seem to 
 be just the same kind of a man with the rest. I 
 have a notion he is a sort of head man among 
 them." 
 
 " Is he a tall, stout, middle-aged, handsome 
 man," said I, " with a dark complexion ?" 
 
 " I dare say he may be good-looking enough 
 when he is in health," said the landlord ; " but he 
 looks badly, and carries his arm in a sling." 
 
 As I described Montague, James, who under- 
 stood me, looked eagerly on the landlord for his 
 answer, and, as soon as he heard this last particu- 
 lar, insisted that we should go on. I reproved his 
 too manifest impatience by a significant look, and 
 he, taking the hint, contented himself with speaking 
 contemptuously of the supposed danger. I had 
 not at any time been inclined to evade it ; and I 
 was now conscious of something like the desire 
 manifested by James, to meet and even court 
 it. We accordingly mounted our horses, and 
 moved on. 
 
 I was now struck with the change in James's 
 appearance and manner. He had been not only 
 silent, but gloomy and dejected all day. Now his 
 countenance beamed with suppressed excitement ; 
 his movements were full of energy and alacrity, 
 and the spirit which animated him seemed to ex- 
 
GEORGE BALGOMBE. 265 
 
 tend to his horse, which moved off fresh and cheer- 
 ful as in the morning. As soon as we were out of 
 sight he took out his pistols, examined the flints 
 and freshened the priming, with an air of grim 
 satisfaction, and a sort of half smile in which there 
 was a fearful meaning. I said nothing, but used 
 the same precautions, and then betook myself to 
 the more important task of thinking. From Port 
 Royal to Fredericksburg the road runs for the 
 most part through the valley of the Rapahannock, 
 sometimes skirting the foot of the hill. About half- 
 way between the two places the Richmond road 
 comes down from the hills. Along this road Bal- 
 combe was to travel, and, leaving Craiganet after 
 breakfast, would probably reach the point of inter- 
 section a little before us. I mentioned this to 
 James, and he at once concurred with me in think- 
 ing that we should push on, and try to meet him 
 there. 
 
 On reaching the fork of the road we made a short 
 halt, and listened for the sound of horses' feet on 
 the frozen ground. It was now night; but the 
 moon, though low in the west, gave some light. 
 The road was wide and the country open. We 
 now reflected, that if there was danger it was be- 
 fore us ; that it threatened us and not Balcombe ; 
 and that our only chance for his aid was that he 
 might yet be behind. On reconsidering my cal- 
 culation, I found that our late rapid ride had prob- 
 ably placed us ahead of him ; and we determined 
 to move on slowly and warily. We accordingly 
 
 VOL. II. Z 
 
266 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 reined in our horses to a walk, and each drawing 
 a pistol, we kept our eyes on the road before us. 
 The moon at length sank behind the hills on our 
 left, the sky became overcast, and we could no 
 longer see distinctly any object more than a few 
 feet off. 
 
 The road here runs between deep ditches, for 
 the most part dry, the banks of which, with slight 
 hedges on the top, form the enclosure of the ad- 
 joining fields. Across these ditches are small flat 
 bridges at the gate of every farm. A few miles 
 below Fredericksburg are two such gates and 
 bridges directly opposite to each other. Just as 
 we were passing these, two men sprang out from 
 behind the bridges on either hand, and seized our 
 horses. I instantly fired my pistol at the head of 
 him who held mine. The shot would have been 
 fatal, but at the same moment my left hand was 
 seized by some one from behind, and I was jerked 
 from my horse. The action threw my right arm 
 up, and the bullet passed harmless over the villain's 
 head. Both men then seized and held me fast. 
 In the mean time I saw that James, who had not 
 fired, was treated in the same way by two others. 
 A fifth now appeared, who seemed to advance from 
 a distance. 
 
 He approached James, and proceeded to search 
 him. I saw him eagerly thrust his hand into the 
 breast pocket of James's greatcoat ; when the 
 trampling of horses at a gallop was heard in our 
 rear. A shot was fired, and the ball whistled over 
 
GEORGE BA.LCOMBE. 267 
 
 our heads. My hands were free in an instant, and 
 the men who had held me took to their heels. At 
 the same moment I heard the report of James's 
 pistol, and he exclaimed, " Die, villain !" The man 
 who was searching him staggered back, and James, 
 springing at him, bore him to the ground. In- 
 stantly I saw the gleam of his dirk as he lifted his 
 hand. 
 
 " This for Mary Scott I" cried he ; " and this ! 
 and this 1" 
 
 And with every word down came the dirk. I 
 sprang to him, caught his hand, and raised him 
 from his prostrate enemy. In the same moment 
 the horsemen from behind coming up, threw them- 
 selves from their horses, and proved to be no other 
 than Balcombe and John. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ?" cried Balcombe. 
 "Robbers?" 
 
 " Montague's work," said I. 
 
 " Montague !" exclaimed Balcombe ; " where is 
 he?" s o&fj 
 
 " There he lies," said James, in the low grating 
 tone of bitter exultation. 
 
 " But are you sure that is he ?" asked I. " You 
 could not distinguish him in the dark." 
 
 " I am not mistaken," said James. " I would 
 not fire at the paltry tool he thrust upon the first 
 danger. I knew that was not himself. Besides, 
 the man was too low to be mistaken for him. JBut 
 instead of searching for money, he betrayed him- 
 self by his impatience to get the packet. 1 remem- 
 
268 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ber now that his confederate saw where I carried 
 it. His first action was to feel my pocket on the 
 outside, and having ascertained what was there, 
 he seized the packet with an eagerness not to be 
 mistaken. I observed, too, that he used the left 
 hand, which put the matter past doubt. But how 
 could I mistake him ?>' continued he. " Is there no 
 instinct in the sense of wrong like mine, to mark 
 the villain for his punishment even in the darkest 
 night ? Laid beside him in the tomb, I would have 
 known him, grappled with him, and torn his heart 
 from his bosom." 
 
 I now inquired whether James still had the 
 packet, to which he replied that Montague had 
 taken it from him. John immediately approached 
 the body, (for I shrank from the task,) and felt in 
 his hands for the packet. The right arm was in a 
 sling, as we expected. The left, as I afterward 
 learned, lay extended at right angles to the body, 
 but the hand was empty. While John was making 
 this examination, a deep gurgling groan announced 
 to us that the unfortunate wretch still breathed. 
 We all immediately approached for, with that 
 groan, the horror with which we look upon the 
 victims of violent death had vanished and en- 
 deavoured to administer such relief as we might. 
 It was to little purpose. He revived enough to 
 utter a few words, which showed that he was con- 
 scious of the presence of all he most hated ; and 
 died, howling forth a strain of mingled execration 
 and prayer his last words displaying the same 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 269 
 
 selfishness, malignity, and slavish fear, that had 
 characterized his whole life. 
 
 About this time a negro appeared on the scene 
 of action, driving a wain of some sort, and we 
 easily engaged his services to take the body into 
 town. This being arranged, my thoughts recurred 
 to the packet. I determined not to leave the spot 
 without it. James was equally resolute in the 
 same purpose, conceiving himself bound, as he 
 said, to recover that which had been committed to 
 his care. It was altogether probable that it would 
 remain where it was until morning ; but the bare 
 possibility that it might be removed was greater 
 than I chose to hazard. If I should remain, it was 
 not merely possible, but probable, that I should 
 find it ; and James said, that to permit me to do 
 so when he was aware of the object of my stay, 
 would be a breach of trust. I admired and Bal- 
 combe praised his scrupulous fidelity, to which I 
 had nothing to object, as the event must be the 
 same whether he or I found it. We agreed 
 therefore, to remain together, while Balcombe and 
 John should go on to Fredericksburg with the body. 
 To this John objected, saying it was no new thing 
 to him to camp out, and he could be of service 
 to us. 
 
 Balcombe, accordingly, moved on, and John 
 betook himself to the, task of making a fire. This, 
 with the help of his rifle and powder, he soon ac- 
 complished, at the expense of the neighbouring 
 fences ; and having made ourselves somewhat 
 z 2 
 
270 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 comfortable, we debated what should be done. 
 The night was pitchy dark ; we had already felt 
 every inch of ground near where the body lay, and 
 we both concluded that it was vain to extend the 
 search any farther until morning. What was to 
 be done in the mean time ? We had our saddle 
 blankets ; Balcombe, with his usual thoughtfulness 
 and generosity, had added his and his greatcoat ; 
 and we were tired enough to feel the want of 
 sleep. But the possibility that the enemy might 
 return forbade that, until John, who was never 
 tired, remarking that he had not rode so far as we 
 had, proposed to watch while we slept. There 
 was something selfish in our assent to this proposal ; 
 but really the fellow seemed to have so few of the 
 infirmities of humanity, that I had long ceased to 
 regard anything as a hardship to him. Accord- 
 ingly, with his aid, we arranged our bed and were 
 soon fast asleep. Poor James, who had spent the 
 preceding night tossing with passion, now slept as 
 calmly as a child. His spirit seemed completely 
 tranquillized by the death of Montague ; and his 
 whole manner was that of a man who had just 
 accomplished a pleasant duty. He was asleep 
 before I was, but not long. 
 
 ' 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
 Lie all unlocked to your occasions. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IT had been arranged that John should Awaken 
 us in a few hours, and take his turn ; but he had 
 no thought of this, and we slept on until broad day- 
 light. We were then roused, and commenced our 
 search ; but, though aided by Balcombe, who re- 
 turned to us at an early hour, we searched in vain. 
 Yet we did not desist until every spot within the 
 possible range to which Montague might have 
 thrown the packet, had been examined over and 
 over again. When no-thing could be more certain 
 than that the packet was not there, we went on to 
 Frederick sburg. 
 
 What was now to be done ? My solicitor was 
 consulted, who said that we could do no more than 
 file the answer of Major Swann, and await the 
 coming in of that of Mr. Edward Raby. On this 
 there was little reason to found any hope, but such 
 was the regular course of business. An affidavit 
 of James Scott, explaining how he had lost the 
 paper committed to him, was also left with the 
 solicitor, to be filed with the answer. It only re- 
 
272 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 mained to take the proper measures to free James 
 from the charge of homicide, and we were ready 
 to go home. 
 
 Even when I journeyed from Missouri, not sure 
 that I might not find Ann the wife of another, I 
 hardly thought of my return to Craiganet with 
 more pain than I now did. At the very moment 
 when the packet was within my reach, and almost 
 within my grasp, it had been carried off, and I had 
 lost all trace of it. The very death of Montague 
 seemed fatal to my hopes. While he lived, there 
 was one who knew, however unwilling he might 
 be to tell, what I wished to prove. Even the 
 chance that, in his habitual dread of direct perjury, 
 the truth might be wrung from him on examina- 
 tion, was better than any that now remained. It 
 seemed most probable that Montague had put the 
 packet in the hands of one of his accomplices. 
 But who were they? Only one of them I had 
 ever seen, and as he was an utter stranger, I had 
 little hope of finding him. That he would never 
 designedly cross my path was now sure. 
 
 Under these circumstances, I was not sorry to 
 learn from Balcombe that business called him 
 down into the county of Northumberland, and 
 that he would be gratified if I would accompany 
 him. I readily agreed to do so, and wrote my 
 poor mother an account of the final defeat of all 
 my hopes. James, who feared the story of our ad- 
 venture might reach his sister in a distorted shape, 
 pleaded that as a motive for going direct to Raby 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 273 
 
 Hall. Balcombe at once assented to this, and he 
 left us, and returned to Port Royal the same 
 evening. We, not having any occasion to reach 
 Northumberland before court day, which was yet 
 three days off, remained where we were until 
 morning. 
 
 The reader may charge me with ingratitude, but 
 I was half vexed at the perfect tranquillity with 
 which Balcombe bore this final disappointment. 
 When I saw him retain his cheerfulness and confi- 
 dence under our former defeats, I caught the con- 
 tagion of his feelings. When I saw him look death 
 and dishonour steadily in the face, I did but ad- 
 mire his fortitude and energy. But now I could 
 not look on the perfect nonchalance of his counte- 
 nance without vexation. He saw this, and endeav- 
 oured to wile me from myself, by throwing into 
 his conversation a double portion of that spirit and 
 raciness which I had so much admired. But it 
 was all in vain. I was incurably dull, dejected, 
 and miserable. 
 
 " Come, come, William !" said Balcombe, " this 
 will never do. You must learn to shake off vain 
 regrets, and try to interest yourself in what yet 
 remains to be done." 
 
 " And what remains to be done ?" asked I. 
 
 11 Certainly not to lie down in despair, and wait 
 for death. Can you find nothing to occupy your 
 thoughts but what cannot be helped ? You have 
 never asked me yet what takes me to Northum- 
 berland." 
 
274 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " I am not sure I have a right to ask," said I. 
 " You have never before spoken to me of any 
 business you had there, and it might be indelicate 
 to make the inquiry." 
 
 "Too scrupulous by half," replied Balcombe. 
 " Well, don't you want to know ?" 
 
 " I should be well pleased to know," said I, " if 
 you think proper to inform me." 
 
 " Nay," said Balcombe, '* I speak not to the ear 
 of drowsy indifference. Rouse up, man, and prom- 
 ise to take a proper interest in my affair, and I will 
 tell you." 
 
 There was so much kindness and playfulness in 
 this reproach, that, feeling its justice, I could not 
 help blaming myself. I turned my eyes on Bal- 
 combe, and found his resting on me with an ex- 
 pression which said, " Up, up, and be a man !" and 
 I determined to make the effort. Did I not de- 
 serve at the moment something of the same rebuke 
 I had given Jane a few days before ? I felt so, 
 and said, 
 
 " My dear sir, it has been all along one of my 
 griefs, that you are always so sufficient to yourself 
 that I can never think of doing anything for you, 
 before you have already done it for yourself. Show 
 me anything in which I can serve you, and I will 
 promise to forget all private troubles until it is 
 accomplished." 
 
 "Spoken like a man," said Balcombe. " Spoken 
 like a man whose heart is in his friend's welfare. 
 Such is the stuff that friendship is made of. The 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE, 
 
 275 
 
 material is nevertheless often spoiled by circum- 
 stances which render long-continued and engross- 
 ing attention to one's own interest necessary and 
 even laudable. When, in such a pursuit, we have 
 occasion to engage the devoted co-operation of 
 others, we are apt to forget that we are made for 
 them, as well as they for us. Something to break 
 the continuity of the reign of self, that master fiend 
 who leads the hosts of the apostate angels, is not 
 amiss. Now tell me. In all your troubles 
 have you the heart to rejoice at the prosperity of 
 a friend?" 
 
 I was really hurt at this ; and Balcombe saw in 
 my manner that to doubt it would be to do me 
 injustice ; and I assured him that such a question 
 seriously asked would give me more pain than my 
 late defeat. 
 
 " I believe you, Will," said he. " You are a 
 truehearted fellow ; but we must not let your 
 better feelings perish for want of exercise. Well, 
 then, to come to the point ; I am going to North- 
 umberland to claim and take possession of a 
 handsome estate." 
 
 " Good God !" exclaimed I, " is it possible that 
 your attention to my affairs has so engrossed you, 
 that you have never given a thought to that ?" 
 
 " That ought to have been a sufficient reason, but 
 I am not sure it would have been. But the true 
 reason was (and you will admit it to have been 
 all-sufficient) that I never knew of it myself until 
 this morning. It comes very apropos at this mo- 
 
276 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 ment, because, having enough cf my own, I can 
 share this with you." 
 
 " Oh, no more of that, my dear sir," said I. 
 " Your own family have claims on you that must 
 not be overlooked." 
 
 " Would you not have insisted on sharing your 
 good fortune with me," said Balcombe, "had you 
 been successful ?" 
 
 " I certainly should," said I, " have pressed on 
 you the acceptance of your old residence of Raby 
 Hall, as strongly as my respect for your delicacy 
 would permit. But pray tell me, how comes this 
 windfall ?" 
 
 "By the will of an old friend." 
 
 " Strange 1" said I ; "I have never heard you 
 speak of such a one." 
 
 " Yes, you have, over and often." 
 
 I tried to remember. 
 
 Who can it be ?" asked I. 
 
 " Your grandfather." 
 
 I stared, and Balcombe, laughing, said to Keizer, 
 who had come in during our conversation, 
 
 " Come, John, tell your part of the story." 
 
 " I shall be right glad to do that, colonel," said 
 John ; " for I have been ready to burst all day to 
 see Mr. Napier looking as if every friend he had 
 in the world was dead." 
 
 *' Well, John," said I, " tell your tale, and if you 
 cannot bring them to life nothing can." 
 
 " Why you see, sir," said John, " I don't know 
 as I ever rightly got the nature of this business. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 277 
 
 But last night when you and James Scott was a 
 talking, I found out that for all you wanted to get 
 that bundle of papers into the court, you'd a heap 
 rather have it yourself. And I seed, too, that 
 James, and all, would be glad if you did have it, 
 only just his word was out, and it would not do 
 for him to let you get them if he could help it. But 
 then, thinks I, what if you can't help it? nobody 
 can blame you then. So with that I makes up my 
 mind, if the thing fell to me in the search, nobody 
 should know it till I had a chance to ask the colo- 
 nel what to do. As soon as I seed you and James 
 fast asleep, I takes a knot of lightwood, and I goes 
 right straight to it." 
 
 " How did you know where it was ?" said I. 
 
 " Why you see, sir, when I went feeling about 
 the fellow to find if he had it in his hands, I saw 
 that his left hand was stretched right out from his 
 body just so, and the hand wide open ; and I made 
 sure that he threw the bundle right that way his 
 arm pointed, and that just as he did it James had 
 given him the dig that settled him. So when I 
 heard the talk about who should go, and who 
 should stay, and where the bundle was, thinks I, 
 I will stay for one anyhow, and as to the bundle, I 
 guess I know where it is, but it's no use to say so. 
 So I just kept dark about it, as 1 didn't mean to do 
 nothing but what was right, and I knowed the 
 colonel could tell me how that was. So you see, 
 sir, the ditch was wide and the bank was high, and 
 then there was a hedge a top of it, and I made 
 
 VOL. II. A A 
 
275 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 sure Montague couldn't throw over that, and he 
 most the same as dead. So I just looks to see 
 where he lay, and takes my course; and sure 
 enough there it was at the bottom of the ditch in a 
 hole of water. So I starts right off a little way 
 down the road, and puts it clean out of the way 
 for fear somebody might take a notion that I had 
 found it ; and W 7 hen we started I just rides close to 
 the colonel, and says I, 
 
 " ' I wish you'd send me back to look for your 
 handkerchief or something/ says I. 
 
 And with that the colonel looks right sharp at 
 me, and I sorter smiled, and then ,says he, (don't 
 you remember that, Mr. Napier?) says he, 
 
 " * John, I wish you'd ride back and see if I have 
 not left my knife yonder.' 
 
 " So I goes back, sir, and gets the bundle, and 
 when I comes up, says the colonel, 
 
 " < What's this now, John ?' 
 
 " Says I, I've got the bundle, sir, and I thought 
 I would tell you first, 'cause I thought you'd know 
 best what I ought to do with it.' 
 
 " * Maybe you are right,' says he. And it can- 
 not do any harm to think about it, anyhow.' 
 
 " So you see, sir, as soon as we gets here I gives 
 it to him ; and there's an end of my part of the 
 story." 
 
 * And now for my part," said Balcombe. " You 
 remember, William, when I proposed at Raby 
 Hall to try to catch M.ontague, I assigned, as a 
 reason, my desire not to throw any reproach on 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 279 
 
 the name of Raby. Now that chancery suit could 
 not be successfully prosecuted without fixing in- 
 famy on Mr. Edward Raby. But there was no- 
 thing as yet but the bill, which could be dismissed 
 and withdrawn, so as to leave no trace of the 
 transaction on record. Moreover, although the 
 production of the will would be decisive on the 
 main point, yet there was a long controversy be- 
 hind about rents and profits. All this Mr. Raby 
 will be glad to settle amicably and privately, and, 
 in the mean time, the will being proved this week 
 in Northumberland, you can enter at once on the 
 estate, and your poor mother will not be left with- 
 out a home on Newyear's day, as she otherwise 
 must be. Now all these points are secured by 
 keeping dark, as John says ; and, as to poor James, 
 no man can say that he was not as true to his trust 
 as a dog to the dead body of his master." 
 
 " Then you really have the will ?" said I. 
 
 " Really and bonafide the very paper 1 witnessed, 
 and more too." 
 
 " What more ?" 
 
 "A codicil containing a small bequest to myself, 
 which I dare say suggested to Montague the first 
 thought of suppressing the whole, through his 
 hatred to me. You must understand," continued 
 Balcombe, " what until now I did not think proper 
 to tell you. When I left Raby Hall and returned 
 to Barnard's Castle, to announce my purpose of 
 going to seek my fortune in the world, the kind old 
 man opposed it strongly. 
 
 1 
 
280 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 " * You are my son, George/ said he ; 'and, ex- 
 cept that curly-headed chap,' (meaning you, Wil- 
 liam,) * my only son. I had formed a plan of life 
 for you, which I trust would have met your wishes. 
 My necessary expenses, and those of Mr. Napier, 
 don't permit me to furnish you with an outfit proper 
 for such a life of adventure as I fear you propose 
 to yourself. But this will not prevent my provi- 
 ding for you amply and permanently, if you will 
 stay with me.' 
 
 " The temptation was strong. In my right mind 
 I should not have resisted it ; but the fiery arrow 
 was in my brain. A small sum was all the good 
 old gentleman could conveniently spare at the 
 moment, and I would receive no more. I well 
 remember the day. The very next day is the date 
 of this codicil, which recites his previous intention 
 of providing for me by giving me the old hall, with 
 a considerable portion of land as well as negroes, 
 stock, books, &c. ; that with that view he had 
 placed me there, to familiarize me to my future 
 home, and acquaint me with the proper manage- 
 ment of the property, and then goes on to bequeath 
 it to me." 
 
 " Thank God !" exclaimed I. " This is just as I 
 would have it ; and now I shall have no contest 
 with your delicacy." 
 
 "You shall have none," said Balcombe. "But 
 to my tale. And see how self has crossed my 
 path, find what a dance it has led me. Before I 
 should take my course definitely, I determined to 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 281 
 
 consult Mr. L , and found he concurred with 
 
 me entirely. 
 
 " ' Moreover,' said he, * if you happen to be on 
 the wrong scent, and the paper is not here after 
 all, better to dismiss the action than let your moun- 
 tain actually bring forth a mouse.' 
 
 " This had not occurred to me, because / had 
 no doubt. In him, who had less reason to be con- 
 fident, it was wise. I had taken the precaution 
 not to open the packet all this time, though it was 
 wringing wet. We now opened it together. You 
 remember its great size." 
 
 " Yes. How was that ?" 
 
 " Nothing but a blind, I suppose, to keep poor 
 Mary from suspecting the truth. But it was the 
 means, after all, of saving the papers. There 
 were not less than a dozen newspapers, with the 
 will and codicil in the midst. The external papers 
 were in part destroyed by the wet ; the enclosure 
 perfectly safe. I took care to leave them in the 
 
 hands of Mr. L , who will attend at court "to 
 
 prove how he came by them. Your bill has been 
 withdrawn ; the answer was not filed, and Mr. 
 
 L has James's affidavit, which, without his 
 
 approbation, we would not destroy." 
 
282 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " The far-descended honours of a race 
 Illustrious in the annals of old time 
 Are mine, and I'll uphold them. Ill exchanged 
 For gilded shame." 
 
 IT may be readily believed that I was now 
 eager to be off to Northumberland. The next 
 day we commenced our journey, and never had I 
 performed one with so light a heart. We had a 
 day to spare, and that day we spent at Barnard's 
 Castle, which, until within the last five years, had 
 been my home. The house was in excellent pres- 
 ervation, the furniture good, though somewhat 
 oldfashioned, (no fault in my eyes,) and everything 
 nearly as my grandfather had left it at his death. 
 I looked on this mark of respect to his memory, as 
 a sign of grace in Mr. Edward Raby, which made 
 me rejoice that I should be able to do myself justice 
 without dishonouring him. The old house ser- 
 vants, for the most part, retained their former 
 offices, though now sinecures ; and the overseer, 
 though I gave no hint of my rights, received me 
 with hereditary respect, and treated me in all 
 things as if I had been master of the whole estate. 
 Had he done otherwise the negroes would have 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 283 
 
 been tempted to rebel against his authority ; for 
 my presence was a jubilee (sad and tearful, indeed, 
 but yet a jubilee) to them. I prevailed on the 
 overseer to accompany me to court, and there 
 made him witness with his own eyes the unex- 
 pected proceeding, which established me as ex- 
 ecutor and devisee in the rightful possession of the 
 whole property. He had served my grandfather, 
 who had been satisfied with him. He had been 
 less successful in pleasing Mr. Edward Raby, and 
 I have no doubt was quite sincere in his congratu- 
 lations on the event. 
 
 Indeed the sensation produced by the sudden 
 presentation of the will seemed to run through the 
 whole assembled crowd. The handwriting of my 
 grandfather was known to every person present. 
 So was Montague's. Balcombe's testimony was 
 clear and positive ; and the codicil, altogether 
 written by my grandfather, proved itself. There 
 was no need to ask whence the papers came. The 
 thing admitted of no doubt. No security being 
 required of the executor, to which office my father 
 and myself were named, letters testamentary were 
 at once granted, and I was restored to the inherit- 
 ance of my fathers. Then came a scene. Every 
 one who had known me pressed to speak to me ; 
 those who had known my grandfather asked to 
 be introduced. The business of the court was 
 suspended. The worthy old members of that 
 " paternal tribunal" (blessing on his name who 
 first so designated it !) left the bench to take by 
 
284 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 the hand the grandson and heir of their old friend 
 and associate in office ; and more than one, point- 
 ing to the seat he had long filled as presiding 
 justice, expressed a hope to see it occupied by 
 myself. 
 
 I was now impatient to return to Craiganet, and 
 wipe away the tears my letter from Fredericks- 
 burg must have drawn from the eyes of the dear 
 ones there. Raby Hall lay directly in our way, 
 and thither we went. Nothing could be more 
 unexpected or more welcome than our news. The 
 amiable old major highly approved the course we 
 had pursued, as affording a salvo for his patron's 
 honour; and even James's jealous scruples were 
 satisfied by Balcombe, though at first he looked 
 quite indignant on finding that John had played 
 him false. But John had but laboured in his voca- 
 tion. It was so long since he had an opportunity 
 of playing a trick of any sort, that he languished 
 for want of exercise in that way. He had begun 
 to think for some time that he was of no account, 
 but was now restored to favour with himself. To 
 the major and poor Mary the most agreeable part 
 of the whole was to acknowledge Balcombe as 
 master of Raby Hall. The former entertained 
 for him the highest regard, and to the latter he was 
 everything in the world. It was easily arranged 
 that the old gentleman should retain his office, and, 
 for a time at least, his residence. As to Mary, 
 she was now sure of every comfort in life which 
 her former misfortunes left her capable of enjoying, 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 285 
 
 and to receive these at the hand of Balcombe 
 would be no burden to her heart. 
 
 But of all who rejoiced at my change of fortune 
 there was no joy like that of the negroes. One 
 after another, soon after nightfall, they came 
 thronging. One had heard the news and told it 
 to a dozen ; it was soon spread over the estate ; 
 and, from the old man hobbling on his crutch to 
 the infant in arms, all were assembled in the yard. 
 It seems they had heard that I should set out at 
 daylight next day, and see me they must. There, 
 then, they all were ; many held torches of light- 
 wood, the red glare of which, as I looked through 
 the window, gleamed with picturesque effect on 
 their rude garments, and dusky but shining skins. 
 I was requested to go out and place myself in the 
 door. Charles now came forward, grinning and 
 wriggling. 
 
 " The folks want to know, master, if you is their 
 master sure enough ?" 
 
 " I am, my good fellows," said I, aloud. " Your 
 old master's grandson is your master sure enough" 
 
 This answer was the signal for a general rejoic- 
 ing such as I never saw. The shout, not mechan- 
 ically simultaneous, but bursting spontaneously at 
 intervals through the din of many tongues, the 
 spasmodic clapping of the hands above the head, 
 the tattered hat tossed aloft, " as if to hang it on 
 the horns of the moon," the wild loud ringing 
 echoing laugh, the hurried running of each back- 
 ward and forward through the crowd, and the 
 
286 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 vehement shake of the hand interchanged by those 
 who felt best assured of each other's sympathy, 
 made a scene, which he, who would know human 
 nature in all its aspects, would do well to study. 
 For the moment, at least, I was a convert to Bal- 
 combe's doctrines on the subject. When the tumult 
 was over, one and another advanced to touch my 
 hand. I gave it cordially to each, nor did I leave 
 my position until I had received and returned the 
 gratulating grasp of all the larger negroes, and 
 patted the head of every little knotty-pated urchin 
 of the whole. 
 
 After supper, Major Swann, with some hesitancy, 
 told us that, during our absence, he had received a 
 letter from Mr. Edward Raby, covering one to 
 Montague. He said that there were expressions 
 and directions in the former which left little doubt 
 in his mind that the latter would show, that Mr. 
 Raby either did not understand, or highly disap- 
 proved the conduct of Montague. Eager to vin- 
 dicate him, and to prepare the way for an amica- 
 ble adjustment of the whole affair, he wished to 
 open the letter, and lay the contents before us. 
 
 "I am not merely the steward of Edward 
 Raby," said he ; " I am his old and trusted friend. 
 I love and honour him, and am willing to peril my 
 honour to vindicate his. How say you, gentle- 
 men? I beg your advice. Shall I open this 
 letter ?" 
 
 I shall not stop to discuss the propriety of the 
 advice we gave. Major Swann and Mr. Raby 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 287 
 
 had been friends from youth to age, and catching 
 the infection of his enthusiastic confidence in his 
 friend's honour, we ventured to advise the step. 
 The letter was opened and read aloud by Bal- 
 combe. It ran thus : 
 
 " Mr. Edward Montague. 
 
 " SIR, 
 
 " Your extraordinary communication of the 15th 
 ultimo is before me. In answering it I find my- 
 self under the necessity of adverting to much 
 more than it contains ; and I shall do so fully, be- 
 cause I find it necessary to make you understand 
 distinctly the relation between us. 
 
 " In the first place then, sir, let me say that it is 
 not a relation which authorizes you to make me 
 your debtor at your own pleasure, on any occasion 
 or to any amount that you may think proper. 
 With the ink hardly dry on the last check drawn 
 in your favour, I have here an account in which 
 you claim against me the round sum of two thou- 
 sand dollars, made up of four equal items. The 
 lumping character of these charges, the beautiful 
 harmony of the constituent parts of the account, 
 and the perfect symmetry of the collective whole, 
 show to great advantage on paper ; though it is 
 not easy to conceive of such a concurrence of for- 
 tuitous circumstances, as could thus round off in 
 the whole and in all the parts a set of purely inci- 
 dental charges. This objection I should insist on, 
 
288 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 if you had any right to charge me at all, which I 
 deny. Let us review your account, sir. 
 
 " First, I am charged with five hundred dollars, 
 as so much paid to a gang of ruffians, to aid you 
 in obtaining from some man in the wilds of Mis- 
 souri, the means of getting into your possession a 
 certain document, which you say elsewhere is 
 safely lodged in my own house at Rdby Hall, Vir- 
 ginia. To this I have but to say, sir, that when- 
 ever you have occasion to hire a bravo to do that 
 which a man of honour would not think of, or a 
 brave man would do for himself, I beg you will 
 draw on your resources. 
 
 " Secondly, I am charged with a like sum paid 
 to a lawyer, to engage him to prosecute to the last 
 extremity this same man, for a crime of which, by 
 your own showing, he was not guilty. Need I say 
 to this, sir, that, when next you meditate a scheme 
 of revenge to be accomplished by a judicial murder, 
 I hope you will not again call on me to become an 
 accessary to the crime. 
 
 "I am next called on to refund five hundred dol- 
 lars, as the alleged amount of the expense of a 
 journey to and from Virginia, and as much more 
 for your time and trouble therein. I shall no 
 otherwise comment on these charges than by con- 
 gratulating you on the discovery of the means of 
 travelling and taking your pleasure without ex- 
 pense. To such of our gentry and nobility as 
 waste their time and money in touring it over the 
 Continent, it would be invaluable. Bring it with 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 you to this country, sir, and your fortune is made. 
 Be sure, too, when you come, to charge the ex- 
 pense of that journey to me, and let me hope that 
 you will take occasion at the same time to honour 
 my poor dwelling with a visit. 
 
 " I find that I owe an apology to myself for the 
 language which my indignation has drawn from 
 me. I will make the due amende by using all 
 possible moderation in saying what remains to be 
 said. 
 
 " Let me then ask, sir, how it comes that I hear, 
 at this time of day, of the existence of that docu- 
 ment ? Am I to find the answer in your delicate 
 hint that that paper is your only security for the 
 fulfilment of my engagements to you ? Is it pos- 
 sible that I read this passage of your letter aright ? 
 Do you indeed mean to insinuate that an engage- 
 ment to which my word is pledged needs any other 
 guarantee ? If such was your meaning, sir, you 
 will find the origin of the thought in your own 
 conscious baseness, and you will owe your im- 
 punity to the same cause. But though you dared 
 to intimate this, it was not this you meant. It is 
 not a pledge for the performance of past promises, 
 but a means of future and unlimited exaction that 
 you would preserve. Your dexterous hint at the 
 urgent necessities of my young kinsman of Craig- 
 anet, could hardly fail to make me see that you 
 flatter yourself that he would gladly purchase at 
 a high price the important secret of which you 
 affect to be the depositary. I say affect, sir, be- 
 
 VOL. II. B B 
 
290 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 cause I am by no means sure that I have not been 
 your dupe. When you first told me that Mr. 
 Raby had executed and placed in your hands a 
 will which he afterward directed you to destroy, 
 and that you had neglected to do so, and when you 
 required of me a price to bribe you to the late per- 
 formance of this duty, could I fail to see that I had 
 to do with a villain, who would sell himself to 
 others, if I would not buy him ? I therefore took 
 you at your word. I did not demand to see the 
 paper, for what should hinder you to forge another. 
 I took more effectual security against you, by 
 wringing from you a reluctant oath that you knew 
 not what had become of that paper. Will you 
 now brave the penalties of perjury and suppression 
 of a will, by bringing it forward ? Can it be proved 
 by your oath against your oath ? No, sir ; I put 
 you at defiance, and you feel that you are power- 
 less to harm me. u^v, 
 
 " Have I forgotten how you cowered under my 
 eye, when I compelled you to answer that decisive 
 question ? Have I forgotten how the beaded drops 
 stood on your pale forehead at that moment? 
 Whether your emotion was the effect of a convic- 
 tion that from that time you had no security but 
 my honour, the price of which you knew not how 
 to estimate, or shrank at the idea of committing 
 deliberate perjury, if perjury it was, I know not. 
 I would to God I did. I would to God I had any 
 means of knowing whether you had but done me 
 justice, or made me the instrument of injustice to 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 291 
 
 others. Could I be assured of the last, sir, not the 
 waves of the Atlantic, nor the wilds in which you 
 have sought to hide your baseness, no, not even 
 your baseness itself, should screen you from my 
 resentment 
 
 " For one thing at least I have cause to thank 
 you. By acquainting me with the distresses of 
 my young kinsman, you show me how to do my 
 duty, as the head of my house, by those of whom 
 the law of primogeniture makes me the protector. 
 I say this that you may see how little liable I am 
 to be influenced "by the sordid fear to which you 
 would appeal. Show me what justice requires, 
 and give me reason to believe your word, and I 
 will do it gladly. Now mark me, sir. You say 
 the supposed document is in your power, at least 
 with the co-operation of Mr. Swann. I shall write 
 and direct him to give you this co-operation. Now 
 sir, when it is recovered, put it into his hands. 
 When I hear from him that it is there, I shall then 
 order the payment of five thousand dollars to you 
 in full of all demands, and endeavour to form my 
 own judgment of my rights and duties on my own 
 view of the paper. This will terminate all my 
 connection with you. Terminate it shall. If no 
 such paper is found and delivered up to Mr. 
 Swann, it shall cease at once. Directly or indi- 
 rectly, never again presume to address yourself to 
 
 "EDWARD RABY. 
 
 u Raby Hall, Northumberland county, ) 
 England, Nov. 18th, 1820." > 
 
292 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 As Balcombe read this letter I was inconceiva- 
 bly affected. The favourable light it threw on the 
 character of one whom I was bound to consider 
 (as he expressed it) as the head of my house, and 
 whom I had of late learned to detest, was truly ac- 
 ceptable to me. 
 
 The good old major bowed his head on his hands, 
 and when the letter was gone through, raised it 
 and said, 
 
 " Thank God ! the idea that Edward Raby had, 
 been guilty of the baseness which appeared charge- 
 able against him was one of the most painful that 
 ever entered my mind. I awaited his answer in 
 the hope that that would clear him. I now see 
 that to me it would have done so, but to the world 
 I fear it would not. But this letter frees him from 
 every imputation but that of having treated on any 
 terms with an acknowledged villain, and of having 
 bought off his knavery. This was unworthy of 
 Edward Raby ; but how venial compared with 
 what seemed to be his offence ! 
 
 " And now, Mr. Napier/' said the old gentle- 
 man, " I will no longer hesitate to fulfil my friend's 
 commission, and hand you a letter enclosed by 
 him for your mother. The purport of it I can 
 guess from my own. If it be such as I suppose, it 
 is such a letter as I would not have delivered to 
 Mrs. Napier while the conduct of Mr. Raby was 
 unexplained. Here is the letter, sir; and here, 
 George, is a passage in that tt> me which you 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 293 
 
 must read aloud. Edward Raby now stands fair 
 before the world. The same honourable gentle- 
 man that I knew him when he visited his uncle 
 here in youth, and afterward, when I travelled in 
 England ; the same he showed himself when last 
 here, and has proved himself to be in all his sub- 
 sequent transactions with me. Read the letter, 
 George." 
 
 Balcombe did as he was requested. The pas- 
 sage was as follows : 
 
 " I am concerned to learn, from the letter of 
 this Montague, that my young kinsman, Napier of 
 Craiganet, has fallen into poverty. This must not 
 be. To say nothing of his illustrious descent 
 through his father from a most distinguished no- 
 bleman, he is a branch of the house of Raby. As 
 such it belongs to me to fulfil the duty contempla- 
 ted by the very law in deference to which his 
 grandfather left me his estate. He could never 
 have been justified in disinheriting his own issue, 
 but for a well-founded reliance that the head of 
 the family would perform towards them the duties 
 of an elder brother. The exact measure of these 
 duties I am not in condition to ascertain. But 
 there is something to be done to relieve the pres- 
 ent distress. I beg you, therefore, to ascertain the 
 amount of encumbrances on his father's estate, and 
 in the mean time to account with him for that por- 
 tion of my nett income which proceeds from the 
 fHroperty at Barnard's Castle, and to admit Mrs, 
 
 BB 2 
 
294 GEORGE feALCOMB< 
 
 Napier and her family to the use of the house and 
 all it contains." 
 
 Balcombe had read thus far aloud, when he 
 dropped the letter, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Noble ! noble ! nobly done ! Now this does 
 my very soul good. Nauseated with Montague's 
 villanies, and in my own mind implicating this gen- 
 tleman in them, this display of character is a per- 
 fect cordial. It is light shining out of darkness. 
 Why, William, the discovery of such a character 
 in a kinsman is worth more than the estate. This 
 must be answered instantly, and in its own spirit. 
 Wives and sweethearts must wait till honour is 
 served, for it will never do to be outdone in this." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 11 You wrong me, lady. Think you I have borne, 
 So long, a name that lives in history, 
 Nor learned to prize its proudest honour V\ 
 
 THE next morning Balcombe wrote a detailed 
 account of the whole affair. In this he took care 
 to set down his reasons for believing that Monta- 
 gue had deceived Mr. Raby, when he told him 
 that my grandfather had ordered the destruction 
 of the will. In the law of the case, indeed, this 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 295 
 
 made no difference ; but to the feelings of the par- 
 ties it made much. Among the facts he mentioned 
 the last letter he had received from my grandfather, 
 in which he spoke of his favourable designs towards 
 me. Not knowing anything of the quarrel be- 
 tween Balcombe and Montague, he spoke gen- 
 erally of the welfare of the latter, but said that he 
 had not seen him for a month. This was decisive ; 
 for Mr. Raby had taken a memorandum of Mon- 
 tague's communication to him, by which it ap- 
 peared that the very week before was the time 
 when, as he pretended, he was ordered to destroy 
 the will. This I think it right to mention here, 
 though the fact was not known to us until the re- 
 ceipt of Mr. Raby's answer. 
 
 This letter was accompanied by one from me, 
 containing an offer of such terms of accommoda- 
 tion as I deemed most proper. I shall not trouble 
 the reader with a statement of these. I beg him 
 to believe that my proposals were precisely such 
 as in his estimation I ought to have made. When 
 our letters were finished, we placed them in the 
 hands of the major, to be sent by the first regular 
 conveyance, along with a copy of the will, to his 
 principal. 
 
 The next day we returned to Craiganet. 
 
 " I have been thinking," said Balcombe, as we 
 rode along, " of that devise of Raby Hall estate to 
 me. It makes plain what has heretofore been a 
 puzzle. There was certainly no man on earth 
 
296 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 whom Montague dreaded more than me ; and I 
 have often wondered what infatuation carried him 
 to Missouri, knowing that I was there. Stranger 
 still, he certainly more than once threw himself 
 into my way, and though he always crouched 
 under my eye, yet, on the least encouragement, he 
 would make up to me. I believe I told you that 
 although he said nothing to others of our former 
 acquaintance, he never failed, when he saw an 
 opening, to allude to it to me. I now remember 
 some things which then seemed without meaning, 
 especially his frequent allusions to Mr. Raby's pa- 
 ternal regard for me, and the benevolent inten- 
 tions he had heard him express. You observe 
 that this codicil was not the subject of his bargain 
 with Mr. Edward Raby, who probably has never 
 heard of it. How easy, then, for me to come for* 
 ward and produce it, without laying Montague 
 liable to any suspicion of breach of faith with that 
 gentleman. I have now no doubt that had he 
 found me at all practicable, I should have been in- 
 vited to set up the codicil, and let him go snacks. 
 But I remember meeting his suggestions by a 
 declaration that I had no claims on Mr. Raby, and 
 rejoiced, as he had disinherited his children, that 
 it had not been in my favour. This, I think, was 
 our last conversation on the subject." 
 
 My friends had heard nothing of our movements 
 since we left Fredericksburg, and were in total 
 ignorance of the late important event. We found 
 them sad enough. My poor mother dejected but 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 297 
 
 resigned; Jane humbled and despondent. Even 
 my merry little Laura had lost something of her 
 gayety at the thoughts of being banished from the 
 home of her infancy ; while Ann, though satisfied 
 with her lot, seemed to feel by anticipation the 
 cares of a life of poverty and difficulties. Believing 
 that they would pass the night in more composure 
 under impressions to which their minds were fa- 
 miliarized, than if excited at that hour by the intelli- 
 gence which we brought, we had determined to 
 keep them in ignorance of the will until the next 
 morning. All were gratified to see that my pleas- 
 ure at returning to them was enough to give me 
 an appearance of cheerfulness under my supposed 
 misfortune ; and all appeared to derive comfort 
 and support from my presence. The indomitable 
 serenity of Balcombe made him a valuable auxil- 
 iary. They all seemed to have taken the infection 
 of my habitual confidence that he would always 
 advise what was best, and find some means to 
 make its accomplishment practicable. I was par- 
 ticularly pleased to see that Jane approached him 
 with more cordiality than I had ever seen her dis- 
 play towards him ; while there was a something in 
 her manner which seemed to deprecate his displeas- 
 ure, and implore forgiveness. He understood it, 
 and met her advances with the most soothing ten- 
 derness. There was a degree of harmony in the 
 general sense of a common calamity which each 
 should help the rest to bear, that it seemed a pity 
 to disturb. 
 
298 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 In this spirit we quietly took our frugal supper, 
 and I then handed my mother Mr. Raby's letter. 
 I had little doubt of the contents, and expected that 
 they would in some measure prepare the minds of 
 all for the yet better intelligence which was in store 
 for them. I was not disappointed. My mother 
 read the letter with just such emotions as I had 
 expected and wished, and handing it to me, said, 
 
 "Was I not right, my children? Said I not 
 truly that God would not desert us, if we could 
 compose our minds to be thankful for the past, in- 
 stead of murmuring about the present, and to trust 
 to him for the future. He has brought light out of 
 darkness, and given us a kind friend in one we 
 had deemed our worst enemy. Read that aloud, 
 William, and let us all learn to be humble and 
 thankful." 
 
 I took the letter, and as she requested, read as 
 follows : 
 
 "MADAM, 
 
 " Let me indulge a hope that the sight of my 
 name at the bottom of this letter may not prevent 
 you from reading it. Having hitherto received 
 nothing at my hands but what, to you at least, ap- 
 peared to be injustice, I cannot expect to engage 
 your attention to what I am about to say, without 
 first assuring you that the purpose of this letter is 
 altogether friendly. 
 
 " According to my understanding of the subject, 
 estates, such as that held by your father during his 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 299 
 
 life, are so limited, in order that the head of each 
 family may have it in his power to uphold the name 
 of the donor, and to stand in his place as the guar- 
 dian and protector of all others descended from 
 him. I have been thus established by my grand- 
 father (who is also the great-grandfather of your 
 son) in all his rights and all his duties to his pos- 
 terity, so far as they are connected with that prop- 
 erty. Your honourable and just father saw the 
 subject in this light. He knew that I did too ; and 
 therefore determined, by his will, to fulfil the de- 
 sign of his father, instead of availing himself of 
 the power which the change of the laws of your 
 country gave him over the subject. When I went 
 to Virginia for the purpose of establishing my 
 claims, I would gladly have explained the relation 
 in which I was thus placed to you and your family, 
 to be that of a friend and protector ; but I found 
 myself met and repulsed as an enemy, and an in- 
 truder on the rights of others. I made such ad- 
 vances as my self-respect permitted. Perhaps I 
 went somewhat too far. I perceived something 
 of the difficulties of your husband's situation ; but 
 I was made to feel that an offer to relieve them 
 would be taken as a marked overture to a base 
 and dishonourable compromise. I could therefore 
 make no such offer. Conscious as I was of none 
 but kind intentions towards you and yours, I felt 
 myself wronged, and returned to England, making 
 up my mind to take no further interest in your 
 affairs. 
 
300 GEORGE BALCOMBE. \ 
 
 ' Herein resentment made me forgetful of my 
 duty, and I am recalled to it by learning accident- 
 ally the disastrous condition in which your hus- 
 band's death has left his family. I have not heard 
 particulars, nor do I now stop to inquire them. 
 My first duty is plain. It is to make a provisional 
 arrangement for your comfort. The second is to 
 endeavour to engage your confidence so far as to 
 obtain a full knowledge of all your difficulties. 
 The third and most pleasant will be to remove 
 them if practicable. 
 
 " I wish I could confidently anticipate that, hav- 
 ing read thus far, your mind will be altogether pre- 
 pared to take what follows in the same frank and 
 cordial spirit in which it is offered. Should this 
 not be so, my proposition is one which can be 
 passed by in silence. But I will hope a different 
 result. 
 
 " If I remember right, your son came of age in 
 April last. If this be so, pray observe the evi- 
 dence I here give that I have ever looked on your 
 family with the eye of a kinsman and friend. The 
 birth of a boy, to be the prop of your house, was/ 
 noted by me as an event of great interest. But let 
 that pass. He is of age, and either is or ought to 
 be your representative in all pecuniary matters. I 
 have therefore given instructions to my friend and 
 agent, Joseph Swann, Esquire, to account with him 
 alone for the nett income from the property at Bar- 
 nard's Castle. The house with all it contains is 
 also at your service. What else it may be my 
 
GEORGE BALGOMBB. 301 
 
 duty to do, will be considered of when you shall 
 have honoured me with your confidence so far as 
 to make me acquainted with the extent of your 
 difficulties. Had I told you five years ago that in 
 claiming the estate devised to me by your father, 
 I did but take it as the steward of my grandfather, 
 for the benefit of all his descendants, my sincerity 
 might have been questioned. Let me hope it will 
 not be so now, and that in futuf e I may be regarded 
 by you and your's not as an alien and an enemy, 
 but as your kinsman and friend, 
 
 " EDWARD RABY. 
 
 " Raby Hall, Northumberland county, ) 
 England, November 18th, 1820." $ 
 
 The effect of this letter was such as might have 
 been anticipated. My poor mother was at least 
 as much humbled and mortified as delighted. 
 Little Laura was in raptures with " the dear good 
 old soul," as she called Mr. Raby. Jane's counte- 
 nance brightened for a moment. But this present 
 relief placed her no nearer the great object of her 
 wishes ; and the cloud soon again settled on her 
 brow. Ann's gratitude manifestly predominated 
 over every other feeling, except, perhaps, her pleas*- 
 ure at seeing me about to be relieved from my dif- 
 ficulties. Of herself she seemed not to think, and 
 looked up in my face with a smile which said, 
 " Help us to thank our benefactor." 
 
 "Why are you so silent, William?" said my 
 
 VOL. II. C C 
 
302 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 mother. "Do you see any objections to the ac- 
 ceptance of our kinsman's proffered kindness?" 
 
 "None," said I. " I have felt as you do. But 
 the force of my feelings has spent itself. I knew 
 this before." 
 
 "By what means?" 
 
 " By Mr. Raby's letter to Major Swann in which 
 that was enclosed." 
 
 " The order, then, has been actually given V 9 
 
 tl Certainly. And I come to make preparations 
 for removing you to Barnard's Castle." 
 
 " Oh me !" exclaimed Laura, bursting into tears, 
 " mustl we still leave dear Craiganet after all ?" 
 
 " It seems so, my child," said my mother, " and 
 we must learn to do so with thankful hearts ; 
 though to me the most princely residence would 
 not be so pleasant as these scenes of my happy 
 youth, with all their sweet and bitter recollections. 
 But come, my children ; we must be busy to-mor- 
 row. To-night must be given to thanksgiving, 
 reflection, and repose. Good-night, my son. And 
 you," extending her hand with matronly grace to 
 Balcombe, " my generous and noble friend ! Let 
 me but learn to thank the efficient aid of our bene- 
 factor, as my heart thanks you for your baffled 
 efforts to serve us, and he will not tax me with 
 ingratitude." 
 
 As soon as breakfast was over the next morning 
 I interrupted the discussion of our proposed re- 
 moval by telling the whole story of the will, an 
 authentic copy of which I now handed to my mo- 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 303 
 
 ther. It was well, perhaps, that I had prepared her 
 mind the night before, by conducting it to a sort of 
 halfway stage between depression and exultation. 
 As it was she bore the news well enough, though 
 her nerves were severely shaken. Poor Jane, for 
 the want of such preparation, (for now, for the first 
 time, hope dawned on her, and in the same moment 
 brightened to the perfect day of certainty,) she, 
 poor girl, sank under it in a strong hysterical affec- 
 tion. If such things were ever dangerous, I should 
 have been alarmed for her. As it was, she occu- 
 pied all our attention, until my news had lost some- 
 thing of its exciting effect on the rest. 
 
 As soon as a calm was restored, I reminded my 
 mother of the preference she had expressed the 
 night before for Craiganet as a residence; and 
 told her that I would, at once, take measures to 
 discharge the property from all encumbrance, by 
 pledging my own personal responsibility to the 
 creditors. By this means the approaching sale, 
 appointed for Newyear's day, would be prevented ; 
 and instead of preparing for our removal, she would 
 be permitted to remain in peace and quietness 
 where she was. 
 
 Here was a new cause for rejoicing. The 
 pleasure of my mother was heartfelt, and the glee 
 of Laura more obstreperous than at any time 
 before. Jane was too much absorbed to think 
 about it; and as to Ann, Barnard's Castle was 
 " the pole of all her young affections," and that 
 would again be her home. It was rather cause of 
 
304 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 sorrow than joy to her that it was not also to be 
 the home of her second mother. 
 
 In the midst of all this tumult of feeling, in which 
 tears were more rife than smiles, Margaret How- 
 ard and Douglas drove up. It was easy for them 
 to misunderstand the cause of the emotion they 
 beheld. It was very much in appearance, such as 
 my return, after the final defeat of my hopes, might 
 have been expected to occasion. Margaret offered 
 no condolence in words, but her manner was full 
 of tender sympathy, and as she kissed my mother, 
 she said she had come to invite us to Oakwood the 
 next day. She added that her brother -would be 
 gone to Castle Howard, his principal residence, and 
 that she and her mother would follow in a few 
 days; that we must spend those few days with 
 them, and remain there after they were gone, until 
 the bustle of the sale was over, and as much longer 
 as our convenience might require. 
 
 She hurried through this speech with an air of 
 as much cheerfulness as she could assume, as if 
 fearful of interruption by her own emotion or my 
 mother's. It was not until she had got through 
 that I saw a tear in her eye, as again tenderly 
 kissing my mother, she added, 
 
 " Do, my dear madam, say yes." 
 
 This was more than could be borne. My mo- 
 ther's self-command now, for the first time, failed 
 her, and falling on Miss Howard's neck, the min- 
 gled feelings of her heart at length found vent in 
 tears. The rest of us were hardly less affected. 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 305 
 
 To Ann, particularly, the generosity and delicacy 
 of Howard were overwhelming. My feelings 
 were drawn into the vortex of her's, and Balcombe 
 alone had self-possession enough to explain. As 
 to Douglas, I had observed his rueful visage as he 
 entered ; but a glance had been exchanged between 
 him and Jane, and they were gone. Between 
 them, doubtless, the matter was soon understood. 
 But they had it all to themselves. I saw no more 
 of them until dinner, when they appeared with 
 glowing cheeks, and eyes red, but beaming with 
 delight. I was pleased to find that Jane, on this 
 occasion, did not seem to think her dignity engaged 
 to hide her feelings. She showed them simply and 
 naturally ; she rejoiced with others, and was glad 
 to have them rejoice with her. She had no part to 
 act. She had no scheme in her head. She was 
 once more the same honest girl I had known her 
 before the visit of Howard to Oakwood, and his 
 attentions to Ann. I was delighted to recognise 
 one whom I had so much loved, and whom I had 
 despaired of ever seeing again. I caressed her 
 playfully, in a manner which, a month before, 
 would have outraged her dignity, and she said to 
 me apart, 
 
 " Oh William ! I am so thankful to you. It was 
 a severe operation. You cut deep, but you reached 
 the seat of the disease, and I have no fear that I 
 shall prove myself unworthy of the happiness I 
 now hope for." 
 
 We now understood from Miss Howard that her 
 c c 2 
 
306 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 brother was well enough to travel, and proposed 
 to do so for his health. With that view he would 
 leave Oakwood next morning, and in the spring he 
 would probably go to Europe. 
 
 " And shall / see him no more ?" said -Ann, with 
 all the simplicity of her innocent and grateful 
 heart. " Dear generous Henry ! had he prepared 
 to load us with kindness and steal away from our 
 
 gratitude ?" 
 
 **#### 
 
 I believe I have done my story. It matters little 
 whether we went to Oakwood or not. But we did 
 go, and received the congratulations of Mrs. How- 
 ard. I now, too, had an opportunity of hearing her 
 and her daughter express their grateful admiration 
 of Balcombe. He had left us to bring down his 
 wife, that she might spend with us the approaching 
 season of festivity. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," said Margaret Howard. 
 " I don't want to be led into temptation. But as I 
 never mean to marry any man but Mr. Balcombe, 
 or some other like him, and none such is to be 
 found, I beg you to advise her never to take food 
 from my hand. I feel a little conscientious just at 
 this moment, and so take this security against the 
 hour of temptation and weakness. Do, Mr. Wil- 
 liam, tell me where I may go to look for such 
 another man." 
 
 " You must go to the place he came from," said 
 I ; ' and then to no purpose, unless you can find 
 some man, intelligent and brave by nature, who 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 307 
 
 has been carefully nurtured in the seed-bed of a 
 civilized, enlightened Christian society, and then 
 transplanted to the rich wilds where his luxuriance 
 may expand itself without restraint." 
 
 In due season Balcombe arrived with his family, 
 and we Christmas'd it around at Oakwood, at 
 Craiganet, at Raby Hall, at Barnard's Castle ; and 
 when Christmas was gone and forgotten by others 
 it was still Christmas with us, until the month of 
 February brought Mr. Raby's answer to our 
 letters. 
 
 This was friendly, congratulatory, self-accusing, 
 and definitive. It enclosed a large account of 
 rents and profits, with a declaration that no con- 
 sideration on earth should tempt him to retain one 
 cent of advantage from a transaction, doubtful in 
 its character, to say the least of it, and which had 
 always debased him in his own estimation. The 
 money thrown away on Montague he considered 
 as the mere earnest of a bargain with the devil, 
 through one of his emissaries, which he was glad to 
 forfeit if he might thereby annul the contract. He 
 enclosed bills for the whole amount due according 
 to his statement, including interest, and expressed 
 a hope that the command of so much money would 
 tempt me to travel. Then followed a kind invita- 
 tion to visit him; a hint at the opportunities of 
 forming desirable connections in England ; and an 
 intimation that no gentleman or nobleman in the 
 north of England would deny his daughter to a 
 man bearing a name so illustrious in the legends of 
 
308 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 the olden time as that of Raby. This advantage, 
 on which my aristocratic kinsman laid so much 
 stress, I had nearly overlooked, and am now re- 
 minded to tell the reader, that the assumption of 
 the name of Raby was made, in my grandfather's 
 will, a condition of the devise. With this I cheer- 
 fully complied. My name was changed in due 
 form, and I am ever since at the reader's service, 
 WILLIAM NAPIER RABY, 
 
 of 
 
 Barnard's Castle, Northumberland, 
 Virginia. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 To each and all a fair good-night, 
 And rosy dreams and slumbers light, 
 
 WHEN I said that I had finished my story, it was 
 in one of those moments of concentrated selfishness 
 in which a man forgets there is anybody else in 
 the world but himself. I did think of one more. 
 I thought of Ann. But as she has long been a 
 part of myself, I am afraid I have occasion to go 
 back and read the lecture which I gave my sister 
 Jane. But I have not quite forgotten it, and in 
 proof of it I will tell the reader what became of the 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 309 
 
 other personages in my drama, even down to Jim 
 Porter the ducker. 
 
 Howard no sooner reached home than he com- 
 menced his preparations for foreign travel. He 
 visited every part of Europe, not excepting Greece, 
 and for a time seemed bent on finding that relief 
 from wo which he had vainly sought from the 
 hand of Balcombe. But though he found not this, 
 he found a much better and equally efficient 
 remedy. He came into collision with men whose 
 pretensions on the score of birth and fortune paled 
 his own. He encountered privation, hardship, and 
 difficulty, and learned to live without the habitual 
 indulgence of all his wishes. He frequented scenes 
 where danger sought him when he sought it not, 
 and learned to think that a man's courage may be 
 tested by other and better means than his readiness 
 to peril his life on every fool's quarrel. In learning 
 all this he lost nothing of his high honour, his strict 
 principles, his delicacy of feeling, his easy deport- 
 ment and refined courtesy, and came back, after 
 an absence of three years, a man every way 
 worthy of his prosperous fortune. It was not long 
 before our intercourse was renewed, and as our 
 friendship had known no abatement, it at once 
 assumed the character of cordial intimacy. This 
 brought him frequently in company with my sister 
 Laura, and I saw with pleasure that she soon 
 began to fill the place in his regard which had 
 been left vacant by Ann. The reader anticipates 
 
310 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 the result. They have been m arried a dozen years, 
 and are happy. 
 
 Margaret Howard married a gentleman of 
 moderate estate, in whom, perhaps, were more of 
 the qualities of Balcombe than in any other I have 
 ever known. He was not fully equal to that beau 
 ideal of Miss Howard's imagination ; but it came 
 in aid of the resemblance that he was nearly 
 as old. 
 
 Balcombe returned to Missouri in the spring. 
 In his journey from Fredericksburg to Craiganet he 
 had made his wife acquainted with all of us, so 
 that she came among us completely divested of 
 her reserve. She seemed as if she had known us 
 all her life. She met me as if I had been her 
 brother. Ann she never called from the first by 
 any other name. With Jane she was somewhat 
 more punctilious. To my mother tenderly re- 
 spectful, and to Laura she was as an elder sister. 
 
 The reader will readily suppose that, on the 
 appearance of my grandfather's will, all the scru- 
 ples of old Douglas vanished like a ghost at the 
 crowing of a cock. The consequence was that 
 the same day was fixed for the marriage of my 
 sister and myself. As we were oldfashioned folks,, 
 who love to preserve all memorials of things that 
 have been, we fixed on Valentine's day. As it 
 approached, I received a hint that it would be as 
 well that Balcombe and I should take ourselves 
 out of the way of mops and brooms, especially if 
 we had no mind to live on bread and cheese, during 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 311 
 
 certain days appropriated to the preparation of 
 jellies, bridal cakes, &c., &c. I communicated 
 this intimation to Balcombe,andwe determined to 
 use the time for a visit to Barnard's Castle, my 
 future home, and Raby Hall, which I wished to 
 make his. His wife insisted on accompanying us. 
 I was not sorry for this, for I found her heart 
 began to yearn for her wild home, her " desert 
 solitude," and I had hopes the sight of Raby Hall, 
 with all its substantial comforts, might tempt her 
 to remain with us. I had a wish, too, (perhaps im- 
 pertinent,) to be present at her meeting with Mary 
 Scott. And I did see it. I had never mentioned 
 that unfortunate woman in her presence. But she 
 could be no stranger to her history, and to that of 
 her husband's former attachment and continued 
 esteem and admiration. Such a case was out of 
 rule, and I was at a loss to tell how she would 
 treat it. I might have known that, as George Bal- 
 combe's wife, she would do the thing that was 
 right, but what that was to be I did not know. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Balcombe was introduced to 
 the major and his lady, Balcombe inquired for 
 Mary Scott, and asked to be conducted to her. 
 In a few moments he returned. She was leaning 
 on his arm, and he led her with as much proud 
 respect as if she had been a queen. His wife rose 
 and advanced to meet them. I have spoken of her 
 lofty stature and commanding air. I never saw 
 her half so majestic as now. Her step was slow, 
 her carriage lofty, her countenance unmoved, yet 
 
312 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 in the whole there was an air of tenderness and 
 softness in which everything like dignity was for- 
 gotten. I saw poor Mary lift up her eyes, and 
 blench under the full black eye of the stately figure 
 before her ; but she again raised her head, and 
 looked up confidingly in Balcombe's face. 
 
 " I need not tell you," said he, " who this is, and 
 how much I owe her." 
 
 " You owe her everything," replied Mrs. Bal- 
 combe, "that man can owe to the disinterested 
 friendship of a noble being. You owe her all of 
 your heart that is not mine, and she must give me 
 a place in her's for your sake." 
 
 Saying this, she extended both her arms, and 
 folded the poor shrinking creature to her bosom. 
 She would have kissed her, but Mary could not 
 look up, and Mrs. Balcombe, gently moving her to 
 the sofa, sat down with her, without loosening her 
 hold, or removing the face of the weeping girl from 
 the shoulder where it rested. There she sat, bend- 
 ing over and soothing her, as if unconscious of the 
 presence of every other. 
 
 The major had turned to the window to hide his 
 emotion. I did the same ; when he said, in a low 
 tone, 
 
 "All our training can produce nothing like this. 
 Where the essentials of good breeding and good 
 principles are preserved, there is a majesty in the 
 wild forms of nature that art can never reach." 
 
 When the tumult of Mary's feelings had sub- 
 sided, Mrs. Balcombe still sat by her, and drew 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 313 
 
 her into conversation. I never before had seen 
 her so affable to a stranger ; but on this occasion, 
 though their topics were few and restricted, yet 
 they talked on like old acquaintances, and parted 
 for the night as if they really were so. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Swann took Mrs. Bal- 
 combe over the house, showing all those fixtures 
 and conveniences, in which women so much de- 
 light, while Balcombe and I rode over the estate. 
 I took this opportunity to show him the advantages 
 of the place as a residence, and urged him to settle 
 there. Seeing that he hesitated, I remarked that 
 one half of the property was his by the will of my 
 grandfather, and that by every obligation of grati- 
 tude and friendship I was bound to make the other 
 half his also. 
 
 " No more of that, William," said Balcombe. 
 " Had I heard of that bequest, I am not sure you 
 would ever have heard of the will. Had it been 
 contained in the body of the will, I would not have 
 accepted it. As it is, my motives are liable to no 
 misconstruction, and I will keep them so. And 
 now having said this, I will add, that I am too poor 
 to occupy so large an establishment, and if I were 
 here, I should have a constant warfare with you 
 about aids which you would offer, and I would 
 decline. No, William ; I am well enough off for 
 Missouri. I should be a poor man here. My 
 wife's parents are there. I must not task her de- 
 votion to an old husband too far. I must take her 
 back to them. But I will deal with you in all the 
 
 VOL. II. D D 
 
314 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 frankness of friendship. I would much rather be 
 here, but whether it will ever be in my power I 
 cannot tell. Now I propose this: take my prop- 
 erty here at any valuation ; pay me the interest of 
 the money, as long as we both live, and if I wish 
 to return cancel the bargain, and let me have your 
 half at the same price." 
 
 To this I agreed. A round sum was fixed on 
 as the price, and the bargain concluded. 
 
 To Mrs. Balcombe this arrangement was quite 
 satisfactory. To poor Mary it was a subject of 
 great but silent grief. She said little until Bal- 
 combe proposed, as part of the plan } that as soon 
 as James's education should be finished, he should 
 follow him to the western country and seek his for- 
 tune there. At this suggestion all her self-com- 
 mand forsook her. When she recovered herself, 
 she said she would not be any hinderance to James's 
 advancement, and admitted the plan to be a good 
 one. 
 
 " But, oh George ! I was so happy in the thought 
 of being near my best friend, and to have the ben- 
 efit of his instructions, advice, and example for my 
 poor boy, without ever parting from him, and now 
 to lose you both ! It is too much 1" 
 
 Mrs. Balcombe now spoke to her a few words 
 in a low and tender tone, to which she replied, 
 
 "No, my dear madam. That must not be. 
 Your good and wise husband knows my reasons, 
 and he approves them. While Mr. Napier per- 
 mits me to receive shelter here, from the kind 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 315 
 
 friends who lifted me up when I was prostrate in 
 the dust, I shall seek no other home." 
 
 " You shall never need another," said I, " while 
 this will content you." 
 
 " And if the most tender and profound respect 
 on our part," said the major, " can make you happy 
 here, you will never wish to change your place of 
 abode." 
 
 The grateful creature looked as she spoke from 
 one to another, and then clasping her hands, ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Oh, how have I deserved this ?" 
 
 When I heard what passed between Mary and 
 Mrs. Balcombe, I looked at Balcombe for an ex- 
 planation. He now said to me apart, 
 
 "I proposed to her to accompany me to Mis- 
 souri, and make my house her home, and she de- 
 clined it." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " For reasons worthy of her. Our equal ages 
 and my former attachment to her. * I see,' said 
 she, * the confiding nobleness of your wife, and I 
 know she cannot be insensible of the advantages of 
 youth and beauty. But it is not right to task your 
 generosity, or to incur the least hazard of disturb- 
 ing her peace of mind. The situation you propose 
 would be to me the happiest in the world, were it 
 forced on me by circumstances. But it would be 
 wrong to adopt it from choice, and the thought of 
 that would make me unhappy. Should.my present 
 dependance fail me, George, and leave me without 
 
316 
 
 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 a home, I will to you as to a brother, and take 
 shelter under your roof.' " 
 
 After spending a day or two at Raby Hall, we 
 went to Barnard's Castle, leaving Mrs. Balcombe 
 behind. Here my arrangements were soon made. 
 We returned to Raby Hall ; and on the day before 
 that appointed for the double wedding, returned to 
 Craiganet. 
 
 As Balcombe had determined to set out for Mis- 
 souri as soon as the nuptial festivities were over, 
 he prepared to take a final leave of the major and 
 Mary Scott. In order to this he drew up a paper, 
 directing me to pay her quarterly a handsome an- 
 nuity out of the interest on the price of his prop- 
 erty. Having showed me this, he handed it to his 
 wife, to be given to Mary on separating for the 
 night. This was done; and when we met in the 
 morning I could read it in her grateful counte- 
 nance. I think I never saw one in which that 
 most beautiful of all expressions (save only that 
 of tender love) displayed itself so strongly as in 
 her's. Perhaps no heart ever felt the sentiment so 
 deeply. 
 
 When we were about to part Mrs. Balcombe 
 kissed her tenderly, while Balcombe bade farewell 
 to the major and his lady. Then turning to Mary, 
 he folded her to his bosom, and kissing her fore- 
 head as usual, was about to leave her, when she 
 held up her lips and said, 
 
 "Once more, dear George, This once; this 
 last time." 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 317 
 
 And once more he impressed upon her lips the 
 hallowed kiss of his pure and generous friendship. 
 
 " Thank God ! thank God !" she exclaimed, in a 
 tone of elevated enthusiasm. " Should we never 
 meet again, that token of a brother's love I will 
 carry to the grave." 
 
 " My dear child," said the kind old major, " Mr. 
 Balcombe is indeed a brother. You lose him now ; 
 let me be your father." 
 
 The poor creature could make no answer. Bal- 
 combe wrung the major's hand, and we left the 
 house. 
 
 On our return to Craiganet, we found Douglas 
 there, accompanied by Margaret Howard. I was 
 rejoiced at this. I wished Mrs. Balcombe to 
 know this softened reflection of some of her hus- 
 band's noblest qualities. I had excited her wish to 
 know Miss Howard, by speaking of her in such 
 terms as conveyed this idea. Margaret, on the 
 other hand, met her as one whom she ought to 
 esteem as the -wife of a man she so much admired. 
 In short, they met as sisters, and grew together 
 into the most cordial intimacy. 
 
 " She is the only woman in the world," said 
 Mrs. Balcombe, " worthy to be the wife of Mr. 
 Balcombe." 
 
 I shall not tell the reader about the wedding. 
 It is an old story ; fifteen years old to-morrow ; 
 and there sits Ann, quite matronly, with her eldest 
 daughter by her side, working her sampler. Our 
 firstborn is out with his gun. The youngest is 
 
318 GEORGE BALCOMBE. 
 
 asleep in the cradle, and a wee thing of three years 
 old is worrying the cat, and plaguing me by invi- 
 ting my attention to her pranks. 
 
 Jane makes Douglas a good wife. Whether her 
 seniority gives her the same advantage over the 
 husband that she had over the lover, I don't know. 
 I rather think not. But boys always fall in love 
 the first time with women older than themselves ; 
 and no woman ever objected, in her own case, to a 
 man for being too young. 
 
 Keizer returned with Balcombe to Missouri, and 
 has ever since lived uprightly and comfortably 
 under his munificent patron. James Scott fol- 
 lowed in three years. He has prospered, and 
 attained to competency and honour. Should I 
 give his true name, many of my readers would 
 find that I had been speaking of one of whom they 
 have heard before. Balcombe's daughter is now 
 grown. I hear frequently from her father, and 
 suspect, from some expressions, that Miss Delia 
 has found out that the difference between the ages 
 of her parents is about the same as that between 
 her's and James's. 
 
 I regret to close this summary by adding, that 
 within one year past Colonel Robinson has followed 
 his wife, who died soon after Balcombe's return to 
 Missouri. 
 
 This, I believe, fulfils my promise to tell all 
 about everybody, except that I have not yet ac- 
 counted for Jim Porter. Be it known that he is at 
 this moment shooting ducks in the Pocoson of the 
 
GEORGE BALCOMBE. 319 
 
 Raby Hall estate, in which he has the exclusive 
 privilege of hunting, rent free. 
 
 Saturday, February 13, 1836. 
 
 P.S. Sunday morning Valentine's day. 
 
 A letter from Balcombe. He is coming to Vir- 
 ginia, and claims my promise to sell him my inter- 
 est in the Raby Hall property. He has prospered 
 in his affairs, and the death of Colonel Robinson 
 has made him rich. James Scott has married his 
 daughter, (his only child,) and will live with him. 
 I am told to expect him in April, and that Keizer 
 will accompany him. Poor Mary (who since the 
 major's death has been with me) is beside herself 
 with joy, and there is not a child in the house old 
 enough to talk, whose eyes don't dance at the 
 thought of seeing a man they have all learned to 
 love and honour. Even the negroes at Raby Hall 
 will not be sorry ; for when I bought out Balcombe 
 they expressed no particular feeling, but merely 
 said, through Charles, their common spokesman, 
 
 " We been all mighty willing, sir, to have Mass' 
 George for master." 
 
 THE END. 
 

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