1
 
 . X 
 
 V 
 

 
 BRANDON; 
 
 A HUNDRED YEARS AGO, 
 
 BY 
 
 OSMOND TIFFANY. 
 
 NEW YOEK: 
 
 STANFORD & DELISSER, 
 
 508 BROADWAY. 
 
 1858.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 
 
 STANFORD & DELISSEE, 
 in the Clerk's Office, for the Northern District of New York. 
 
 EDWARD 0. JENKINS, 
 
 printer anH Stertotgper, 
 
 26 FBANKFOET ST.
 
 TO 
 
 REV. CONVERS FRANCIS, D. D., 
 OP 
 
 fjmrfrarfr College, 
 CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR : 
 
 I take great pleasure in dedicating this little work to you, in 
 accordance with your kind permission. You have long placed me 
 hi your debt, by advice and encouragement to pursue the path of 
 Literature. Conscious of the inadequacy of this offering to repay 
 you, it will, I know, be welcomed as a slight but sincere token of 
 my gratitude. 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 OSMOND TIFFANY. 
 
 2054395
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE story of " BKANDON," which is now submitted to 
 the Public, was written three years ago, soon after the 
 Author's removal from the city of Baltimore. At that 
 period, the literary labors of a host of writers turned 
 towards fiction, as a chosen field. The astonishing suc- 
 cess of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and the popularity of 
 other works, such as "The Wide, Wide World," and 
 " The Lamplighter," had stimulated a thousand prolific 
 pens, and novels appeared and disappeared in such cease- 
 less succession, that even those of merit were in many 
 instances borne down by the weight of the many more 
 which were good for nothing. 
 
 In the crush and hurry of the time, the author found 
 no chance to multiply copies of his work, and he was 
 advised by disinterested friends, who read his MSS., to 
 wait patiently until the hurricane blew over. It died 
 away at last, leaving the public with no further appetite
 
 VJ PREFACE. 
 
 for imaginary horrors or raptures. Books illustrating 
 real life were wisely sought. Dr. Kane's immortal vol- 
 umes were welcomed by millions of the soundest readers 
 and thinkers of the country, while Earth's and Living- 
 ston's Travels in Africa earned hearty commendation 
 proving that narratives of real heroism always charm the 
 great heart of humajaity, whether brave actions transpire 
 beneath the burning equatorial sun, or amidst icy Arctic 
 solitudes. The great commercial revulsion of the past 
 year, following upon the decline of the romance mania, 
 also put an effectual quietus, for the time being, on sen- 
 sation books. Men with rum staring them in the face, 
 and women with helpless children to clothe and feed, 
 quite forgot their wonted interest in sighing Strephons 
 and love-lorn Chloes. 
 
 In its main feature, the experience of Lucy Tyrrell, 
 "Brandon" is founded on fact, only that the time has 
 been thrown back upwards of fifty years. It is unneces- 
 sary to state more particularly the source of the writer's 
 material, which he has thus worked into the story. He 
 thought that the manners and social life of the " Old 
 Dominion," with the introduction of some of its cele- 
 brated characters in the early days of Washington, might 
 prove acceptable to the reader ; and, while looking into 
 the history of the colonies " a hundred years ago," he
 
 PREFACE. Vli 
 
 was struck with the interest of the Canada campaign of 
 1759, which is ever memorable from the surrender of 
 Quebec. The fascinating character of General Wolfe, 
 with his daring and successful assault, appeared to the 
 author to offer a brilliant episode, and he has yet to learn 
 that the events of that grand enterprise have been 
 hitherto embodied in the pages of prose fiction. 
 
 Whether the costume of the period which the author 
 has sketched is strictly correct, he must leave to his 
 readers to decide ; but he can safely say, that the his- 
 toric details of the story have been carefully studied. 
 From his long familiarity with Rhode Island, he trusts 
 that his pictures of Newport in the olden time may still 
 be recognised, although the place is no longer what it 
 once was, especially during the period treated of, when, 
 in the words of good Bishop Berkeley, it was " the most 
 thriving place in all America for bigness." 
 
 Should the work which is now humbly offered to the 
 public meet with its favor, the writer may be induced to 
 recur again to a period which abounded with romantic 
 interest and deeds of worth, before the chain which 
 bound the old thirteen provinces to the mother country 
 was snapped asunder when the strong men and lovely 
 women of the Colonies were loyal subjects of the English 
 kings.
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 In conclusion, the Author begs leave to state, that the 
 verses on page 168 are not original with him, but have 
 been contributed by a poetess whom he is proud to claim. 
 as friend. Although in youth he long dreamed of a seat 
 on Parnassus, he is happy to state, that, fortunately for 
 his relatives' peace of mind, as well as his own, the delu- 
 sion expired with his one-and-twentieth year. 
 
 SPRINGFIELD, MASS., 
 
 August 14, 1858.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 THE ISLAND ... 9 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 THE OLD DOMINION 17 
 
 CHAPTER IH. 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT KINGWOOD 26 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 INSIGHT 36 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A WARNING 44 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 LUCY AND THE RECLUSE 50 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 LUCY IN BOSTON... . 69
 
 x CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "LOVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY" 68 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MISFORTUNE 76 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A MEETING AND A LETTER 84 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 RANDOLPH'S HOME 87 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 THE MEETING WITH A GREAT MAN 93 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE .... 101 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 114 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MR. BRANDON INDIGNANT 120 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 RETROSPECTION _ 127
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 BARLOW A VESTRYMAN 134 
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 
 LUCY'S TRIALS 140 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 RACHEL'S HISTORY 147 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 NEWPORT OF OLD 155 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 VISITING A TIGER 167 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TRAITORS IN THE CAMP 177 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 LUCY'S NEW HOME 188 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 EVIL TIDINGS 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. . . . . 203
 
 x ii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 PAQ 
 
 A " HERO IN HISTORY " 213 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 QUEBEC 218 
 
 CHAFfER XXVin. 
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE : 233 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 CHANGE OF OPINION 256 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 THE FATE OF MILDRED 264 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 LUCY SURVIVES HER SORROW. . . . . 276
 
 BRANDON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE ISLAND. 
 
 NOT far remote from the southern shores of Massa- 
 chusetts lies a stern bleak island, whose barren soil 
 almost denies common nourishment to man, but which, 
 for more than two hundred years, has nurtured a hardy 
 race, who love their rocky home. 
 
 It is exposed to the full fury of the ocean, and when 
 the blasts of winter rise into tempests, its shores are too 
 often strewn with the wrecks of hapless vessels, over- 
 whelmed by the Atlantic surge. High above the crags 
 beetling over the waves, bleak downs offer scant pastur- 
 age to sheep, a few acres of marsh afford haunt to wild 
 fowls, a snug harbor and two or three sheltered coves dot 
 the coast, and the long line of sandy beach elsewhere 
 stretches to the verge of the sea. 
 
 Such is the island now, and it was much the same " a 
 
 hundred years ago," uninviting and of almost savage 
 
 aspect. Yet, as we observed before, it cherished a hardy 
 
 race m en of toil, but thoroughly independent in a life 
 
 1* <9)
 
 10 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 which, though fraught with constant danger, bore with 
 it a fearful fascination. At first sight, one might wonder 
 that so many women and children, unaccompanied by 
 men, should form the population, but an instant's glance 
 at the sea told the reason. Thousands of miles beyond 
 their ken, over its waters, the fathers of these families 
 were scattered. Almost their whole lives were passed 
 upon the ocean in pursuit of the whale ; far away in the 
 region of tempests which enshroud Cape Horn, or amid 
 the more dreadful terrors of arctic latitudes. 
 
 The entire population of the small rude village bore 
 marks of maritime life ; from earliest boyhood the youth 
 was trained to pull the oar and mind the helm, and long 
 before manhood to follow the calling of his ancestors, who 
 had all been sailors. Even those remaining on shore 
 looked as if subjects of Neptune's domain, who had left 
 it but for a brief season ; bare-legged urchins might be 
 seen disporting along the edges of the coves in pursuit 
 of luckless shrimps, while here and there something in 
 shape of a man enveloped in a pea-jacket of portentous 
 size, with a face which the salt spray of many years, aided 
 by the sun, had bronzed and hardened, lounged against 
 a boat upon the beach, gazing out at sea with eyes which 
 had no speculation in them, or mended nets with huge 
 paws rough with excrescences like barnacles. Such a 
 character is to be met in every sea-port town ; one who 
 prides himself on knowing a thing or two, as well as some 
 other folks ; whose whole talk, outside of his calling, lies 
 in " wise saws and modern instances," taciturn as a fish, 
 yet bluff as Boreas. 
 
 The houses were rude in construction, seldom of more 
 than one story, and of great similarity in appearance. 
 Their low, dim apartments were frequently decorated 
 with the shells and corals of the sea, mingled with various
 
 THE ISLAND. 11 
 
 objects of the fisher's craft. Nets suspended to the 
 walls, coils of rope stowed away in corners, a rough ta- 
 ble and chairs to match, with the spinning wheel, whose 
 ceaseless drone was heard all day, were seen in every 
 cottage. Besides such furniture, in one or two tenements 
 more favored than the rest, hung strange, outlandish- 
 looking weapons and carved paddles from Indian seas, 
 side by side with rusty lances and harpoons, to each of 
 which attached some tale of wonder. No garden spot 
 cheered the eyes of the occupant, and the invariable 
 prospect commanded by each abode was of bleak hills on 
 one side, and for contrast on the other, boundless ocean. 
 
 Only two buildings in the whole village betokened care, 
 or any attempt to render them attractive ; one was the 
 parish church, small but neatly built, enclosed by its 
 grassy yard, in which slept many of the ancient settlers, 
 their tombstones of dusky slate carved with their name 
 and age, a sepulchral urn, a drooping tree, and some- 
 times a frightful head, intended either for an angel's, or as 
 an emblem of the "Sun of Righteousness, with healing in 
 his wings." 
 
 The parsonage house was in keeping with the church, 
 and, though old-fashioned and rough in construction, be- 
 tokened neatness and comfort. It was placed in a 
 sheltered nook, which a turn in the road disclosed, and a 
 jutting spur of the cliff broke the force of the wind from 
 it. Its little garden the only one in the place well 
 kept from weeds, displayed a few bright flowers, to 
 reward the labor bestowed upon it. Over the porch a 
 luxuriant vine was trained to the eaves of the house, and 
 nearly closed one or two of the windows, at the same time 
 forming a hiding place for birds, which built their nests 
 in its branches. 
 
 The family consisted of the Rev. Francis Tyrrell, his
 
 12 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 wife, and their only child, a daughter, Lucy, at the 
 period of which we now speak nearly sixteen years of 
 age. How the good man came to settle on this barren 
 island, its inhabitants never troubled themselves with 
 asking. Perhaps he could have scarce told himself, 
 beyond the fact that, falling early in love and marrying 
 without fortune, he was forced to seek an asylum where- 
 ever it offered, and therefore accepted this post, the first 
 and best that chanced to him. 
 
 He was a man of liberal education, a graduate of Har- 
 vard College, and of more than ordinary talents and 
 acquirements. Thinking that he should ere long change 
 for a better position in life, year after year had he re- 
 mained, becoming not only contented with his lot, but 
 endeared to it, happy in doing good hi his own humble 
 way, and repaid by the affectionate respect of the whole 
 parish, and the society of his wife and child. His appear- 
 ance at once betokened the gentleman ; an air of mingled 
 dignity and sweetness well became his sacred profession. 
 His calling, which, in those days, was much more 
 reverenced than it is now, invested him in some degree 
 with the carriage of one having authority; but in the 
 benevolent expression of his face one looked in vain for 
 lines of hauteur, and no rebuke fell from him unless well 
 merited. 
 
 His labor of love, as he ministered to the spiritual and 
 temporal wants of his people, made his life one of interest 
 and beauty ; he took delight in the office which led him 
 to visit every hamlet in the island, and study the peculiar 
 character of each inhabitant. Uniting a knowledge of 
 the healing art to his pastoral charge, as was then com- 
 mon in New England, the sick were gladdened by his 
 kind smile, and assured of renewed health ; while to those 
 who required no medicine his timely advice was always
 
 THE ISLAND. 13 
 
 welcome. The boys but half suspended their sports as 
 he passed, their awe being tempered by confidence, and 
 sometimes the heart of one of those oddities in a pea 
 jacket would be rejoiced, as the minister, without com- 
 promising his dignity, joined in a day's fishing, and 
 listened patiently to yarns heard a hundred times before 
 of whales and whalers. 
 
 In the pulpit he made no display of learning or attempt 
 at brilliancy, but the service was impressive, and in an 
 age when strong doctrine was inculcated, his sermons 
 were always replete with instances of Divine love ; while 
 the tremulous accents of his voice as he poured out his 
 soul in prayer and thanksgiving, softened his hearers, and 
 led them to hope, even when he had spoken most point- 
 edly of their guilty state. 
 
 Beyond these occupations, the minister was daily 
 engaged in cultivating a few acres of ground which the 
 care of years had rendered tolerably productive, and the 
 hours which time yet left him were passed at home with 
 those after his own heart, or with his books, of which his 
 store might amount to two hundred volumes. 
 
 His wife, a woman of no inconsiderable beauty, of 
 strong mind and contented disposition, was well formed 
 to be his helpmate in that stern, wave-bound home. 
 They had not lived without affliction, for more than one 
 of their children lay in the churchyard, leaving only Lucy, 
 their first-born, to gladden and bless them. 
 
 Lucy, innocent and pure in heart, looked as if the 
 breath of heaven, and the sea, and the sunlight, might 
 have helped to form her. Her shape was graceful, her 
 motions free as the wave, and it demanded little fancy 
 in the beholder to liken the tinge of her tresses to the 
 golden light of the daybeam, or the calm rich blue of her 
 eyes to the serene depths of the waters, or the stain-
 
 14 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 less purity of her complexion to the snowy shell which 
 the ebbing tide left at her feet upon the shore. Lucy 
 had no companions of her own age, and had been reared 
 almost without playmates. She was of different mould 
 from the cottage children, and her parents had not en- 
 couraged intimacy beyond that prompted by good-will 
 and kindness. 
 
 She, from earliest childhood, was their own companion, 
 the sharer in all their joys. She was now able to relieve 
 her mother of much care in household duties, but she was 
 the closer partaker of the life of her father, who had been 
 her only teacher. That age was one of fewer books than 
 this, but it produced far better scholars. Under her 
 father's guidance, she had become not only skilled in the 
 English language, but also in Greek and Latin. A child 
 learns one tongue as easily as another, and looking up to 
 her father as the wisest man on earth, as well as the best, 
 her quick, earnest, little mind soon mastered the diffi- 
 culties of those ancient languages, and she would recite 
 with redoubled pleasure as she observed the bright look 
 of gratification which was sure to reward her diligence. 
 How precious were the hours passed in that father's simple 
 study. She was happy to sit at his feet and con her task, 
 to listen, as he always blended amusement with instruc- 
 tion, or sometimes with rapt gaze watch him as he com- 
 posed his weekly sermon. 
 
 A constant companion in his walks and visits to his 
 parishioners, the tongue that uttered thanks to him never 
 failed also to bless his Lucy. She was loved by all the 
 cottagers, and their regard for her had been frequently ex- 
 pressed in simple presents, some of their own handicraft 
 but many more the rarer offerings of the sea. 
 
 No shell or pebble of more than ordinary beauty could 
 be found but was added to Lucy's collection, and no sea-
 
 THE ISLAND. 15 
 
 man returned from a distant voyage without a token of 
 remembrance, some curiosity in coral or fantastic carving. 
 In her own neat chamber she had tastefully arranged all 
 these, some little story attaching to every one ; but she 
 prized beyond all her own collection of sea mosses, 
 brilliant greens and purples, contrasted with brown and 
 purest white ; some almost like the flowers of earth in 
 shape, others of exquisite fern-like forms, so delicate as to 
 offer no impression to the touch. Many she had gathered 
 with her own hands, others had been brought to her from 
 foreign climes 
 
 " From Bermuda's reefs, from edges 
 
 Of sunken ledges 
 In some far off bright Azore ; 
 From Bahama, and the dashing 
 
 Silver-flashing 
 Surges of San Salvador." 
 
 Lucy loved the ocean ; it had become to her more than 
 a friend ; she was familiar with it in its every mood ; she 
 lingered beside it when it heaved gently in sunlit calm ; 
 she listened for hours as its mighty voice spoke in tem- 
 pests. She beheld it from her chamber window, spread- 
 ing to her sight in grey and solemn grandeur, as she rose 
 with the dawn of day, and hastening to the beach, on 
 which its billows broke in thunder, waited for the com- 
 ing of morning. She saw the waters change from sombre 
 gloom, to colors instinct with life, as they reflected the 
 yellow and crimson clouds which heralded the sun ; then 
 as its golden column gleamed along the sea, and the ma- 
 jestic luminary soared heavenward, marked with delight 
 its beams sparkle on the azure surge. Or, at hushed 
 noon, she sought some sheltered cleft in the rocks, listen- 
 ing to the dashing of the waters as the tides rose or fell,
 
 16 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 and many a tale of wonder and peril, which she had 
 heard from the old cottagers, seemed to be repeated by 
 the sea. As in a mirror it showed her the distant islands 
 of the south, where dusky forms stood beneath the palm 
 and cocoa trees, and the coral insect built its palaces ; or, 
 in the arctic circle, the skiff of the Greenlander, who 
 sought the seal beneath the shadow of the awful iceberg. 
 
 But, dearest to her, were those hours after sunset hues 
 had died away, when the moonbeams silvered the waves 
 and changed even the hard rocks to shapes of beauty, or 
 in darker evenings, when only the " sentinel stars," shone 
 radiant from their celestial watch-towers. Then, the im- 
 agination of the musing girl drew around her visions 
 strange and beautiful, as by the wand of Prospero. 
 
 Thus Lucy grew to womanhood, and that rude island 
 held a home, in which one spirit was bright, one flower 
 was always blooming.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE OLD DOMINION. 
 
 THE scene now changes to a land of richer mould, and 
 brightened by a warmer sun, far, far away from Lucy's 
 humble home, into the heart of Virginia in the olden 
 time. Different indeed this region, adorned with luxuri- 
 ant forests, and majestic rivers; glorying -in ranges of 
 towering mountains ; and peopled by another race than 
 the descendants of the stern New England Puritans. 
 
 As the rocky wilderness of the north, sheltered a band 
 whom persecution drove from their ancestral firesides, but 
 whose ordeal in the New World was welcome in the 
 golden light of religious freedom, so the genial clime of 
 Virginia allured adventurers more gently nurtured, who 
 carried with them much of the wealth, refinement, and 
 festive spirit which distinguished them in Britain. 
 
 So loyally attached to the church and state of Eng- 
 land, as well as to its customs, were the gentry of the 
 Old Dominion, that a hundred years ago, the traveler 
 resting at one of their hospitable mansions, might easily 
 imagine himself surrounded by the luxuries of an Eng- 
 lish home. 
 
 On the north bank of the River James, about eighty 
 miles from the sea, Kingwood Hall, the well known and 
 proud seat of the Brandon family, stood in all its glory 
 in the year 1755. The voyager floating on the river, 
 looked with pleasure, as through the foliage of aged trees, 
 he caught sight of the glittering vane which topped the 
 central tower of the mansion ; and as he swept past, be- 
 held with the feelings of longing the massive proportions 
 
 (IT)
 
 18 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 of the pile, from whose clustered chimneys rose the smoke, 
 indicative of good cheer within. The house was placed 
 some thirty feet above the bed of the James, and the 
 natural banks had been shaped into successive terraces, 
 the highest one decorated with a small garden in the 
 formal geometric style, and balustrades of wrought stone, 
 and large vases of the same material. 
 
 The Hall, bearing date of 1670, had been reared by 
 Sir William Brandon, Knight, who emigrated to Vir- 
 ginia, and left behind him a vast entailed estate, now in 
 the possession of his grandson. The house was of brick 
 brought from England ; between the wings rose a square 
 massive tower which, mantled with the ivy's growth of 
 half a century, presented a baronial aspect ; while at lofty 
 height was placed the clock, which in sonorous peals told 
 the hours, as time pursued its round. The gardens com- 
 manded a pleasing view of the river, winding away be- 
 tween its green banks, and as lovely a landscape opened 
 to the view on the other side of the Hall. A lawn of 
 emerald verdure, gently sloped from the house ; the circle 
 bounded by the carriage-drive, was embellished by an 
 equestrian statue of King Charles I., and the luxuriant 
 richness of the turf, afforded parade to several proud 
 peacocks birds which are best fitted for appendages of 
 aristocratic display. In the noble avenue of oaks and 
 elms, and groves of other beautiful trees, the eye de- 
 lighted to linger for a season ; then beyond them marked 
 the blue distant hills, which rose into the western sky, 
 and denoted the margin of the manor. In the middle 
 ground, might be descried flocks of sheep nibbling the 
 tender herbage; or, dashing across the lawn troops of 
 deer, who sought the little brook that ran singing 
 through the forest, over its bed of mossy pebbles. 
 
 The ulterior splendors of Kingwood were worthy of
 
 THE OLD DOMINION. 19 
 
 such a domain. The visitor, entering from the tower, 
 passed through a vestibule into the principal hall, panelled 
 with dark oak, around which rose the stately stairs of 
 solid stone, guarded by a rich carved balustrade ; occu- 
 pying almost as much space as is devoted to the whole 
 of a modern mansion. Large full-length portraits of 
 former Brandons, hung in this hall ; some, of a century 
 back, robed hi quaint but gorgeous dresses, such as they 
 had worn in the presence of their sovereign ; others, clad 
 half in steel, represented an age ere armor fell into total 
 disuse. The platitudes of Kneller, who smothered all 
 expression in his countenances, however celebrated their 
 owners, and buried them in wigs that rose high above 
 the brow, and hung curling down on to the shoulders, 
 were amply redeemed by the graces of Lely's pencil, 
 exhibited in three or four of those delicious female 
 beauties who sparkled hi the court of the second Charles ; 
 and above all, by more than one master-piece of the 
 incomparable Vandyke. Nor were the paintings con- 
 fined to portraiture. Here was a genuine landscape of 
 Salvator's, as wild a scene as ere he " dashed," a mountain 
 cavern whence issued a robber troop, in the light of the 
 redly sinking sun. Here, a drinking bout of some Dutch 
 master, a laughing chorus and ringing glasses ; and here, 
 the purer genius of Ruysdael shone in a woodland scene, 
 the branches of the trees still swayed by the storm, while, 
 through the clouds, the sunlight broke in golden gleams 
 on the swollen brook and waving grain. 
 
 Ample resources lay before the loiterer, the student, 
 or the sportsman. A billiard-room and a tennis-court, 
 attracted lovers of these interesting games ; a noble library 
 offered to intellect its treasury of genius ; and the lounger, 
 who cared neither for books nor in-door sports, had but 
 to walk to the stables, or the kennels, to find a breed of
 
 20 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 horses and dogs unsurpassed by any other estate in the 
 colonies. The entire mansion was furnished in a style 
 uniting splendor with comfort ; and the numerous apart- 
 ments were decorated with many a classic bust, and many 
 an antique cabinet of precious inlay and carving. In one 
 of the lesser rooms, hung a small but choice collection of 
 armor, and weapons of offence, of European and Oriental 
 fabric. Here, prized beyond all, was the sword of Sir 
 William Brandon, who in youth had fought for his king 
 at the battle of Naseby ; here too, must it be confessed ! 
 the spurs which urged his flying steed from the pursuit 
 of Cromwell's troopers, in that memorable defeat. In 
 company with these, glittered the badge of knighthood, 
 pledge of Charles the Second's gratitude to the cavalier, 
 at the Restoration ; and above the mantle, the full-length 
 portrait of Sir William himself, kept guard, as the tutelary 
 genius of Kingwood. 
 
 But we write of glories long departed ; vainly, now, 
 the voyager may search for Kingwood Hall the river 
 and brook still flow on, the blue hills yet lie serene in the 
 landscape but long since ceased the bell to sound, long 
 since fell the tower. Wild, tangled shrubs grow among 
 the shattered walls, the owl hoots from a loophole in the 
 brick-work which still marks the place of a window of 
 the mansion, whence many a bright face had looked out 
 upon the garden ; and of the noble pile, once, perhaps, 
 the first of the ancient dominion, a few mouldering frag- 
 ments stand in sad memorial 
 
 The family at Kingwood consisted of Mr. Richard 
 Brandon, his wife Eleanor, and their only son, Charles 
 Stuart. Of the old Virginia Gentleman, a race said to 
 be well nigh extinct, never on earth was there a prouder 
 specimen than in the person of the Lord of the Manor. 
 He was proud of his family, which was ancient enough,
 
 THE OLD DOMINION. 21 
 
 his pedigree running back far beyond the valorous Sir 
 William, whom he regarded by no means the founder of 
 his line, but as one of its scions favored peculiarly by 
 fortune, in making the name more illustrious than it had 
 ever been before. But, in himself, he worshipped one 
 scarcely less distinguished ; he considered it his due that 
 the neighboring gentry should, without demur, regard 
 him as a superior being. Beneath the rank of gentry, 
 Mr. Brandon did not look; such persons might have 
 opinions, or they might not ; but that they possessed the 
 privilege of comment and criticism on men like him, 
 was an idea not to be tolerated for an instant. He was, 
 in short, an uncompromising aristocrat ; as benighted a 
 being as existed, spite of his belief that the universe was 
 created mainly for King George II., and that the sun, 
 illuming his court with full splendor, mercifully bestowed 
 a few beams on the Western Hemisphere, about the region 
 of Kingwood, leaving the rest of the human family to 
 perpetual gloom. Passionately devoted to heraldry, and 
 regarding it as one of the noblest studies of a gentleman, 
 he often spent hours in poring over musty family rolls 
 and dingy folios, with a view of compiling a genealogy 
 of his own ; a work on which he had been engaged for at 
 least thirty years. He was proud of his blood, his estate, 
 his wife, and his son; prouder of himself than either. 
 Intense as his loyalty might be to the reigning sovereign 
 of Great Britain, his adoration of the dethroned Stuarts 
 far exceeded it. 
 
 King Charles I. was, as Mr. Brandon thought, not 
 only a true saint, but a martyr whose death the whole 
 British nation could never expiate. Therefore every year, 
 on the anniversary of his execution, Kingwood Hall hung 
 morally in black, and its lord humbled himself in spiritual 
 sackcloth and ashes. In memory of the worshipped
 
 22 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 monarch, he had, at immense cost, imported from England 
 the equestrian statue on the lawn ; and his satisfaction 
 would have been complete if historic truth would have 
 sanctioned a recumbent figure of Cromwell beneath the 
 hoofs of the horse. In opinions, Mr. Brandon was a despot. 
 To differ from him was next to high treason ; for, in his 
 own estimation, he was one of the few men not only 
 always exactly right, but who had never made a mistake 
 in his life. He looked his character, being portly, lordly, 
 and pompous. His tall and strong frame had been puffed 
 up by a profusion of roast beef and ale, which he loved 
 because his English ancestors did. His face, ruddy with 
 health and the exercise which hunting gave, was one of 
 good nature itself, beaming with thorough satisfaction 
 of his own importance, and was seldom ruffled unless 
 some one happened to dissent from his views, when a 
 frown, which he imagined to be terrible, gathered upon 
 his brow. On such occasions, a lofty condescension of 
 manner, which forbade argument, became manifest ; 
 which, when his opponent had left him, was changed for 
 a look of supreme contempt, accompanied by a formal 
 elevation of the chin, and such a flourish of his heavy 
 gold-headed stick, as could only be equalled by the pom- 
 posity of a drum-major. 
 
 Yet he was kind and courteous ; a humane, indulgent 
 master to his slaves ; and a loving, generous husband. 
 
 The wife of his bosom was, indeed, worthy of fervent 
 affection. She was as remarkable for sweetness of dis- 
 position, and true dignity of demeanor, as her husband 
 was noted for assumption. A look of goodness and purity 
 beamed from her soft grey eyes, and it was said that no 
 one approached her and remained a few moments in con- 
 versation, without becoming attached to her. Peculiarly 
 pleasing to children, she had the happy art of ruling them
 
 THE OLD DOMINION. 23 
 
 by love ; and, crowded with guests as the mansion often 
 was, when the juveniles assembled she knew how to 
 banish every conflicting interest of rival troops so easily, 
 that their own mothers were taught lessons. But she 
 was no less devoted to the management of her vast estate, 
 than in ministering to the pleasures of her visitors, in 
 social hours. 
 
 Nothing connected with her farm escaped her notice ; 
 nothing was ordered that she did not know; nothing 
 concerning the cattle, the horses, the dairy, the poultry, 
 the flower and vegetable gardens but was duly and daily 
 noted in her book of housewifery. Thus she passed seve- 
 ral hours every morning, not forgetting her visit of good 
 cheer to the cabins of the slaves, to whom she was less a 
 mistress than a friend, and who always looked eagerly to 
 see her come with some nice present for the aged or the 
 sick, to inquire of some new-born infant, or to impart 
 words of hope and consolation to some one on the last 
 stage of earth's journey. 
 
 She was of rich and rare beauty, with a form of luxuri- 
 ous symmetry, which set off the graces of dress in the 
 highest degree. When within doors she appeared to 
 entertain her guests with utmost ease, and with happy 
 tact she always led and changed the conversation at the 
 dinner table, seeing that every one of right bore part in 
 it, and that no one was suffered to monopolize it ; re- 
 warding a brilliant sally with ready repartee, and en- 
 couraging the diffident by a sweet smile of regard. All 
 this was blended with an innocent spirit, and with piety, 
 which unobtrusive, yet leavened her whole character, and 
 shed its light throughout all the household. 
 
 Of the heir of Kingwood we shall say but a few words 
 in this chapter. 
 
 Charles Stuart Brandon was now nineteen years of
 
 24 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 age, and almost the counterpart of his mother in appear- 
 ance. The same elegance of figure distinguished him, 
 only that it was more slender than hers ; the same smile 
 displayed a like quiet love of fun, and the soft grey 
 eyes shone with equal tenderness. 
 
 This strong resemblance had at times rather disturbed 
 Mr. Brandon, who would have preferred his son's features 
 moulded to the type of his ancestors, especially Sir Wil- 
 liam, the beau ideal of chivalry, and whose haughty linea- 
 ments the father thought repeated in his own an opinion 
 shared by no one else. Still, in spite of teasings and 
 tutorings, and his sire's long lectures on the necessity of 
 copying Sir William in all things, in hopes of eventually 
 resembling him, nature would have her way, and refused 
 to Charles other likeness than his mother's. He had been 
 chiefly reared under her tuition, and although his father's 
 aristocratic predilections had had great influence on his 
 son, the mother's good sense had uprooted many a weed 
 in his mind, which folly would have suffered to grow un- 
 checked. 
 
 He had been two years at the Cambridge 'University, 
 where his father had been before him ; the mother's in- 
 fluence had sent him to the Massachusetts colony, in 
 order that a more liberal state of feeling and thinking 
 might direct him than if he remained surrounded by the 
 feudal state of Kingwood. 
 
 Reared as he had been, imbued from his earliest youth 
 with exclusive notions of rank and caste, he was not 
 happy when first transplanted to a sphere in which a 
 different state of society prevailed, and where he was 
 made to feel that his own position was not deferred to as 
 in Virginia. But he soon observed that a stronger stimu- 
 lous nerved ambition, that a wider field opened for dis- 
 tinction, that only talent commanded, and was deferred
 
 THE OLD DOMINION. 25 
 
 to as soon as known, that manly independence character- 
 ized all classes, while in polished circles the elegant graces 
 of life were not less cultivated than in the latitude of his 
 own home. He soon became reconciled and pleased with 
 the change. " Things must have strangely altered since 
 my father's time," he thought. " If the world is not 
 wiser it is older, and I can live no longer as I have all my 
 life, in the age of King Charles the ' First.' 
 2
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CHEISTMAS AT KINGWOOD. 
 
 IT was the happy time of Christmas, and Charles Bran- 
 don was once again at Kingwood, to spend the holidays. 
 From the snowy and frozen regions of the north, 
 where winter reigned supreme, and kindly threw over 
 the earth a mantle, more pure, more delicate, and beauti- 
 ful than the ermine of princes ; gave the hills new shapes 
 of splendor ; changed the forest recesses into the marble 
 pillared isles of Gothic cathedrals ; and, with magic touch 
 transformed every stream and brook, into glittering icy 
 archways, went the youth to the sunny south, bright 
 still as in summer days. Though the trees were stripped 
 of leaves, a soft wind, like the breath of spring, breathed 
 through their branches, the turf was yet green, roses 
 bloomed in the open air beside the house, the James still 
 flowed on, and the little brook still ran through the 
 wood, sweetly singing. 
 
 Christmas at Kingwood was always kept in noble style, 
 and after the fashion of Mr. Brandon's ancestors ; all the 
 gentry of the neighborhood and of Williamsburg were 
 invited, and were generally happy to repair to his hospi- 
 table mansion. 
 
 It was Christmas day, high revel was decreed at the 
 Hall, and the guests were now arriving in rapid succession. 
 As the carriages drove under the gateway of the port- 
 er's lodge, half a mile from the mansion, a group of 
 negroes assembled ther-e, all on the grin of delight, 
 to throw the gate wide open for the approaching vehi- 
 
 (26)
 
 CHRISTMAS AT KINGWOOD. 27 
 
 cles, and then cluster on it like monkeys, for a swing, as 
 it shut to after them. 
 
 Now came a blue chariot, and now a green one, 
 and next, one oi violet color, followed by a modest, 
 dark-lined equipage, which was succeeded in its turn by 
 a superb crimson coach and four bay horses, bearing in 
 the proudest style, almost in regal state, the governor 
 of the realm, Robert Dinwiddie. No matter who came, 
 proud as princes though they might be, a running fire 
 of comment was kept up by the negroes, who agreed 
 that no equipage in the whole number was worthy to 
 be named with mas'r's. They were nearly struck dumb 
 with wonder, at the stylish yellow carriage, looking 
 bright as the sun itself, and drawn on this occasion by six 
 black steeds, dashing fire from their heels, whirled through 
 the portal, with Mr. John Robinson, the speaker of the 
 House of Burgesses, who had been sent for by Mr. Brandon. 
 
 Some of the visitors would not have been much pleased 
 with the remarks of the sable crew, had they heard 
 them. " De lors ! here comes ole Mr. Parchmount," said 
 one; "he's bound to come, certin', say he neber stays 
 home Christmas, fear of his niggers' eatin' too much, 
 neber gives 'em nuffin but corn cake all de year roun. 
 Wonder what for mas'r 'vites him?" And now came 
 another, an open vehicle, drawn by two beautiful dapple 
 grey horses, and in which sat a large, haiighty looking 
 woman, accompanied by a young girl of singularly bril- 
 liant complexion and beauty, who bowed very sweetly to 
 the attendant squad, while the elder took no notice of 
 them, but maintained an unmoved countenance. " Ole 
 Misses Estcourt and young Miss Blanche ; she's one of 
 de hard sort, tell ye now, wouldn't like to say she owned 
 dis nigger," said Jim, the spokesman of the party, who 
 had criticised Mr. Parchmount's domestic economy.
 
 28 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED TEARS AGO. 
 
 "She com'n to live here, tho'," said Tom, another 
 dusky speaker, " de house keeper 'low'd Mas'r Oharles 
 and Miss Blanche git married one of dese days." 
 
 " Oh, you shet up wid your jaw," retorted Jim, " what 
 de debil you know bout it ; tink Mas'r Charles can't do 
 nobetter'n dat?" 
 
 " Reckon I knows, much 'bout it as you does," rejoined 
 Tom, " my 'pinion is " 
 
 " Oh jest shet up wid your 'pinions, or git some un to 
 tote you 'way from here ; your'se allors makin yourself 
 a fool wid your 'pinions. Such a nigger as you is, aint 
 got no right to have no 'pinions. You aint fit to 'sociate 
 no how wid likes 'o us ; you'se wus den seven year itch, 
 you is ; does you eber wash yourself?" 
 
 " Ob course I does," said the enraged Tom, proceeding 
 angrily to vindicate his standing in good society, when a 
 fight might have ensued, had not the door of the porter's 
 lodge opened, and its grey headed occupant appeared 
 whip in hand. 
 
 " Clar out, you niggers," he shouted, cracking the lash at 
 them, " clar out, and lem'me tend de gate alone," and with 
 that off they scampered leaving the next comers unscathed. 
 
 Now the great house was full of company, and in every 
 room the huge fire place was filled with blazing hickory ; 
 the stables were filled to suffocation with neighing steeds ; 
 the outbuildings were merry with a crowd of servants, 
 belonging to the visitors, carousing to their heart's 
 content, and making love to all the young blackeys of the 
 establishment ; the kitchens were all aglow with mighty 
 fires, and the processes of roasting, stewing, baking and 
 boiling; the atmosphere was hazy with the eddies of 
 steam, curling up from hot dishes; cross cooks were 
 perspiring with their tremendous labors, and scolding 
 the servants at a fearful rate, as it was nigh the dinner
 
 CHRISTMAS AT KING WOOD. 29 
 
 hour, for which in the opinion of cooks in general, all 
 other hours have been created. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, fond of company, was now prepared to 
 do the honors of his house, with hearty good will. Arrayed 
 in a style which he thought becoming to the master of 
 such a domain, certainly he presented the look of a high 
 bred gentleman hi the costume of that age. He wore on 
 tin's occasion, a plum colored coat of rich velvet, with 
 large sleeves, embroidered flaps, and huge silver buttons, 
 breeches of the same material, and a waistcoat extravagant- 
 ly long, of bright flowered silk, relieved by a shirt frill of 
 delicate lace ; pearl colored silk stockings fitted into high 
 shoes, clasped with enormous diamond buckles ; and the 
 costume was completed by a well curled and powdered 
 wig, terminated by the nicely ribboned queue. Mr. Bran- 
 don received all his guests with elegant courtesy, put 
 them at ease with a word, and offered to one or the other 
 a pinch of finely scented snuff from a handsome French 
 box, which he prided himself on handling gracefully. His 
 wife was not less distinguished in costume, magnificently 
 attired in a flowing robe of green velvet, jewels sparkled 
 on her white arms and neck, and her serene brow was 
 crowned by a circlet of emeralds. 
 
 A brilliant assembly of talent, wealth, and beauty, was 
 gathered under that hospitable roof; and, while pausing 
 awhile in the library, before seating themselves at the 
 festive board, it may not be amiss to mention the names of 
 a few persons, shining " a hundred years ago," among the 
 proudest and most celebrated of the Virginia aristocracy. 
 That race, reared in all the luxury of an age when the 
 kingly prerogative was as yet undisputed, and the regime 
 of manners partook of the dignity of a court, has passed 
 away forever ; but many tender and beautiful 'associations 
 cling to the memory of that time.
 
 30 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " You are welcome to my house, and a merry Christ- 
 mas may this prove to you, sir," said Mr. Brandon to a 
 fine-looking young man who had just entered. It was 
 George Wythe, subsequently one of the noblest of Vir- 
 ginia's great men, then in the flower of his youth, who 
 had but of late abandoned habits of idleness and dissipa- 
 tion, which had enthralled him to the age of thirty years, 
 when for ever casting aside slothful and pernicious 
 courses, his high abilities, graced by varied accomplish- 
 ments, began to give promise of distinction. 
 
 Immediately beside him figured one, later in life his 
 great rival at the bar and in the House of Burgesses ; this 
 was Edmund Pendleton. He too was young, but already 
 noticed. His slight, well-shaped frame, moved with 
 grace, and those pleased with the expression of his manly, 
 thoughtful face, were more charmed when he spoke, by 
 his fascinating manners, the silvery voice which always 
 characterized him, and the elegant tact of his address. In 
 another part of the room, talking with Mrs. Brandon and 
 her son, stood Peyton Randolph; at that period but 
 thirty-two years of age, but already the king's attorney, 
 a position which he had held from his twenty-fifth year, 
 standing next in dignity to the speaker of the House of 
 Burgesses himself, Mr. John Robinson, who having ar- 
 rived hi the coach and six, now on entering was marked 
 as indeed 
 
 " The observed of all observers." 
 
 Even Mr. Brandon acknowledged a superior in rank, in 
 the speaker. He was the chief subject of the crown 
 in the Old Dominion, the leader of the provincial aris- 
 tocracy, and in influence far more powerful than the gov- 
 ernor of the realm. The " arbiter elegantiarum " of the 
 Virginia nobility, his immense wealth enabled him to sup-
 
 CHRISTMAS AT KINGWOOD. 31 
 
 port his position with becoming grandeur. He was 
 fondly attached to royalty, to the forms and ceremonies 
 of the English government ; but the splendors of state 
 never dazzled his good judgment, nor chilled his warm 
 heart : the rich honored him, and the poor always found 
 in him sure friendship and generous aid. 
 
 " Good day to you, my excellent young friend," said 
 Mr. Robinson, turning to one not less distinguished than 
 any before mentioned, to Richard Henry Lee ; "it is 
 pleasant to meet so many friends in this noble hall. Have 
 you seen aught of Beverly ?" 
 
 "Please you, sir," replied Lee, "we came together, 
 and Wythe, Pendleton, and Randolph accompanied us. 
 Your son is somewhere in the room, but in such a 
 throng ah ! observe him now, in the recess of yonder 
 window; he is well engaged, I fancy, with the beauty 
 who bears away the palm to-day. See, he is with 
 Blanche Estcourt." 
 
 " So I now perceive. Well, let him resist her if he 
 can ; she is, indeed, lovely. You must yourself beware, 
 and do not let me hear that you and Beverly are to call 
 each other out, in sheer jealousy." 
 
 " Oh ! have no fear of me, sir. I love not, although I 
 play the Romeo, and from a distance look upon that 
 beauty which 
 
 " Hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear." 
 
 " A good description, upon my faith. But was Juliet 
 a brunette like Blanche, with her passionate glow in com- 
 plexion ? See those eyes, their light shines even on me, 
 old as I am, like stars in a midsummer night's dream. I 
 too, Master Lee have not forgotten Shakespeare. I must 
 warn Beverly."
 
 32 BEANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " Do so in good time, clear sir, or he is lost. There is 
 no chance for him, though, as I opine, our young host, 
 Charles Brandon, is the knight elect." 
 
 " It is indeed so ! I had imagined that such a connec- 
 tion would accord with the ambitious views of Mistress 
 Mildred Estcourt, but cannot imagine that it would please 
 Mrs. Brandon." 
 
 " Nor do I believe that it ever will. Again, I know 
 that Charles is not in love with her, but think the lady," 
 
 " A little touched, eh ?" 
 
 "As you say, sir. I presume her mother would be 
 anything but acceptable to the Brandons." 
 
 " Or to any body else, I should suppose ; proud, haughty 
 spirit, to me she is insufferable." 
 
 " You are not singular, Mr. Robinson, in your dislike. 
 What strange stories are whispered of her, too ; do you 
 credit them ?" 
 
 " I neither believe them, nor entirely reject them ; but 
 I pay no attention to such things. I make it a rule, Mr. 
 Lee, and as you are a young man, I tell you of it, that it 
 may save you some trouble in life ; it is a rule with me 
 I say, never to give heed to the mere tattle and gossip 
 of company. One who thus busies himself, will soon 
 have little time for more important matters. Many a 
 heartache is saved by one who suffers the points of such 
 Liliputian arrows to fall blunted from the breastplate of 
 indifference." 
 
 " True sir, but Lady Mildred Estcourt's darts are of no 
 Liliputian order ; they rather belong to Brobdignag." 
 
 " Then I should endeavor to avoid her. But indeed, 
 her pride and insolence make her ridiculous! I could 
 scarce forbear laughing, a short time since, when I was 
 looking with her, at Sir William Brandon's portrait. 
 ' The family are proud of it,' said she, ' but what can their
 
 CHRISTMAS AT KINGWOOD. 33 
 
 regard for him, be compared with mine for my illustrious 
 grandsire, Sir Robert Cecil? I have always regretted 
 that I did not make Mr. Estcourt change his name on 
 marrying me. It is a great honor to be connected with 
 a Cecil.' But here comes Mrs. Brandon. She is a lovely 
 mother, and Governor Dinwiddie looks delighted with 
 her." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Lee," said Mrs. Brandon, "you can 
 doubtless help me, and so can Mr. Robinson. His excel- 
 lency and I have had a warm discussion, and I have been 
 defending your friend George Washington. Governor 
 Dinwiddie, I find, will not agree with me, that his cour- 
 age and conduct at Braddock's massacre last July, were 
 entitled to as much regard as I consider his due. I want 
 aid from the colonel's friends, to overpower the gover- 
 nor's scruples." 
 
 "Not fair, madam, not fair," answered Dinwiddie. 
 " I protest against this. How can I possibly accord more 
 to the young hero than I have. Surely I have often told 
 how he won my good will from the first hour I saw him, 
 when he brought me an introductory letter." 
 
 " Then, sir, you should have been more enthusiastic in 
 my house to-day. Remember there is no chill by a 
 Christmas fire, and your stately encomium of my young 
 Achilles, should have been exchanged for glib praise. I 
 shall pardon you, however, if you will promise for the 
 remainder of the day to bestow only the most honied 
 words on any friend I mention." 
 
 "Indeed I will, dear madam," said Dinwiddie, not 
 sorry, perhaps, to escape so easily, for it was whispered 
 that he regarded Washington's rising greatness rather 
 unfavorably. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Lee," continued Mrs. Brandon, " can you 
 tell us aught of the colonel." 
 2*
 
 34 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " Very little, indeed, madam. I have not heard from 
 him for some time ; and, in truth, when I do hear any- 
 thing from him or the army I am filled with pain, as it 
 always renews my bitter disappointment at General 
 Braddock's refusal to allow me a position on his staff. I 
 should then have fought by George's side, and won 
 laurels too." 
 
 " Or more likely been shot as Braddock was," said 
 the governor. " You are much better off here, believe 
 me." 
 
 " Ah, then," said Mrs. Brandon, " I should have had 
 to deplore another dear friend, and this Christmas would 
 have been too sad indeed." 
 
 " Now, Lee," said Speaker Robinson, " I would rather 
 have that said to me than be a field marshal. You 
 must come to the House of Burgesses for your laurels j I 
 will care for you there." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, I mean to go there ; and thank you, 
 madam. It would greatly add to our pleasure if Colonel 
 Washington could be with us to-day." 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Brandon and I hoped until lately that he 
 would. But it seems he has escaped death in the field to 
 ^become a prisoner." 
 
 " A prisoner, madam," said Robinson, " you astound 
 me ! " 
 
 "Only to Love, a jailor who cannot bribed. He is 
 fast in the power of that wicked widow, Martha Custis." 
 
 " Then his doom is sealed ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the lady ; " but come, the dinner waits, 
 and you shall pledge him at the feast. Governor, your 
 hand," and Dinwiddie, with a profound bow, led Mrs. 
 Brandon forth to the banquet, and all the guests followed 
 in due order.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 INSIGHT. 
 
 THE festivities at Kingwood were to continue for 
 several days, and there appeared to be no end to the 
 amusements. Some of the guests rode, some took daily 
 enjoyment in a fox hunt, others played at tennis ball, or 
 lounged in the library, while some made the best of their 
 time in flirtation. Brilliant was the daily dinner, but far 
 more enjoyed the revelry in the evenings. There was 
 dancing, begun solemnly by stately minuets, followed by 
 livelier saltations and fun among the young people, who, 
 ransacking ancient wardrobes, collected costumes in 
 which they played the parts of mummers. Good old 
 games were revived with spirit, and who was not de- 
 lighted to take part in that most delicious chase, whose 
 reward lurked in the sparkle of bright eyes, and was 
 sweet in a kiss under the mistletoe ! 
 
 Dayton, Randolph, Wythe, Lee, Charles Brandon, and 
 others, with some fair assistants, on one of the evenings 
 presented to the company the Masque of Comus. Al- 
 though the performers had but a short time for rehearsal, 
 the guests declared their efforts entirely successful, and 
 the heart of John Milton would doubtless have rejoiced 
 could he have been present. The part of the " Lady " 
 was admirably personified by Blanche Estcourt, who 
 won the rapturous applause of every guest, as her haughty 
 mother perceived with a pride which she could not con- 
 ceal. 
 
 Three gentlemen, seated together, had watched the 
 progress of the masque, and at its close, one of them, 
 (36)
 
 36 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Governor Dinwiddie, turned to Mr. Parchmount the 
 Saving, and observed, 
 
 " I hope this has made you feel better to-night, sir." 
 
 " No, sir, quite the contrary ; I have not yet recovered 
 from the effects of that peacock pie of which I eat so 
 inordinately at dinner on Christmas day." 
 
 "Ah, you are punished," said Speaker Robinson, on 
 the other side of Mr. Parchmount ; " it was wrong in you 
 to destroy so noble a specimen of the cook's skill. Upon 
 my honor I thought, at first, it was a live bird which had 
 just spread its plumage preparatory to strutting the 
 length of the table." 
 
 "How beautiful it was!" sighed out Parchmount. 
 
 " Worthy of the famous Vatel himself," said Dinwiddie. 
 
 " Really ! and had the great authority on the laws of 
 nations, the same fondness I have for peacock pie?" 
 
 " Perhaps so, Mr. Parchmount ; but I was referring to 
 another, a much greater man. I mean the cook to the 
 noble Conde ; he who killed himself hero that he was 
 because the sea-fish which he was to dress for the king's 
 dinner, did not come in time." 
 
 " Oh yes, I now remember ; and do you indeed esteem 
 him the greater man?" said the dry lawyer, to whom 
 the comprehension of a jest was impossible. 
 
 " Decidedly. They worship his memory in France." 
 
 " But I am afraid, Mr. Parchmount," pursued Robinson, 
 not unwilling to have a little fun with one whose economy 
 and obtuseness were proverbial, "I am afraid that you 
 are suffering not only from the peacock, who is now 
 avenged, but that certain large slices of beef lie heavy on 
 your conscience. The governor and I observed that 
 * the baron,' weighing three or four hundred pounds at 
 the commencement of the feast, was much curtailed in 
 proportion before it ended. Did we not, Mr. Dinwiddie ?'
 
 INSIGHT. 37 
 
 " Certainly, we could not help noticing it ; and I par- 
 ticularly remarked, also, that after the boar's head was 
 brought in, and Mr. Brandon had given the ' caput apri 
 defero' in such grand style, that Mr. Parchraount kept a 
 sharp eye on the dish." 
 
 "Then," said the speaker, "it is easy to fathom its 
 disappearance. I looked for a morsel, but it was invisible. 
 And to think, too, of the amount of wassail, the best I 
 have ever tasted, which went to keep company with the 
 boar's head, and the baron, and the peacock ! It is no 
 wonder that Parchmount's memory of all these good 
 things is so active that he cannot sleep." 
 
 "True," returned Dinwiddie, "and the only way in 
 which our friend can repent of his sins, is to keep open 
 house next Christmas, invite us all, and pay the piper. 
 But, to change the subject,; the Gorgon again turns her 
 eyes upon us ; why, I wonder ? " and the governor 
 returned the stare of Mildred Estcourt, seated on the 
 other side of the room. 
 
 "I will inform you," said Parchmount, who bore rail- 
 lery about feasting well enough, but who dreaded a hint 
 that he should entertain in his turn ; " she is looking 
 chiefly at me, knowing that I am a partner of Mi*. Redtape. 
 She hates him cordially, and no doubt imagines that we 
 are talking about her." 
 
 "Why does she hate Mr. Redtape?" asked Speaker 
 Robinson. 
 
 "Oh, you doubtless can imagine," answered Parch- 
 mount. " It is about that everlasting will which Redtape 
 lias hunted for so long; he thinks it will one day be 
 found, and deprive her of her property." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Robinson, " he might as well give 
 up the search; it will never be found ; she has destroyed 
 it, I will warrant. She has had the estate for fourteen
 
 38 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 years ; and, to one like her, such possession is more than 
 nine points of the law. But silence now, here comes her 
 daughter Blanche ; she is about to dance with Charles 
 Brandon." 
 
 Vain would be the enthusiast's hacknied phrases, to 
 describe the loveliness of Blanche ; the dark brown hair, 
 the soul-lit eyes, the luscious lips, the glowing cheek! 
 Away with these. 
 
 Rather tell of some ideal, some impassioned beauty 
 which Spain or Italy alone might body forth in their 
 glorious women, or such as haunt forever the memory of 
 those once fascinated by the creations of Titian. Though 
 her stature was not tall, Blanche's symmetrical figure was 
 moulded to a voluptuous outline ; the full contour of her 
 shoulders and arms contrasted richly with the dark dress 
 she wore, and were enhanced by the gems which burned 
 upon her person. 
 
 Her motions which seemed not obedient to the music 
 but to control its strain, drew the fixed gaze of the as- 
 sembly, and more than one that evening felt assured that 
 she was the destined bride of Charles Brandon, the future 
 queen of Kingwood. 
 
 " Mr. Lee," said Speaker Robinson, " what a splendid 
 creature is Blanche. Why do you not find out in half an 
 hour, as you can, how her heart beats, and love her if she 
 will let you." 
 
 " I have done so, sir, already as I told you before, but 
 excuse me, Mr. Robinson, if I imagine that your anxiety 
 is less on my account, than for Beverly." 
 
 Robinson smiled. "You have made a home thrust, 
 Mr. Lee ; indeed you have found me out. I did feel some 
 interest for my son, as to-day I have seen him less with 
 the lady than usual, and I was fearful that he might have 
 met a rebuff."
 
 INSIGHT. 39 
 
 " Oh do not be alarmed, sir, he never went so far, he 
 is merely amusing himself. Do you not know that a lady 
 at the north, in the Highlands of the New York Colony, 
 is the real one who has bewitched him? But now 
 Blanche is alone, and I will venture to approach her." 
 
 "Bright Miss Estcourt," said the gallant Lee, "do 
 you know how many hearts you have broken this evening, 
 what mischief you have done ?" 
 
 " No, sir, nor do I imagine that I have marred the 
 pleasure of any one. I thought you at least would do me 
 better justice, and give me a name for healing spirits 
 instead of wounding them." 
 
 " I thought only of Charles Brandon, and myself, and 
 judged accordingly." 
 
 " Then be less selfish and think rather more of others. 
 Nobody looks injured that I can see." 
 
 " Charles is disconsolate." 
 
 " Is he ? then I must have been very dull, for I tried my 
 best to please him." 
 
 "How so? Let me be your confidant." 
 
 " I made him happy as you ought to be at this moment, 
 by permitting him to talk to me." 
 
 " But something added would make me happier." 
 
 " What would you have then ?" 
 
 " To profess to make love to you. Come, for a little 
 amusement now." 
 
 " I shall permit no such thing, sir. I prefer sincerity, 
 and he who makes love to me, must be in earnest." 
 
 " Then may I not essay, my dear Miss Estcourt ?" 
 
 " To relieve you at once, Mr. Lee, I must tell you, no ! 
 You are so universal a favorite, that it would be a pity to 
 devote yourself to me, and gain nothing by it." 
 
 " Well, I have not been very serious, have I ?" 
 
 " No, and you have pleased me better than if you had
 
 40 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 been. I did not come to Kingwood, for any serious con- 
 versation, or purpose." 
 
 " Did you not ? I am sure Charles Brandon will regret 
 
 that." 
 
 Blanche slightly colored ; a blush that did not escape 
 Lee's quick eye. 
 
 "Upon rny faith, sir, you are grown bold, and you 
 could scarce speak more plainly if I really felt a deep 
 interest in your friend." 
 
 " Pardon me, Lady Blanche, but I thought to-night 
 during the Masque, when you were seated in the magic 
 chair, that you had changed places with Charles as Comus ; 
 that he was spell-bound and you were the enchantress." 
 
 "Very poetical indeed, but I always punish any one 
 who pays me compliments. Do you see that same chair 
 across the room ? Now go and seat yourself in it, for 
 five minutes, and do not speak a word. Consider it the 
 stool of repentance. I must join my mother." 
 
 Lee, in his own mind, as others did, felt assured that 
 some tender passages had occurred between his friend 
 Charles and Blanche. Both young, rich, handsome, roman- 
 tic, with kindred tastes, why should they not be united ? 
 
 Two reasons had for some time been whispered against 
 such a union ; one, that Blanche's own health would 
 probably forbid her ever marrying at all ; that the glow 
 of her complexion was the fatal hectic tinge foretelling 
 decay, that she was probably destined to follow her father 
 to an early grave. The other, and perhaps more serious 
 reason urged, that no one however rich or powerful, would 
 care to be connected with a woman of Mildred Estcourt's 
 disposition, lovely as her daughter was. There was a 
 nameless something in the mother, which inspired distrust 
 and dread, and such feeling evidently affected the lot of 
 the daughter.
 
 INSIGHT*. 41 
 
 Blanche was now about eighteen years of age, and had 
 lost her father very early in life. She was winning and 
 beloved ; her mother repulsive and hated. Mildred Est- 
 court, " Lady Mildred," as she was generally styled not 
 in her own hearing, was as unlike Blanche in person and 
 disposition as a mother could be. She was of large com- 
 manding figure, erect, haughty, proud in step, with a 
 harsh voice whose every word was law. In her face one 
 read command, high temper, selfish purpose. Conceit, its 
 greatest weakness, was relieved by indomitable energy 
 and remorseless will. From her firm clenched mouth no 
 smile of the soul ever broke, it was altogether mechani- 
 cal; a brow seamed with thought; cold, stony, material 
 eyes, her whole countenance indicated insatiate but baf- 
 fled ambition. Such was this woman, without one reli- 
 gious principle, though an ascetic in speech, a bigot in 
 creed, a Pharisee of the Pharisees, but ruled solely by 
 the dictates of a heart which might have been a com- 
 pound of ice and iron. 
 
 With the pride of Lucifer she dwelt on the stately 
 magnificence of her grandsire, a distinguished statesman 
 in the reigns of Charles II. and his ignominious brother ; 
 but her own father's memory was almost despised, because 
 he had left England, preferring the safety and happiness 
 of life in America to the uncertain favor of princes. 
 
 The great statesman's domestic traits were said to have 
 resembled those of his grand-daughter ; and though his 
 unkindness to his son probably helped to expatriate him, 
 yet Mildred so worshipped him, and imagined all the 
 world must, that she considered nothing due from her 
 to society, no effort to be kind or courteous, but rather 
 that society won a transcendent honor by her slight- 
 est notice of it. She had contrived so singularly and 
 studiedly to offend those best disposed towards her,
 
 42 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 so pertinaciously had she affronted every human being 
 who dared even to assert independence in opinion, 
 that, though still in the prime of life, the name of her 
 enemies was legion. She never hesitated to wreak upon 
 the purest and gentlest, invective and epithets bitter as 
 language contained ; yet, as we have before mentioned, 
 her greatest weakness, conceit, while it caused her to 
 wonder at her own isolation, consoled her with the belief 
 that she was a being of such superior order, as to be be- 
 yond the comprehension of ordinary mortals. But, as 
 years rolled on, she became more and more shunned and 
 detested, her schemes for power, increase of wealth, for a 
 second marriage, failed one by one ; her beauty which 
 she once possessed departed, her brow contracted, and 
 she was left a prey to rage and envy, to unpitied misery, 
 fast settling into despair. 
 
 We have seen her as she drove beneath the gateway, 
 when the aspect of the stately domain broke upon her in 
 all its grandeur. 
 
 "Look, Blanche," she said aloud, then vowed in secret, 
 "this at least I will move heaven and earth to make 
 thine." 
 
 No thought of her daughter's true happiness crossed 
 her scheming brain at that moment ; had Charles Bran- 
 don been a libertine or a sot, the same resolve would 
 have taken fixed possession of her. She . wanted power, 
 could she gain it the real welfare of her daughter 
 (whom indeed she professed to love, and probably did, 
 next to herself,) was of slight moment. She could not 
 mano3uvre, plan, or plot, even for Blanche alone ; she her- 
 self was to be elevated to the pinnacle of greatness ; her 
 own child might be near, but still must be a step beneath 
 her. " With Blanche wedded to Charles," she thought, 
 "I shall soon be the mistress here. I know his easy
 
 INSIGHT. 43 
 
 temper ; he will wear his fetters lightly : his mother's too 
 docile spirit cannot contend with mine, and as to his 
 father but we shall see, we shall see." 
 
 With an art which she could easily command, the Lady 
 Mildred now assumed a sweetness of demeanor truly 
 captivating, which half induced some to think that all 
 the reports they had heard of her were but malicious 
 libels ; yet even here at times her imperious nature broke 
 its bonds. Meanwhile the two innocent subjects of her 
 plans were, with nice tact, thrown frequently together ; 
 the hign-souled romantic Blanche was soon touched Avith 
 tender passion apparent enough to every beholder, and, 
 though Charles was not exclusive in his attentions to her, 
 her voice still sounded sweetest in his ears, nor did her 
 lovely vision leave him even in his dreams.
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 A WARNING. 
 
 THE company departed from Kingwood, and Charles 
 prepared to return at once to the north. Lady Mildred 
 and Blanche lingered latest of the guests, and when they 
 had gone, the great house was left in quiet to^its pro- 
 prietors. 
 
 How the mother and daughter felt in parting from the 
 Brandons, tune will unfold to us ; the last glance which 
 Blanche gave Charles as the carriage moved away, had a 
 deep meaning hi it which Mildred instantly perceived, 
 and it sufficed to keep her absorbed for some time in 
 deep thought. 
 
 Charles watched the retreating chariot until it was no 
 longer visible, and the sound of its wheels had died away, 
 when he walked down to the porter's lodge, vainly hoping 
 to obtain one more glimpse of it. 
 
 At the gateway he encountered an odd specimen of 
 humanity, of whom he asked twenty idle questions con- 
 cerning the carriage, without obtaining much satisfaction. 
 The man he addressed was a long raw-boned lank fellow, 
 a curiosity in his way. His name was Bela Tilley, and 
 he was as perfect a specimen of the universal Yankee, as 
 could be found a hundred years ago. He was a travel- 
 ing character, never remaining very long in any one 
 place. He first came to Virginia as a trader, and con- 
 cluded to stop a while in Williamsburg, and see what 
 was to be seen. Mr. Brandon had encountered him there, 
 and taken a fancy to him, and Bela had been on the 
 estate about a year, liberally paid, doing pretty nearly as 
 
 (44)
 
 A WARNING. 45 
 
 he liked, having contrived to render himself very popular. 
 He hailed from Newport, Rhode Island, where he had a 
 wife and family, whom he professed to be very fond of, 
 though thinking they could do quite as well without him. 
 He gave his reasons frankly when asked concerning his 
 roving disposition, and would say : 
 
 " Wai, yer see, I never was fond o' stickin' to home, 
 and telled my wife so afore I married her. She come 
 from Warwick Neck, had lots o' cousins spotted all over 
 the country, clean down to Pint Judy ; some more on 
 'em over on t'other shore was very fond o' goin' all 
 reound an' stayin a spell along er some on 'em. Wai, I 
 telled her I was fond o' visitin tu, but my idees er forin 
 travel warn't to be bounded no how by Hud Island Col'- 
 ny ; guess I did'nt want to be kep in that are region all 
 my life, bein treated to nothin but cohogs* and leather 
 pies.f My views o' human natur was much more ex-ten- 
 
 * Probably quahaugs. 
 
 t In regard to the edibles which seem to have disgusted Mr. Tilley, 
 the author feels bound to state the following. During several sum- 
 mers in Newport, he had been annoyed as many others were at bathing 
 hours, by crowds of women coming down to the beach to stare at 
 swimmers, when they ought to have been elsewhere. These women 
 collect in Warwick, Bristol, Potowome, and other " Quaker bottoms," 
 and go down to Newport in shoals on the Providence excursion 
 steamboats. Bundling into omnibuses on the dock, they start "right 
 away for the beach," as before told. It is a singular physiological fact 
 that nearly all these women have their front teeth broken out ; the 
 appearance of their mouths is consequently peculiar, and by no means 
 enticing. Wondering at the cause of this singular uniformity, the 
 author was finally relieved by information from a valued friend and 
 poet, who had discovered the reason of it. The dental vacancies, were 
 the result of almost exclusive feeding on leather pies. It is highly 
 gratifying therefore, to find the testimony of Mr. Bela Tilley a hundred 
 years ago, corroborated by one of the enlightened minds of the nine- 
 teenth century.
 
 46 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 sive. So we jest agreed to go an come when we liked, 
 and whar we liked, an Ave've aliens got along prime." 
 
 " Do you think of returning to your family at an early 
 day, Mr. Tilley ?' Charles asked. 
 
 " I calculate not soon, yer see there's nothin for me to 
 du.to home; wife an young un's doin' better nor ef I 
 was, an I'm makin a deal sight more money for 'em here." 
 
 " Then you like Virginia better than Rhode Island ?" 
 
 u Wai, not the country, no, not the country, gev me 
 my own, with su'thin puty smart agin a rainy day, an I'd 
 like to git clean eout er the sight er niggers for one while. 
 But the work here and the eatin' soots my complexshun 
 complete weather ples'nt an not tu much to du. I can 
 sit reound the fire nights, crack butternuts an drink cider ; 
 calculate to fat up this winter." 
 
 Charles turned away, slowly sauntering through the 
 park. He began to feel lonesome, and wished that 
 Blanche had not gone away. He went to the margin of 
 the little brook, which murmured soothingly to his 
 troubles. But he was restless, ill at ease, the landscape 
 he thought dull, the sky gloomy, although the sun shone 
 bright, the wind harsher than it had been an hour before, 
 and even his friend the brook soon appeared indifferent 
 to his sorrows. He looked towards the house, not a 
 creature was seen stirring near it, its lonely look oppressed 
 him ; he went into the garden in front of the hall, it too 
 was sad and deserted. The river affected him more than 
 aught else, for it looked happy, sparkling in the sun 
 beams, and he thought it laughed saucily at his moody 
 fancies. 
 
 He entered the house ; its shadows fell a thousand 
 times darker than ever before ; the harp which Blanche 
 had so endeared, sounded out of tune, and as he sullenly 
 drew his fingers over its chords, one of them suddenly
 
 A WARNING. 47 
 
 snapped. He walked into the library, read a few lines 
 of Dry den, and the book fell from his hands. 
 
 Poor Charles! was he in love, and knew not what 
 troubled him ? No, he could still reason coolly ; he was 
 not in love with Blanche, and yet and yet would that 
 she were back again, and that he was not forced to return 
 to college. 
 
 While seated in the library, his thoughts not of the 
 most pleasant nature, he was roused from his reverie by 
 sounds of approaching footsteps, and looking up he saw 
 his cousin, Randolph Brandon, who yet lingered, being 
 privileged to do so in virtue of his relationship. 
 
 " I was looking for you, Charles, half this morning, 
 and not being able to find you, was obliged, for want of 
 company, to visit Mr. Bela Tilley ; what a queer charac- 
 ter your father picked up in him ! " 
 
 " I dare say Tilley made a more agreeable companion 
 than I do," replied Charles, " especially to day, as I feel 
 in any mood but a pleasant one." 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, I have a headache." 
 
 " Poh ! I know what the trouble is, you are in love, 
 boy." 
 
 " I am not in love," said Charles blushing. 
 
 " Oh, indeed not ! what is that I see in your face ?" 
 
 "But, really Charles," Randolph added, "is it not 
 true?" 
 
 " It is not. I love no one except my mother." 
 
 "But," persisted Randolph, "have you not a tender 
 passion for Blanche Estcourt?" 
 
 " No ! " said Charles emphatically, " I have not. The 
 little I have seen of her, I greatly like ; but I have neither 
 formed nor expressed for her any opinion beyond that of 
 admiration for her beauty to that, I confess."
 
 48 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " And, then, it is not true that you are entirely fas- 
 cinated by her ; in short, that you have told her of your 
 hopes, and plighted your word to her ? " 
 
 " As I live, it is not ! But why are you so anxious 
 about a matter which if determined on, could concern 
 me solely?" 
 
 " It is for that very reason that I am so interested in it, 
 and in you. Thank God my fears are relieved ! Now let 
 me tell you what I think about Blanche. She is charming, 
 and were circumstances different, I should be glad to see 
 her your wife ; but she has a mother of whom you should 
 beware. I don't warn you against her, on account of her 
 manners or temper, of which you can judge yourself; but 
 her ambition has something in it fearful to me, and I fear, 
 reared as you have been, that she would cause you much 
 unhappiness, do what you could to prevent it. Still, that 
 is not my greatest fear ; as a friend, and you know I am 
 one, I wish to warn you against her, on other grounds. 
 Connected with that woman's life, there have been strange 
 and singularly unexplained circumstances, which beget 
 suspicion in me, as they have in others. I do not love 
 mystery, or desire to bewilder you ; but I cannot explain 
 more on the subject, at present, knowing as little as I do. 
 Be advised by me, however ; let not your admiration of 
 Blanche, betray you into hasty love. You are yet very 
 young, have seen little of the world, and can well wait 
 awhile before marrying, especially as you avow your- 
 self heart whole, now." 
 
 Charles promised to exercise due control over himself, 
 but added, " You have now excited my curiosity ; and it 
 is but fair that you tell me what you know of these suspi- 
 cious circumstances attaching to Blanche's mother." 
 
 " I cannot now ; for I may after all, be wrong, but 
 time will prove. Now, to change the subject, I will tell
 
 A WARNING. 49 
 
 you a secret of my own, if not those of others. You must 
 soon go back to college ; I shall accompany you. I am 
 very shortly to be married to a lady in Boston, and you 
 must be one of my attendants. Now, shake off your dull 
 fit, your headache, and I will outplay you in a game of 
 tennis ball." 
 
 Randolph Brandon was some ten years Charles' senior ; 
 he had been left an orphan at an early age, and had lived 
 at Kingwood, chiefly under the care of Mrs. Brandon, 
 whom he loved as if she were his own mother. A large 
 fortune, inherited from his parents, was held in trust for 
 him, until he attained his majority, since which period he 
 had passed much of his time in Europe. He had been 
 received with distinction at foreign courts, had made the 
 acquaintance of many eminent men, among whom he was 
 proud to number Thomas Gray, the poet, and Horace 
 Wai pole. In his wanderings about the colonies, he had 
 visited Boston, and been smitten with the charms of the 
 fair one, whom we shall introduce in due time. 
 
 The cousins were soon prepared for their journey, and 
 according to the fashions of the day with persons of dis- 
 tinction traveled on horseback, attended by black ser- 
 vants. 
 
 At Annapolis they partook of the hospitalities of the 
 place for a day or two, then pursued their way to the north. 
 
 Baltimore, at that time, contained some thirty or forty 
 houses ; Philadelphia, and New York, were by no means 
 large ; and, if these towns made any impression on our 
 sagacious travelers, we fear the world must lose the ben- 
 efit of their views, as none of the notes of their journey 
 have been preserved. 
 
 Without incident worthy of narration, they eventually 
 reached Boston, where Randolph remained, while Charles 
 at once repaired to the university,
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LUCY AND THE KBCLUSE. 
 
 Too long have we left sweet Lucy Tyrrell ; too long 
 to wander alone upon the wild sea shore, and as she 
 beheld ships pass in the distance, visit with them in imagi- 
 nation those remote countries, which she had dreamed 
 and read of. 
 
 Yet she was happy in her little island home ; and when 
 she heard of other lands with but a half-formed wish to 
 quit her own, she would soon check her roving fancies for 
 fear that she had done wrong even to think of leaving 
 her kind parents. But in truth they had anticipated her 
 in thoughts of future plans ; they often asked themselves 
 now, if they were always to remain so far away from the 
 busy world, and although contented with their own situ- 
 ation, they could hardly deem it advantageous to Lucy. 
 
 But as she was beautiful and pure-minded, a dread of 
 her contamination by gayer society troubled them, and 
 made them hesitate to change their habitation. Their 
 doubts, however, were quite unexpectedly terminated. 
 One morning Mr. Tyrrell was surprised by the appear- 
 ance of his cousin Edward, who resided in Boston, and 
 whom he had not seen for twenty-five years. 
 
 The stranger announced his intention of passing a day 
 or two on the island, having visited it expressly to see his 
 cousin. Classmates and chums in college, they had sepa- 
 rated on leaving the halls of alma mater, to enter man- 
 hood under different auspices; one, born to fortune, to 
 embrace public life and pursue a distinguished career in 
 the service of the crown ; the other, poor in purse, though 
 
 (80)
 
 LUCY AND THE RECLUSE. 51 
 
 not the less deserving, to repair to the secluded island 
 and remain in obscurity for a quarter of a century. They 
 were about the same age, and having great similarity of 
 tastes, were much attached to each other. Although they 
 had not met for so long a time, their acquaintance had 
 been kept alive by occasional letters, and the minister's 
 little household was frequently cheered by opportune and 
 generous presents from the richer relative. People who 
 have been separated for twenty-five years find frequently 
 that they have less to say and tell of than they imagined 
 when picturing the anticipated meeting, and even in this 
 instance, the two cousins, pleased as they were, found 
 some trouble in loosening the rust of those long years, 
 before they could confer together as freely as they were 
 wont. 
 
 Soon, however, Edward Tyrrell found his relative's 
 society no less attractive than of old, and was glad for a 
 brief season to surrender himself to the calm enjoyment 
 of freedom and repose, forgetting the cares of state 
 which had borne him down for years. From two days 
 of a purposed sojourn, his stay was lengthened to a week; 
 then day after day passed, and he found nearly a month 
 gone by before he could make up his mind to tear him- 
 self away. His health, impaired by long laboi-, now re- 
 vived ; he enjoyed every moment, and found at the plain 
 board of the manse an appetite which he thought lost 
 forever. 
 
 In his walks by the sea-beach, or among the hills, or his 
 visits to the hamlets, listening to the queer talk of the 
 people, Lucy was ever the light of his life, his companion. 
 He loved her free, frank, artless conversation, its simplicity 
 enlivened by a ceaseless playfulness, yet not without dig- 
 nity ; and, simple islander as she was, no awkward rusticity 
 attached to her manners more than to her motions.
 
 52 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Mr. Tyrrell saw that she had been carefully nurtured, 
 that she was by nature formed to enjoy and grace the 
 highest ranks of life, and he blamed himself that he had 
 not sooner known her, and aided in her education. When 
 she sat with him in the little study, and he drew her un- 
 awares to speak of her father's pursuits, and of her own 
 love of books, without the slightest tinge of pedantry 
 she displayed to him the broad, solid foundation of her 
 understanding and acquirements, and delighted him by 
 speaking of her favorite authors. " Surely," thought he, 
 " my daughter is a good girl, but this one knows a hun- 
 dred times as much of what is really valuable, with com- 
 paratively no advantages, though perhaps she cannot 
 work as fine embroidery, or manage a fan as Matilda does. 
 What else has she studied. Let me see." 
 
 '* You are a good Greek and Latin scholar, Lucy. I 
 am quite surprised." 
 
 " Indeed ! and do you not think that if I love papa, that 
 I ought to try to excel ? He has taught me all I know." 
 
 " And do you understand French or Italian ? " 
 
 " No, sir, papa did not study them in college, and " 
 
 " Neither did I," broke in Mr. Tyrrell. " Well, Lucy, 
 how is it as to music ? " 
 
 " Oh, you will find me very ignorant, I fear. I have no 
 musical instrument, but I sing at times." 
 
 " And dancing ? " 
 
 " No indeed ! " said Lucy, with a little of the Puritan 
 in her look and voice, " how could I, papa never dances ! " 
 
 " Well," replied Mr. Tyrrell, laughing at her serious 
 looks, "neither do I, my pretty cousin, but you shall 
 learn all these if you like ! " 
 
 " But dancing ! " again began Lucy, very dubiously, 
 " papa might not like it ; and dancing alone, oh dear, how 
 dismal that would be ! "
 
 LUCY AND THE RECLUSE. 53 
 
 " Now, Lucy, is it not possible that you could induce 
 one of those young fishermen in a ' souwester ' hat and a 
 pea-jacket to take lessons with you? " 
 
 " It would be impossible, he would be frightened out 
 of his wits ; besides, there is not a young man on the 
 island, even a fisherman." 
 
 " No exception, then, to your father and me," said Mr. 
 Tyrrell ; " come, cousin Lucy, you are too hard. But let 
 me tell you," he added, dropping his jesting tone, " how 
 much I have enjoyed your society. I must, however, 
 now return to Boston, and I hope you will accompany me. 
 You should know your cousin Matilda ; I am sure she 
 will love you as I do. She is soon to be married to a 
 wealthy gentleman from Virginia, Mr. Randolph Bran- 
 don. They have been engaged for some time, and like 
 all other young people now want to be married. It is 
 time for me to return home, and you, I insist upon it, must 
 go with me." 
 
 " I should love to visit Boston and to see cousin Ma- 
 tilda, but I am afraid papa and mamma would never 
 live happily without me." 
 
 " Trust me for that, Lucy. I have already spoken to 
 them, and you have their free consent ; so see if we do 
 not teach you dancing in spite of the Pilgrim Fathers, 
 and find you a handsomer partner than that young son 
 of Neptune in a souwester." 
 
 The delighted Lucy, now that her only objection was 
 removed, soon prepared for her visit. Her small ward- 
 robe was subjected to the closest scrutiny ; every article 
 of hers must be made to look as neat as possible, she not 
 oeing aware that perhaps the first step of her fashionable 
 relations would be to divest her of such simple apparel, for 
 that better suited to the courtly elegance of Boston. It was 
 arranged between the cousins that Lucy's absence from
 
 54 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 home should not be of very brief nature, and the gene- 
 rosity of Edward Tyrrell, who had discovered in her such 
 a charming character, prompted him to offer his house as 
 her home for a season, and the defrayment of all expenses 
 incident to a finished education. The clergyman and his 
 wife gladly consented to this arrangement, though grieved 
 to part with their child, and long were their talks with 
 her, earnest their advice, and many their tears before 
 they separated. 
 
 Lucy, full of the prospect of so much happiness, went 
 from hamlet to hamlet to bid the old people farewell. 
 Though they had sons hi the Pacific Ocean, and husbands 
 in the Arctic seas, they thought a visit to Boston as little 
 less than a journey to the ends of the earth, shaking their 
 heads in dismay when they heard of the time she was to 
 remain absent. 
 
 As she was retracing her steps to the manse, " I had 
 nearly forgotten Rachel," she said, " and as I am the only 
 being on the island whom she professes to care for, except- 
 ing papa and mamma, she would take it ill indeed if I left 
 without saying good bye to her." Turning back, she 
 ascended the hill, and in a few moments reached Rachel's 
 cottage, which was smaller than many of the others, but 
 by no means as poor in appearance as the generality of 
 them. It bore minute but ineffaceable evidence of occu- 
 pancy by one of more refined taste than the village 
 people. The vines were tastefully arranged around the 
 door, and the abode was scrupulously neat. Nor did its 
 interior merely display such rude chattels as at once indi- 
 cated poverty and the fisher's craft, but was furnished 
 plainly, though neatly, as if the tenant were possessed of 
 sufficient means to insure comfort. 
 
 Rachel, for she was known by no other name, was a 
 singular being, and all that the villagers could tell of
 
 LUCY AND THE RECLUSE. 55 
 
 her was, that she had suddenly appeared in the island 
 about nine years before the period of which we write, and, 
 refusing all communication with the inhabitants, had dwelt 
 alone since that tune. 
 
 The most prying curiosity of the village gossips had 
 failed to inform them who Rachel really was, or of her 
 former history. She was evidently of superior culture, 
 but inquisition was baffled by her dignified manner, which 
 repelled intrusion. The clergyman and his wife knew 
 indeed of her previous history, but they had always 
 refused to acquaint Lucy with it. Her father's invariable 
 reply to his child's question was, " Her history is of no 
 consequence to you ; she does not wish it divulged." 
 And when the girl said, as she often did, " Perhaps she is 
 a lady in disguise, papa," his only answer would be, 
 " No matter if she is, have it so if you will." 
 
 With curiosity thus piqued, Lucy had often besought 
 Rachel to tell her her history, but she had always put her 
 off with excuses and promises to do so at some future 
 time. As Lucy grew from childhood, she formed quite 
 an intimacy with the recluse, who became much attached 
 to her, and saw her frequently. The village tattlers, 
 disappointed in not being able to break through Rachel's 
 incognito, set her down, in revenge, perhaps, as insane, 
 while some, more bitter than others, hinted that she was 
 in league with the powers of darkness. 
 
 Strange tales were whispered by these wiseacres, of 
 mysterious vessels that sailed in the dead of night into 
 the harbor, but were gone when morning came, and of 
 figures that left these phantom barks and proceeded to 
 her cottage. Mr. Tyrrell had at first taken the trouble 
 to investigate these matters, but whether he discovered 
 any truth in the reports or not, he always before the 
 people spoke of the gossip about her as sheer nonsense.
 
 56 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Rachel certainly carried no familiarity with the evil one 
 in her looks, and very likely was quite ignorant of such 
 inuendoes. Hers was a lady-like presence ; her counte- 
 nance bore marks of former beauty, and still retained all 
 its sweetness, but it was stamped with the impress of 
 settled sorrow. 
 
 As Lucy entered her cottage, she was seated at the 
 spinning-wheel, which she used occasionally for occupa- 
 tion's sake, though her time was more generally employed 
 in reading. She looked up as the girl's shadow darkened 
 the threshold, and seeing who it was, rose courteously 
 and proffered a chair ; then, without waiting for Lucy to 
 begin the conversation, she said : 
 
 " So, my darling, you are going to leave to-morrow, I 
 hear." 
 
 "How did you learn so, Rachel ; did papa tell you ?" 
 
 " Yes, Lucy ; he was here yesterday, and had a long 
 talk with me." 
 
 " And you were very glad to hear I was going, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " No, my pet, I cannot say that. I was very sorry ; 
 for I believe you would be happier here in the island." 
 
 "My good Rachel, why so?" 
 
 " Oh, I can hardly tell why. I may be wrong ; but I 
 have known so much sadness in my life when I was in the 
 world, that I cannot bear to think of one so young and 
 innocent, and so dear to me as you are, trusting yourself 
 to its deceits ! " 
 
 "Have you been deceived by it, Rachel?" 
 
 "Bitterly, indeed! but do not concern yourself for 
 my griefs." 
 
 "Yes, Rachel, I must feel for you. You have often said 
 that you would tell me the story of your sufferings ; why 
 not narrate them to me now, if not too painful to you ?"
 
 LUCY AND THE RECLUSE. 57 
 
 " No, Lucy, not now. I do not wish you to go away, 
 and bear with you any memory of my sorrows. My story 
 is not, indeed, worth your sympathy." 
 
 "Will you tell me, then, on my return; as you are 
 unwilling to do so now?" 
 
 " Yes, my pretty one ; but tell me now a little more 
 about yourself, and why you are going away." 
 
 " To complete my studies ; and soon to see my cousin 
 Matilda married." 
 
 " Ah, to be married ! your father did not tell me that. 
 Whom does she marry?" 
 
 " A gentleman from the Virginia colony, Mr. Brandon." 
 
 " From Virginia ; Brandon ! Brandon ! " said Rachel, 
 starting suddenly, and looking fixedly at Lucy. 
 
 " Yes, Brandon. But what is the matter, Rachel ? You 
 look alarmed." 
 
 " 'Tis nothing, child ; it only recalled former days. I 
 have heard of the name in Virginia." 
 
 " Were you ever there ? " asked Lucy, surprised in her 
 turn. 
 
 " Yes, and sorry enough that I ever was ; but no mat- 
 ter now. I never knew Mr. Brandon." 
 
 " Then why did you seem so surprised ? " 
 
 " Tell me," said Rachel, without heeding this question, 
 " did your father's cousin, Mr. Tyrrell, ever mention to 
 you the names of any other persons in the Virginia 
 colony?" 
 
 " No, I do not remember that he did." 
 
 " He never spoke of a Mr. Parchmount, did he ? or of 
 
 such a person as" Rachel hesitated, and looked 
 
 steadfastly at Lucy again, "as an Estcourt?" 
 
 "No; why do you ask? What Estcourt, man or 
 woman ? " 
 
 Rachel was silent again, and for a few moments paused 
 3*
 
 58 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 in deep thought ; then, without referring to these topics, 
 said : " Well, Lucy, I hope you will be happy away 
 from home. I was only thinking just then of the deep 
 love I have for you, and imagined that your lot in life 
 would be connected with mine. But this is idle fancy ; 
 and, if I mistake not, you will have no such sorrows." 
 
 In further conversation Lucy spent an hour with 
 Rachel, then said farewell ; and the next morning left 
 the island, in company with Mr. Tyrrell.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LUCY IN BOSTON. 
 
 THE city readied in safety, Mr. Tyrrell and Lucy were 
 whirled in a carriage to the door of his mansion one of 
 those noble, massive residences, with extensive ranges 
 of out-buildings, and large gardens, of which there were 
 once many in Boston. 
 
 She was most kindly met by Mr. Tyrrell's wife, and 
 his daughter Matilda, who was a year or two older than 
 herself; and she soon ceased to feel embarrassed in their 
 presence, for being persons of kind hearts as well as high 
 rank in life, they took pleasure in smoothing over Lucy's 
 little difficulties, and putting her at ease. 
 
 For a simple maiden, she found much to excite wonder ; 
 it was as if she had stepped into an enchanted palace ; all 
 was so rich and splendid. 
 
 She had never dreamed of such pictures ; had never 
 seen before a painting or a statue, not even a good en- 
 graving. The elaborate service of the table, china and 
 plate, the profusion which reigned in the abode, at first 
 bewildered her; but good sense suggested silence, and 
 tact soon supplied the deficiencies of her training. 
 
 She felt more at ease when out of doors, in the gardens ; 
 but even here she was astonished at the rich and varied 
 flowers, the shrubs and vines, and the trees, to her more 
 wonderful than all, there being scarcely one upon the 
 island. 
 
 The little fountain in the midst of the scene, that, from 
 a circular basin, shot its tiny column upward, and waved 
 glittering in the air like a plume of spun glass ; this she 
 
 (59)
 
 60 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 would love to watch it would almost compensate for the 
 waves that beat upon the sands. The town, with its 
 crowded streets and busy hum, its public buildings, its 
 park, its Province House, proud residence of the governors 
 of the commonwealth, now existing only in the pages of 
 Hawthorne; the stronghold of aristocratic and kingly 
 power, now elbowed out of the way, and measured off 
 by the yardstick of pertinacious trade, and sold a bargain ; 
 this, and many other abodes of wealth and style, formed 
 numberless objects of attraction to the unsophisticated 
 Lucy. In her letters to her parents, written whenever 
 she could hear of a packet sailing to the island, she de- 
 scribed with girlish enthusiasm all the wonders that met 
 her gaze; and no young person, such as we read of, 
 going to the vast London to seek fortune, was ever more 
 overwhelmed by its immensity and magnificence, than she 
 by the lesser glories of the town of Boston. 
 
 She soon felt at home with her uncle and aunt, as she 
 called them, desiring to pay more respect than she con- 
 sidered implied by the title of cousin, and listened delighted 
 to the outpoured confessions of the fond Matilda, the time 
 of whose single blessedness drew rapidly to a close. Of 
 course the betrothed, who could only talk of her love, 
 was enchanted to find so willing a listener as Lucy ; and 
 how delightful was it to be made a confidant, to have a 
 thousand little things told her which were of momentous 
 importance, not to be repeated for the world, and only 
 disclosed under the most solemn injunctions of secrecy. 
 
 Then came the endless preparation of the wardrobe ; 
 the search in every shop in the town for this, that, and 
 the other articles of dress ; the quantities of presents that 
 poured in, examined so eagerly. All this was a new 
 revelation to Lucy, all duly noted down, and, the secrets 
 excepted, described in her letters. ]tfr. Tyrrell, once
 
 LUCY IN BOSTON. 61 
 
 more immersed in the cares of the body politic, looked 
 forward every evening with delight to Lucy's society, 
 for now the lovelorn Matilda was allowed a separate nook 
 ki the shade of the curtain, and there she lay perdue. 
 
 Lucy became the pet of the house. Randolph took a 
 great liking to her, and once caused his lady-love a pang 
 of jealousy that lasted full half an hour, and required 
 violent protestations of half an hour more to soothe, be- 
 cause he said if he had seen Lucy sooner, he did not 
 know what might have happened. 
 
 Mr. Tyrrell's promise to her father in regard to her 
 education was not forgotten. Competent masters in 
 music and languages were provided, and with her powers 
 of close application to study and a good mind, she made 
 immediate and rapid progress. She was anxious to excel, 
 both from her own ambition and the pleasure which she 
 knew her advancement would be sure to give her parents. 
 
 Lucy heard Randolph Brandon frequently speak of his 
 cousin Chai-les, and when she had been domiciled for 
 several months at her uncle's, the family sometimes 
 wondered that they had not seen him of late. 
 
 " Mr. Brandon, what can have become of your 
 cousin ?" asked Mr. Tyrrell one day. 
 
 " Indeed I cannot tell, sir. I have sent to Cambridge 
 a dozen times for him, but he pays no heed to my sum- 
 mons. I suppose he is either wrapped up in his studies, 
 or he is too indolent to take the trouble to visit Boston." 
 
 " Surely we can have done nothing to offend him," 
 suggested Mrs. Tyrrell. 
 
 " Whom did you ever offend, lady mine ?" replied her 
 husband, gallantly. 
 
 " Well," said Randolph, " if Charles chooses to act 
 thus and stay away, it is because he does not know what 
 he is losing in you, Lucy ; is it not so ?"
 
 62 BRANDON : OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " I suspect he does, sir, and stays away for that very 
 reason. I am sure I have no objection to his doing so as 
 long as he likes." 
 
 " Ah, Lucy, Lucy, a little piqued I see." 
 
 " Stand firm, my charming cousin," said Mr. Tyrrell, 
 " I perceive I must come to your aid." 
 
 " Oh, no need of it, uncle, I can defend myself very 
 well. Mr. Randolph is the only one who is a little 
 piqued, because I am quite as careless of his admiration 
 as of his cousin's." 
 
 " That is right, Lucy," said Matilda, " I wish I had 
 your mettle to keep Randolph in better order. These 
 cousins are much alike, I think. Charles stays away be- 
 cause I received his advances coolly, and in revenge 
 Randolph tries to desert me and make love to you." 
 
 " He wastes a great deal of tune then." 
 
 " Now spare me," said Randolph, " and we will try to 
 heal all differences. Did you not tell me, Mr. Tyrrell, 
 that Governor Pownall had issued cards for a grand 
 entertainment at the Province House ten days from this 
 time ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did, and we must all be sure to honor the 
 ball." 
 
 " Of course we will, sir. My cousin Charles will be 
 certain to smuggle himself in from the college for it, and 
 then Lucy and Matilda, having a hero apiece, will be 
 appeased." 
 
 " I think of deserting you for Charles," said Matilda. 
 " How is it with you, Lucy ?" 
 
 " Oh, I will permit Mr. Randolph's attentions this time, 
 however unwelcome they may be, and thus repay his 
 cousin for his negligence. But I am quite indifferent to 
 either of them." 
 
 Yes, Lucy was "quite indifferent," but when the
 
 LUCY IN BOSTON. 63 
 
 momentous day came, and she was told that Charles 
 would be sure to be at the mansion in time to accompany 
 the party to the Province House, and that he was ex- 
 pected to be entirely devoted to her, though regarding 
 it as mere raillery, perhaps she lingered a moment or two 
 longer at the mirror, and adjusted with greater care the 
 flowing drapery of her costume. 
 
 Her dress was not to be distinguished from her cousip 
 Matilda's for richness, and she appeared to greater ad 
 vantage from, her superior height and the glowing fresh- 
 ness of her complexion; and although so recently clad in 
 rustic robes, she moved with as much grace and ease, as 
 if bred in the atmosphere of courts. 
 
 The languishing Matilda would have preferred to re- 
 main behind in sweet converse with her adored lover, 
 but her father would hear of no such thing, hinting that 
 the absence of one member of so august a party as his 
 family made, might be construed into nothing less than a 
 premeditated slight to the reigning powers. Proud as 
 he was of his official station, and thoroughly satisfied with 
 his own appearance on this occasion, he could not but be 
 much more delighted with two such beautiful women as 
 his niece and daughter. Randolph, for once differing 
 from Matilda, manifested no intention of remaining be- 
 hind, and the party, having waited in vain for Charles, at 
 length left without him ; anathemas heaped upon his head 
 all the while by his incensed cousin. 
 
 They reached the street hi which the Province House 
 was situated, descended at the gate of the courtyard 
 which then extended before the building, and in a mo- 
 ment more were mixed with the throng that poured into 
 its halls. The size of the palace, as it seemed, the broad 
 staircase, the number and decorations of the rooms, the 
 rich furniture and portraits of famous governors of old,
 
 64 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 the innumerable lights, the exhilarating strains of music, 
 the variety and richness of the ladies' dresses, the military 
 uniforms which glanced here and there ; all these burst 
 on Lucy like a new revelation. She saw numbers of 
 those who bore evident marks of distinction, whom she 
 had before heard of; here a celebrated judge or lawyer, 
 and here some famous general, a chance author, or orator 
 of established reputation ; and some traveler might be 
 seen, who had exhausted the old world and was about to 
 plunge into the wilderness of the new. Matilda, familiar 
 with all these personages, informed Lucy of them while 
 they stood together for a few moments after paying their 
 respects to the mighty governor. As became one of bis 
 official position, Mr. Tyrrell continued in conversation 
 with the magnate, while Randolph had disappeared in the 
 throng with his future mother-in-law. 
 
 "Two lovely daughters of yours, happy Mr. Tyrrell, 
 quite unlike, too ; pardon me, but I have forgotten which 
 is so soon to be married." 
 
 " It is the brunette and the smaller of the two," said 
 Mr. Tyrrell, indicating by a nod ; " but your Excellency 
 has fallen into error. I have but one daughter, the other 
 is my niece." 
 
 " Pardon me," reph'ed the governor, " we public men 
 must make mistakes sometimes ; the niece is it ? divinely 
 fair ; and is she too about to make her lover happy ? " 
 
 " Not quite yet, she has not long been in company ; she 
 is just from out the sea." 
 
 " A pearl of price then in truth she is," said the urbane 
 governor, but not desiring to praise the niece too much 
 at the expense of the daughter, added, " but touching 
 this marriage, tell me when will it be ? " 
 
 " On Wednesday fortnight," said Mr. Tyrrell ; " and I 
 assure you that nothing can add more to our happiness
 
 LUCY IN BOSTON. 65 
 
 than the hope that your Excellency will be disposed to 
 honor us on that occasion with your presence." 
 
 The hope was gratified on the spot, for of course noth- 
 ing could be further from the governor's thoughts, than 
 absence from the ceremony. 
 
 The Tyrrells mingled with the company and passed 
 from room to room. Fond as Matilda's father was of 
 her, he could not but be pleased with the remarks which 
 Lucy's more striking beauty elicited. He introduced to 
 her several of his acquaintances, who, in the course of 
 the evening, spoke to him in rapturous terms of her ap- 
 pearance, and were surprised to learn of the short time 
 she had been in the world of fashion. But Lucy's charm 
 of manner was as natural to her as the graces of her per- 
 son ; it was instantly perceived, as her beauty was no more 
 assumed than the glow in her cheek ; and it would have 
 fascinated one in the lonely island as soon as in the circle 
 of high rank. No one, worldling as he might be, but 
 enjoyed his communion with that innocent spirit. 
 
 As Lucy was seated listening to the music, and watching 
 the mazes of the dance, which to her was a new pleasure, 
 she suddenly missed Mr. Tyrrell and Matilda, who but a 
 moment since had been by her side. She rose to look 
 for them, and on the other 1 side of the room saw the tall 
 form of Randolph Brandon. 
 
 Judging her cousin to be near him, she moved through 
 the throng to join her, and then in a moment more look- 
 ing again, he too had disappeared. Embarrassed by her 
 situation, and not knowing exactly whether to stand still 
 where she was, or move on, she suddenly heard a voice 
 close beside her with an offer to assist her if she was in 
 search of a friend. She turned her head and looked upon 
 the speaker ; he was a tall and finely fonned young per- 
 sonage, scarce of age, if she could judge from the smooth
 
 66 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 roundness of his cheek, with lips about which played a 
 slight smile ; but Lucy was encouraged by the kind and 
 gentle glance he threw upon her from his large, soft, grey 
 eyes. 
 
 She blushed deeply, but recovering in a moment, said 
 that she was looking for a friend, and would be greatly 
 obliged if he could aid her in her search for Mr. Brandon. 
 
 " It will give me the greatest pleasure to do so," said 
 Charles Brandon, for it was he, who had gone to Mr. 
 Tyrrell's house after the family had left it, and following 
 them to the Governor's, had arrived but a few moments 
 before. " It is my cousin Randolph whom you desire to 
 join, and do I not speak aright as I address Miss Lucy 
 Tyrrell ? " 
 
 " I am Miss Tyrrell in Boston, but at home I was only 
 Lucy." 
 
 "And Lucy indeed you must be to me," thought 
 Charles. " Oh, why have I delayed so long to meet you ! 
 Pardon me," he said, " but I almost fear to accost your 
 relatives, I have so neglected ray duty toward them. 
 They must have blamed me." 
 
 " You have been often spoken of, but with kindness 
 only in my presence, sir." 
 
 " I do not merit such mild treatment, but should have 
 been happier had I known you sooner, for you too, then, 
 might have spoken a gentle word." 
 
 " It is pleasant to forgive the repentant, but they must 
 sin no more. But here are our friends with whom you 
 can make your peace. Me you have not yet angered." 
 
 " I never shall," replied Charles, " if frequent meetings 
 ensure friendship," and by Lucy's side he remained for 
 the evening. If his dreams that night were not of her, 
 surely Blanche Estcourt did not claim them. 
 
 The next day, and the next, and the next too, he was
 
 LUCY IN BOSTON. 67 
 
 found attentive in calling at the Tyrrells, and assiduous 
 indeed in seeking opportunities of a quiet half hour with 
 Lucy. He also suddenly took great interest in the ap- 
 proaching ceremony, which he had previously regarded 
 with such indifference, that Randolph was upon the point 
 of declaring that he should bear no part in it. But now 
 he was to serve, and with whom but Lucy. 
 
 Many tunes were the cousins assembled to discuss every 
 item connected with the all-important day; at last it 
 came, radiant as if for the marriage feast of a monarch. 
 
 "What need to say more of it ; of the bride, of her six 
 lovely attendants, Lucy lovelier than all, or of the cere- 
 mony itself, but that it was performed with becoming 
 solemnity in Hollis Street Church. There, tears were 
 rather profusely shed, but were repaid by smiles at home 
 when the bridal banquet followed ; a feast made brilliant 
 by the sparkling wit of the officiating clergyman, the 
 famous pastor Mather Byles.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "LOVE'S DELIGHTFUL STOEY." 
 
 CIIAKLES BRANDON was seated alone in his room, in 
 old Massachusetts Hall, of Harvard College, and with 
 vain efforts tried to fix his attention on the task before 
 him, in preparation for a coming recitation. But his 
 thoughts wandered from the page, and even when appa- 
 rently occupied with watching the sports of his fellow- 
 students on the Green, his gaze was vacant, his mind was 
 busy elsewhere. It was miles away ; it was with Lucy 
 Tyrrell. With the utmost loathing only could he now 
 bind himself to the regular trials of study, which had 
 before been so easy to him ; he read nothing, wrote even 
 to his parents at stated intervals with reluctance, and 
 gave up almost entirely the society of his companions, 
 who could not understand his sudden reserve. He with- 
 drew from their sports and convivial pleasures, to pass 
 hours wandering alone hi the neighboring woods, or by 
 the banks of the River Charles, in poet and lover-like 
 mood. Now, wrapped as he was in thought of one be- 
 loved being, he experienced for the first time the grate- 
 ful sense of solitude to indulge his dreams, and that mor- 
 bid dread of society whose slightest sound jarred upon 
 his spirit. He thought, hoped, feared, lived only for 
 Lucy. From the first hour he had seen her, instinctive 
 passion for her rose within him ; he could not repress or 
 control it ; it overmastered him with its strength ; it 
 swept down every prudential thought of hesitation ; he 
 felt, he knew, that his earthly destiny, be what it might, 
 must be for ever swayed by her. And when fully con- 
 (68)
 
 " LOVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY." 69 
 
 scious of his love, it took such utter possession of him, 
 that he had no power to stay its tide ; he gave himself up 
 to the rapture which entranced him, and unresisting 
 floated on with its current. 
 
 Could he but three short months since have dreamed 
 of one so lovely, he would not have lost by his own folly 
 so many hours of exquisite delight, nor excluded himself 
 from the light of those eyes and the music of that voice. 
 How for an instant could he ever have been beguiled by 
 Blanche Estcourt ; never more was she to be thought or 
 spoken of; he did not love, he had never loved her ; a 
 slight interest, a little tender friendship for her, that was 
 all ; but oh ! how different with Lucy, whose first glance 
 fascinated him, the very light of love streaming from 
 those dark blue eyes ! He thought of the sounds of her 
 voice whose accents slightly trembled as she thanked him 
 for his courtesy on parting, the eloquent thrill in the 
 touch of her fingers, the little flower which, as he be- 
 sought, she drew from her bosom, and gave with a blush 
 which lent a new glory to her beauty. Of these he 
 dreamed by day and by night, and asked himself many a 
 time and oft if what he felt was love, and the heart beat 
 back response, Yes, love ; immortal, eternal love ! He 
 went forth creature of another mould, with no present or 
 future, but in her existence ; no remembered past, but 
 that which dated from the hour they met, a past not fled 
 irrevocably, but in which he lived and loved, and drew, 
 in imagination, to his own breast that one form of loveli- 
 ness. 
 
 And her destiny ! it should be splendid, the thousand 
 ills of life should not vex her; he was rich and noble; a 
 lovelier bride should grace Kingwood than had ever yet 
 trod its halls. 
 
 His fancy, looking far into the future, beheld a glorious
 
 70 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 prospect, nor recked of all the stumbling blocks of earth 
 which lay between. 
 
 But Lucy, so pure, so beautiful, so uncontaminate with 
 the sins of the world, what a treasure was she to be not 
 only to him, but to all his household ; and he pictured 
 many a scene of rapture, many a vision of domestic hap- 
 piness, in which the image of his mother with a beloved 
 daughter took part. His father would regard her with 
 different motives; she would minister to his tastes by 
 personal charms, gratify his pride by the striking elegan- 
 cies Of exterior grace, and though a portionless bride she 
 would enrich Kingwood far beyond the wealth which an- 
 cestral beauty had ever brought to the home of the 
 Brandons. Oh ! golden dreams of love, heavenly visions 
 of anticipation, ye go far to redeem the soul chained 
 down by the fetters of hard life ! 
 
 Young, romantic, and inexperienced, Lucy and her 
 lover for as yet love spoke but in looks were happy in 
 the hours they passed together, and every moment that 
 Charles could steal from his studies was spent with her, 
 in spite of the frowns of grim professors, or even the 
 aAvful warning from President Holyoke. 
 
 They passed unheeded ; what knew they of love ? How 
 different the dull formal tasks at Cambridge, the bare re- 
 citation rooms, from the little quiet curtained parlor ad- 
 joining Mr. Tyrrell's library, where Lucy kept her books 
 and met her teachers ; there he sat beside her, and they 
 studied together. 
 
 Masters one and all declared that such astonishing pro- 
 gress was never made before ; ah ! they little knew for 
 whom, or by whom it was aided. Charles and Lucy read 
 together ; he opened to her the page of history, and, by 
 his earnest enthusiasm, made the dullest fact a thousand 
 years old like a living and glowing reality of the present
 
 " LOVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY." 71 
 
 to her. He read no novels, no romances ; these were in- 
 terdicted. More enchanting to her the story of a heart 
 which she studied daily, still finding it daily of deeper 
 interest. But into the rich realms of English poetry 
 Charles led, and taught her to love all that its fields offer 
 in immortal bloom. He called from the past those 
 iivinest spirits, prophets unheeded oft in their day and 
 generation, men who toiled and were rewarded not in 
 life, who offered to their fellow-men of the precious 
 treasures of thoughts, and were spurned and died in 
 poverty, but whom a later and better age loved to dwell 
 upon, lamenting their cruel fate. The verse of Spenser, 
 indent though it was, but interpreted by Charles, Lucy 
 [earned to love, and to mark the triumphs of the Red 
 Dross Knight, and to tremble for the gentle Una. 
 
 From Shakspeare, as play succeeded play, Charles 
 should repeat descriptions of every noble and bewitching 
 female character ; which he said, might justly apply to 
 Lucy, when she would blush, and declare it was not so. 
 A. master of French and Italian, he loved especially the 
 .angunge of Italy ; and who can wonder that she soon did 
 ;oo, and would say to him, when he came, " here was the 
 joint you set for the end of my lesson ; but see how far 
 [ have gone beyond it ! " Tasso became her favorite, 
 Because his verse was mucli in style and, partly in story, 
 ike her cherished Spenser, and because of the sad reality 
 )f his woes. She read of his prison and his fetters, and of 
 ris hopeless passion for the royal Leonora, whose love for 
 rim was given in return, yet could not bless him. Tears 
 vet her cheeks, as Charles told of having visited the scene 
 )f his triumph and misery, how his memory was hallowed 
 n glorious Italy ; and he spoke of that land, the poet's 
 lome whence many a poet yet shall draw inspiration 
 )f its delicious climate and golden sunset skies; of its
 
 72 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 temples and many massy piles of ruined splendor ; of its 
 paintings and breathing statues ; its lakes, its vineyards, 
 and soaring mountains ; of the exquisite bay which laves 
 the shores of Naples, and he would say, "Oh, Lucy, 
 could we but visit that clime together, your life should 
 pass like a delicious romance ! " And Lucy thought, " It 
 is a romance now." 
 
 Thus their time was spent, and he daily became more in 
 love with the enchanting girl, though he forbore, as yet, 
 to declare his passion, convinced as he was that it was 
 returned. 
 
 There was no rival in the field. Lucy received few 
 visitors, and perhaps the lovers were aided by Mr. Tyr- 
 rell, who saw with delight, the course of affairs ; and who, 
 to Charles' joy, intimated that his fair niece was not yet 
 fairly launched upon the world that she preferred seclu- 
 sion until her studies were finished. Her studies finished ! 
 she found them now so delightful, that if left to her 
 own choice, they would never have been completed. 
 Randolph felt now assured that he need entertain no 
 further fears on Charles' account concerning Blanche, 
 and bid him adieu with a light heart, as the time came 
 for him once more to visit Kingwood. 
 
 Lucy said farewell to him with oft told regrets ; she 
 should lament his absence, having been so happy in his 
 society, and would be glad of his return ; this she ex- 
 pressed naturally and sweetly, yet without the least ap- 
 proach to boldness. Charles could scarce forbear to de- 
 clare his love for her on the instant. 
 
 They parted, and it was her time now to discover how 
 far her feelings exceeded those of friendship, and the use- 
 lessness of any attempt to repress them. Her happiness 
 she knew, was henceforth and forever, bound with his 
 own; she brooded over every pleasure which he had
 
 " LOVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY." 73 
 
 shared, her spirit followed his, and she prayed for his 
 safety. He left Lucy but for a brief season, and returned 
 more than ever anxious to clasp her to his heart as 
 his own. 
 
 His mother had marked the change in him ; how he 
 mused alone for hours, and, for the first time in his life, 
 was desirous of soon parting from her, to return to the 
 north how he shunned company, and beyond all, avoided 
 the least mention of Blanche. 
 
 His father took little or no notice of his altered mood ; 
 for he was now immersed, more than ever, in his genea- 
 logical work, having just reached the scent of something 
 peculiarly mouldy, and consequently of immense value. 
 Mrs. Brandon gradually drew the truth from her son, 
 and gently chiding him for not having sooner informed 
 her, entered into his feelings, and assured him of all her 
 motherly aid and countenance. She could not tell how 
 Lucy would please his father, but she had her fears. 
 
 Charles saw Blanche but once; even then the mere 
 effort of talking to her, proved intolerable. His indiffer- 
 ence caused the poor girl a bitter pang, and she could not 
 account for it. 
 
 But to her mother's keen vision, the cause was appar- 
 ent ; it was a dagger to her breast, and she vowed that, 
 come what might, he should never wed another than her 
 child. She cursed the opportunity that led him again to 
 the north, and the intervening months ere he would 
 return to leave no more. But why should she distress 
 herself; it was but some boyish, silly, witless love, which 
 he dared not speak of to his parents, or she would hear 
 of it. It would soon be forgotten, and then; she 
 clenched her hand, that brow corrugated with dark, stern 
 purpose, the haughty lip curled, and the eye flashed with 
 4
 
 74 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 anticipated triumph. She, Mildred Estcourt, should yet 
 rule him and his, with a rod of iron, and before long ! 
 
 We leave her for the present, and return to Lucy. 
 
 With the same frankness and sincerity which she had 
 manifested on Charles' departure, she now joyfully met 
 him on his return ; but, in a short tune, he observed that 
 she was more quiet and abstracted than he had ever 
 known her before that she was more shy, less eager to 
 avail herself of his teachings. He divined the cause, he 
 now felt assured that she loved as passionately as he 
 did ; to keep silence longer, was in the power of neither. 
 They saw love in each other's glances; it burned for 
 utterance in their words, even their silence was eloquent, 
 when he took her hand in his own, and she did not with- 
 draw it. They entered the garden. It was a summer's 
 night, and a young moon faintly lit the leafy recesses, 
 and gleamed on the little jet, which arose from the marble 
 basin, and threw its spray back upon the waters with 
 a ceaseless plash. Thoy paused near a favorite spot of 
 theirs, decorated by a vase in which bloomed fragrant 
 roses. They saw the tree tops, silvered by the moon, 
 wave against the dark sky; the rustle of the leaves 
 mingled with the voice of falling waters. Charles held 
 Lucy's hand in his ; it felt cold, and she trembled. 
 
 " Do you fear, dear Lucy ?" he asked. 
 
 " No, what should I fear when you are with me !" 
 
 " My own Lucy, I love you. From our first meeting 
 you have been dear to me, and if your heart is mine, let 
 me hear so from your lips." 
 
 Lucy turned her face to his, and looking into his eyes 
 with deep, tender trust, and holy reliance, answered : " I 
 am yours for time and eternity, and from this night you 
 will have my love as fervid and unalterable as ever wo-
 
 "LOVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY." 75 
 
 man gave." As she thus spoke, Charles drew her closer 
 to him, and beneath the ever radiant stars, the altar 
 lamps of God's temple, they vowed their deathless love. 
 And never did heaven witness a purer embrace than the 
 clasp of those two beings, nor a sweeter joy than thrilled 
 on the innocent lips of Lucy Tyrrell.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MISFOETUNB. 
 
 " I AM anxiously waiting to hear from home, my dearest 
 Lucy," said Charles Brandon ; " although I know the 
 news of our engagement could only give my parents the 
 greatest delight." 
 
 " And I am anxious too, Charles, for during the last 
 four days I could not help feeling sad, in spite of myself. 
 I cannot bear to tell of what will seem to you needless 
 fear; but a presentiment has come over me, I cannot 
 shake it off, that our trials are to begin soon." 
 
 " Do not think so, Lucy, chase away your idle fears ; 
 there is no danger, 'tis merely some dream that haunts 
 you." 
 
 " I hope so," and Lucy sighed, but not wishing to pain 
 Charles by her anxiety, she tried to smile again. 
 
 " You tell me your mother looks like you, dear Charles, 
 do you not ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is said so." 
 
 " Then I shall love her." 
 
 " And she will love you, Lucy, and my father will, too. 
 Ours is a beautiful home, and you will gladly see it. 
 Nothing in this colony at all resembles it ;" and Charles 
 gave her a description of Kingwood. 
 
 " It must be beautiful ; how much have I to see and 
 learn. And you, in turn, must come with me to the 
 island. Have you never really beheld the sea ?" 
 
 " No, bright one, but you shall teach me how to view 
 it. You love the ocean ?" 
 
 " Yes, from my very childhood ; come with me and sit 
 (76)
 
 MISFORTUNE. 77 
 
 upon the rocks, I will show you the glories of the waters. 
 You will love to watch the curl of the billows, the blue 
 distant surge, the flashing eddies at your feet ; and listen 
 to the sound of the grating pebbles on the lonely beach." 
 
 " I will, indeed ; and will your parents be glad to see 
 me?" 
 
 Lucy's forebodings again recurred to her, and she was 
 silent. 
 
 For a brief season now, all was ecstasy with the lovers. 
 But their happiness was not fated to endure. Like the 
 sea, of which they spoke, and which from settled stillness 
 rages in an hour ; as the brightest sky is overclouded, 
 and the lightning's flash darts through, so their halcyon 
 calm was soon broken. 
 
 The first ill news came from Charles' mother, to whom 
 he, as well as Randolph had written, detailing a full ac- 
 count of his love, and anticipating nothing in return but 
 the readiest acquiescence. The answer, long delayed by 
 the infrequent post of those days, filled them with dread 
 and sorrow. 
 
 Part of the letter ran thus : " Oh my son, you can scarce 
 imagine the anguish with which I write to you now. I 
 have had sleepless sorrow. You know that I was the 
 partaker of your joys and hopes hi Lucy ; but how much 
 do I blame myself for my imprudence in permitting you 
 to leave us, and your father ignorant of your love. He 
 would doubtless have refused his consent, as he does at 
 present, but your misery would not then have been 
 aggravated by the rupture of bands of affection. But 
 now you must endure the double pangs of exile and re- 
 cantation. I can scarce speak of your father. I have 
 never before seen him so angry ; never dreamed that he 
 could be excited to such a pitch of frenzy. He will dwell 
 upon no other topic. He forbids your love, resolved, as
 
 78 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 he says, that with his countenance you shall never wed 
 a portionless stranger beneath your own rank in life. If 
 you wish to preserve his friendship, you must abandon at 
 once and forever all hopes of Lucy. Else he bids me say 
 he will cast you off for life, and I surely know that he 
 will keep his word. My prayers and tears are all in your 
 behalf, but I cannot prevail with your father. He goes 
 very shortly to the north. I must not counsel you to 
 resist him, but may God help you to change his purpose, 
 as I have failed to." 
 
 Lucy had soon also from her father a long epistle, in 
 which he wrote more harshly than he had ever spoken to 
 her in his life. He blamed her exceedingly for encour- 
 aging the intimacy, and suffering it to proceed to such a 
 length without consulting him. He expressed entire dis- 
 approval of the engagement, and pained her most cruelly 
 by an accusation of duplicity, which her total silence 
 regarding it in numerous letters, led him to impute to 
 her. " Duplicity !" said the poor girl, " that is too hard 
 indeed. I did not tell him, simply because uncle, against 
 ray remonstrances, insisted on doing so himself, saying 
 that he could act for me better than I could." 
 
 Mr. Tyrrell in truth had written, giving a glowing 
 description of Lucy's splendid prospects in life, but it is in 
 vain to conjecture her father's strong repugnance to the 
 tuiion. Perhaps he was influenced by the thought of his 
 daughter's removal from him to the south, or his pride 
 was touched by her silence when she ought to have told 
 him all. 
 
 As soon as her uncle discovered the cause of her sadness 
 he tried to comfort her, told her to dry her tears and all 
 would yet be well ; and the kind old gentleman really 
 thought he could do much, and that the lovers might fear 
 nothing. But they both were filled with sadness, and
 
 MISFORTUNE. 79 
 
 only anticipated disaster, in spite of their efforts to cheer 
 each other. But each assured the other of unalterable 
 affection, and now the strong love of the tender woman 
 manifested itself in a thousand ways to encourage her 
 desponding lover. 
 
 " We are both very young, dear Charles," she would 
 say ; " we shall love each other all the more for our trials ; 
 let us be true to each other, and in time our parents will 
 relent ; heaven will join our hands at last. But fondly as 
 I love you, I could not be yours without the sanction of 
 my father and mother. I could not commit so dreadful a 
 sin." 
 
 Charles told her that he thought as she did now, but 
 that if tune produced no change in his father he should 
 certainly in a few years feel released from his authority, 
 and could she not also be independent ? Lucy mournfully 
 shook her head, but made no reply. 
 
 Her father shortly came, and after long interviews with 
 her and with his cousin Edward, acknowledged that he 
 had been too harsh, and took his daughter fondly to his 
 arms again. He saw Charles too, having much talk with 
 him, ai\d it is more than likely that had everything 
 depended solely on the pastor, the two lovers might 
 eventually have been happily united, although he now 
 withheld his consent. But when Mr. Brandon came, his 
 mood was very different. A short angry note to his son 
 announced his immediate advent, and he proceeded at 
 once to the university being unwilling to stay an hour in 
 Boston. His language too well agreed with Mrs. Brandon's 
 description of it, he would listen to no reason ; the connec- 
 tion must at once be broken off, or he would cast his son 
 from him. It was only after long persuasion, indeed 
 threats from Charles not to return at all to Virginia, unless 
 he altered his tone, that he consented to see even Lucy's
 
 80 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 relatives, he positively refusing to meet her upon any 
 terms. But the meetings which took place accordingly 
 were productive of no good. He first saw Randolph and 
 rated him severely, being scarce less angry with him 
 than with Charles. 
 
 He accused him of betraying the interests of his son, 
 by leading him into marriage with an inferior, and also of 
 abusing the hospitality of his house. 
 
 "I have abused the hospitality of no man's house," 
 replied the fiery nephew, " but I have favored Charles' 
 intimacy with Lucy, and am proud to have done so. She 
 is one of the sweetest ladies that ever breathed, worthy 
 indeed of my cousin, and at any moment your equal." 
 
 " Equal, sir ! equal, do you mean to say, to the blood of 
 the ancient Brandons ?" 
 
 " The ancient Brandons ! let them rest in their graves. 
 Equal to them, yes ; superior to any of those beauties at 
 Kingwood ; some few of whom at least were more 
 celebrated for fine eyes than virtue. Are we to love and 
 marry only to please dead aristocrats ? What is your 
 wish, a princess for your son ? Act the part of a man of 
 sense, and see Lucy Tyrrell before pursuing the cruel 
 course you are about to, of ruining the happiness of 
 Charles." 
 
 " No, Randolph, I will not see her, but I will speak to 
 your wife." 
 
 " You shall not do so, sir, as long as you conduct your- 
 self thus ; she loves her cousin, whom she at least con- 
 siders her equal, and any insult to Lucy is shared by 
 Matilda. I shall neither permit you to see her now, nor 
 in Virginia, whither we go shortly. Have you already 
 resolved on whom Charles shall be made to bestow his 
 hand ? " 
 
 " I have, some time since."
 
 MISFORTUNE. 81 
 
 " Who is she ? " 
 
 " You probably know already, it is Blanche Estcourt ; 
 she is the one appointed for Charles." 
 
 " I thought as much ; now listen to me, uncle. If your 
 son Charles, forgetting the love he bears to Lucy Tyrrell, 
 who is so worthy of it, should ever consent to marry the 
 daughter of that vile Mildred Estcourt, he will prove a 
 fool as well as deceiver, and I will cast him off forever. 
 But he does not love Blanche ; he cannot consent ; and 
 if he is resolved to resist your will in regard to her, he 
 will have all aid from me, and never shall be forced into 
 such a connection. Little does her mother know, more 
 than you do, why I am thus determined. Mildred Est- 
 court is steeped to the lips in crime, but her evil deeds 
 will not forever remain veiled from the public eye. Rave 
 as you will, sir, Charles shall not marry Blanche," and so 
 saying, Randolph left Mr. Brandon, in what frame of mind 
 may be better imagined than described. 
 
 Nor did he derive more satisfaction from his interview 
 with Matilda's father. The meeting was short, stormy, 
 and purposeless ; and Mr. Tyrrell congratulated Randolph 
 on having for an uncle the most preposterous, obstinate 
 old fool that he had ever seen in his life. 
 
 Lucy's father was even more justly incensed with his 
 behavior. 
 
 " Sir," said the haughty southron, " my son may marry 
 your daughter if he pleases; but if he dares do it he is no 
 longer a son of mine." 
 
 Kindling with just indignation, Mr. Tyrrell returned, 
 " When your son, sir, has my permission to aspire to the 
 hand of my daughter, it will be quite time to refuse'your 
 consent. Until then you can spare the expression of 
 your edict, and there will be no further conference be- 
 tween us." 
 
 4*
 
 82 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 No entreaties availed from Charles or Lucy ; the angry 
 sires were inexorable, and indulging their own resentful 
 feelings, appeared to forget the happiness of their chil- 
 dren. 
 
 But there was one meeting for which Mr. Brandon was 
 quite unprepared. Lucy had heard of some of his ex- 
 pressions regarding her plebeian rank, and her desire of 
 alliance with his son, from ambitious motives. "Without 
 informing any one of her plan, she resolved to confront 
 him. He came to the house for some purpose, and while 
 seated alone, was surprised by the appearance of a tall, 
 elegant looking young lady, who suddenly stood before 
 him, pale, but perfectly composed, with eyes that looked 
 disdain. Her lips quivered for an instant, then she said 
 haughtily : 
 
 "You are Mr. Brandon of Kingwood. My name is 
 Lucy Tyrrell. In me you behold the woman of whom 
 you have spoken with coarse, brutal invective ; did you 
 dream that I was to hear of it tamely without daring to 
 resent it ? I am humble and poor, but thanks to kind 
 heaven, not dependent for bread on you. Fear not that 
 I should ever cross your path again ; look upon me for the 
 first ail*! last time ; do I appear like one who would fawn 
 for your favors ? Were you the lord of twenty manors 
 like your own, and all at your disposal, you would wait 
 long before I would accept the gift of one poor acre. 
 Your broad lands have as little value in my estimation as 
 your proud pedigree ; yours may be the blood of nobles, 
 but mine would curdle in my veins before I could stoop 
 to dishonor. And now you have seen me whom you so 
 despised ; remember the meeting, and that I would not 
 permit one syllable from you in reply." 
 
 She withdrew her gaze and was passing from the room. 
 "Stay a moment," he exclaimed, while rising. She turned,
 
 MISFORTUNE. 83 
 
 waved him off with an imperious gesture, and giving him 
 one look of contempt, silently retired. 
 
 Mr. Brandon was indeed astounded ; he had thought 
 Lucy a rustic, an awkward, bashful child, and he had been 
 completely awed by this lofty beauty. Perhaps if he 
 had seen more of her, and in a different mood, he might 
 have thought her better fitted to grace the Brandon 
 family. But she had so completely and scornfully repelled 
 him, so utterly overborne him with contempt, that it was 
 long before he ceased to feel the effects of her stinging 
 words. He took comfort, however, finally, knowing that 
 he should see no more of her, and hoping that his son 
 would soon forget his passion. 
 
 Lucy was now to return to the island with her father. 
 She would permit Charles to be bound by no actual en- 
 gagement, but exchanged with him some golden tokens of 
 remembrance, and each solemnly promised to be true to the 
 other. The long and sad farewell was spoken, and with an 
 aching heart, Charles accompanied Lucy to the packet in 
 which she was to sail for home, her father making no 
 objection to this act. The wind was fair, the canvas 
 spread, and Lucy leaned over the vessel's side, giving 
 him her last look of unutterable tenderness. The bark 
 moved on, bearing its p*recious freight far from him she 
 loved ; and Charles stood watching the receding sail until 
 its faintest trace was lost in the waters.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A MEETING AND A LETTER. 
 
 A FEW weeks after Lucy's departure, Charles' career 
 at the college was ended. He felt no interest in the 
 exercises of commencement day, or the part he performed 
 in them, for Lucy was not present to listen and smile 
 upon him. 
 
 With a heavy heart he made his arrangements for 
 returning to Virginia. For the last time he strolled along 
 the avenue where he had frequently walked before, enjoy- 
 ing happy thoughts. He now passed a house which he 
 had always remarked as one of the largest and most ele- 
 gant in Cambridge. This noble mansion was of square 
 proportions, and, standing back some distance from the 
 street, was elevated above two or three successive terraces, 
 which were planted with trees and shrubbery. 
 
 It was evidently the home of some rich personage ; and 
 its owner, Mr. Lascelles, had the reputation of wealth 
 without refinement, and of fondness for coarse convivial 
 pleasures. As Charles paused before the gate of the en- 
 closure, the door of the house opened, and Mr. Lascelles 
 himself came forth, equipped in long boots for riding, and 
 ready to mount a fine horse which stood saddled for him. 
 Brandon felt only aversion for Lascelles ; he did not knoAV 
 him, had never spoken to him in his life, but had taken a 
 dislike to his appearance from the first time of seeing him. 
 Lascelles was but a few years older than he was ; but the 
 haughty manner in which he always conducted himself 
 towards the students of the university, had doubtless been 
 felt by the sensitive, proud Virginian. The horseman 
 
 (84)
 
 A MEETING AND A LETTER. 85 
 
 now came on, swinging a light whip and humming a tune, 
 while a look of mingled hauteur and insolence (or what 
 Charles conceived to be such,) appeared on his face, which 
 apparently intimated, " Get out of my way ! " 
 
 Very probably Mr. Lascelles had no such intention, and 
 was ignorant of the construction put upon his demeanor ; 
 but Charles, although he had no reason to quarrel, long 
 retained a disagreeable impression of him which he could 
 not account for. Such superstitions may be " trifles light 
 as air," but at times we do meet persons with whom we 
 link associations of the most unpleasant nature, as if they 
 were fated to exert evil influence upon us. 
 
 On leaving college, Charles addressed a letter to one 
 of his classmates, whom he had intrusted with a knowl- 
 edge of his love affairs. It was written a few days after 
 Lucy had gone. We have seen this letter ; its style is 
 old-fashioned now, but we give it exactly as it reads : 
 
 " Lucy went last week. I knew not how much I loved, 
 and was beloved by, that dear girl, until we parted. 
 Considering the parity of our fortunes, and the spirit of 
 our parents, prudence forbid an union; and I urged 
 every argument to convince my sweet friend of the abso- 
 lute necessity of separation, though at the very moment 
 the bare idea was pain, was torture inexpressible. She is 
 a most amiable creature, and I am convinced if either of 
 us possessed a competence, both might be happy. 
 
 " We parted with mutual professions of the most deli- 
 cate esteem, without any actual engagements, or expec- 
 tations of seeing each other again; but time shall not 
 efface the deep impressions love hath made. Adieu, 
 Lucy! 
 
 " I never felt the weighty curse of poverty until now. 
 A little wealth might have bought my felicity, might
 
 86 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 have secured the happiness of two too-fond friends. But 
 cruel necessity obliged me to tear myself from her ; with 
 this aggravation to my wretchedness, that my generous 
 girl must also suffer the pangs of separation." 
 
 Thus Charles Brandon had, in less than one year, 
 learned what it was to love, and to be miserable I
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 KANDOLPH'S HOME. 
 
 THE family at Kingwood were again assembled, as in 
 former days. Charles was once more at home, with no 
 prospect of speedily revisiting the north. Nothing bright 
 surrounded him; he was a prey to discontent, and the 
 misery of requited but hopeless love. He poured out to 
 his mother the whole history of his unfortunate passion ; 
 he found relief in so doing, and consolation in her sym- 
 pathies. She urged him not to abandon hope, to act the 
 part of a kind and affectionate son, and that his father 
 must eventually change his views. 
 
 " At all events, Charles, you would consent to no other 
 union, one which you know would cause me unhappi- 
 ness?" 
 
 Charles easily understood that her meaning referred to 
 Blanche, and he eagerly assured her that she need have 
 no fears. Fate might forever prevent him from marriage 
 with the woman he loved ; but he would never be forced 
 into a connection repugnant to his principles, even to 
 please the best father in the world. 
 
 Mrs. Brandon heard this with secret joy ; for she had 
 feared that Charles might in time be induced to look 
 upon Blanche with favor, and then there could be no bar 
 to their union. 
 
 The father, now that he had secured his son once more 
 safely under his own eye, was disposed, for a time at 
 least, to allow him liberty; he suffered him to pass his 
 days after his own desire; did not hint to him to seek 
 society ; nor did he once introduce the name of Blanche 
 
 (8T)
 
 88 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Estcourt. Time, he thought, would be the best disposer 
 of events ; before long his son's grief would be dissipated, 
 he would again become pleased with the glitter of the 
 world, and then a favorable opportunity would occur for 
 consummating his project. 
 
 Mr. Brandon was not altogether ruled by the insane 
 purpose of making his son think and act as he himself 
 did; he had no such tyrannical motive, but, what he 
 deemed Charles' real good, at heart; and with a rich, 
 loving, and beautiful wife, as Blanche would prove, 
 thought he could not fail to be happy. 
 
 He loved his son ; was proud of his appearance and 
 talents. What he did, harsh as it really was, was dictated 
 only by mistaken pride, and a false estimate of the hap- 
 piness of his heir. 
 
 Thus some fathers judged a hundred years ago, as some 
 do even at the present day. 
 
 Randolph Brandon had come with his lovely bride to 
 Virginia ; but, incensed as he was with his uncle, refused 
 to visit Kingwood, although urged to do so by Mrs. 
 Brandon, who greeted Matilda most cordially in Williams- 
 burg. He settled on an estate of his own, half a day's 
 journey from Kingwood ; and, blessed with an affectionate 
 wife and an independent fortune, thoroughly tired of 
 roaming, and not ambitious of political preferment in the 
 colony, he was naturally fitted for the quiet enjoyments 
 of home. A few months after his marriage, one might 
 have imagined him a husband of ten years, such de-light 
 did his own fireside afford him. 
 
 Charles, finding it impossible to shake off his melan- 
 choly, determined to accept Randolph's invitation to visit 
 him; and, although change of scene brought notennini- 
 tion to his wretchedness, it was soothed in some degree 
 by the kindness of Matilda. How pleasing he thought
 
 RANDOLPH'S HOME. 89 
 
 the change which had so soon taken place in her. Before 
 marrying he had considered her rather uninteresting and 
 indolent, if not at times silly ; but now she was trans- 
 formed into an active, sweet-tempered, fascinating little 
 housewife. She was anxious to do every thing which 
 could contribute to the charms of her household, and was 
 also much advanced in mental power from contact with 
 her high-souled and lofty, but kind, indulgent husband. 
 
 "If Matilda is thus improved by marriage," he 
 thought, " oh ! what would dear Lucy be, who is by na- 
 ture so superior." 
 
 Matilda said nothing to him about his love affairs ; she 
 thought it best to let him brood over those sacred subjects 
 in silence, but she adopted a hundred kind winning ways 
 of diverting his thoughts from melancholy. She would 
 sometimes say 
 
 " Come, cousin, Randolph has to leave home to-day, and 
 I expect you to help me greatly in his absence ;" or at 
 another time, "It is a fine day, cousin, and as I have 
 nothing to do just now, you must drive me in the park ;" 
 or again, " Though I am married, I must not give up all 
 my accomplishments, and you must now instruct me for 
 an hour in drawing, as you promised." Then her pretty 
 black eyes would sparkle, and she would thank him for 
 his kindness so sweetly, that she almost made him forget 
 his misery. 
 
 He often busied himself in gazing at her when she did 
 not observe him, marking any slight look or motion 
 which reminded him of Lucy. He read much to her as 
 he Avas wont to his beloved, and dwelt upon those scenes 
 and passages in the poets, endeared to him by Lucy's 
 love of them. Matilda, with a woman's tact, fancying 
 that he took delight in these because her cousin did, 
 would frequently urge him to read some piece that he
 
 90 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 suggested, being sure that it was a former favorite. She 
 was an accomplished musician for that day, and made his 
 evenings pass more cheerfully by playing for him upon 
 her harpsichord, accompanying its measure by her de- 
 lightful voice. 
 
 She thought the cloud was gradually lifting from his 
 mind, and she urged Randolph to induce him to stay 
 with them as long as he could conveniently absent him- 
 self from Kingwood. Randolph's care led Charles more 
 to out-of-door exercise, which he judged far better for his 
 health than brooding hi solitary thought over one fatal 
 passion. He often endeavored to enliven his charge by 
 making him join in a deer-hunt, which in those days 
 afforded better sport than can be had now, and many a 
 fat buck was the reward of their sharp rifle practice. 
 
 Randolph's mansion was especially delightful to Charles, 
 for he heard no syllable of Blanche, and saw nothing of 
 her mother as he did at home ; for that maneuvering lady 
 was in the habit of making friendly calls upon Mrs. 
 Brandon, with kind inquiries for her health ; but her visits 
 were in reality meant for the son. She had not paid her 
 respects to Matilda on her arrival in Virginia, being de- 
 termined to see no more of Randolph, whose ill will she 
 returned with cordial hate ; but when she learned that 
 Charles was staying at his house, she suddenly recollected 
 her duty, and went with a thousand apologies for delay, 
 and the warmest welcome to the bride. Her advances 
 were coolly received, her visit unnoticed, and on her next 
 meeting with Randolph in Williamsburg, his profound 
 bow was returned by a dead stare which only caused the 
 imperturbable gentleman to rejoice that his wife would 
 not again be annoyed by her attentions. 
 
 Randolph, on one occasion, asked Charles if ho had 
 written to Lucy since he parted from her. Yes, he
 
 RANDOLPH'S HOME. 91 
 
 had several times, but without any reply, and as sufficient 
 time must have elapsed for her answer to reach him, he 
 knew not what to think. He felt despondent, and had 
 despatched another letter, in which he begged her to let 
 him hear from her, if it was but a word. 
 
 " How were those letters sent ?" asked Randolph. " In 
 the usual manner from Kingwood to Williamsburg, 
 thence to go northward by post." 
 
 " So I supposed ; are you sure, however, that your fa- 
 ther has not detained them ?" 
 
 " He could not have done so, I provided against such 
 a contingency, and always sent them by special messen- 
 ger to the capital ; it is impossible that he could ever 
 have seen one of them." 
 
 " I am glad to hear so ; now do you imagine that they 
 could have fallen into wrong hands in Williamsburg ?" 
 
 " Of course not ; no one there could secrete them, and 
 they would be forwarded with other documents ; but our 
 system of posts is wretched, and my letters may have lain 
 idle in the office." 
 
 " The system is, indeed, poor enough, but will not be 
 improved until we have a great increase of population. 
 Do this, however ; give me the next letter you write, and 
 I will see that it goes forward in proper time." 
 
 It was true, indeed, that the previous letters had not 
 gone to their proper destination, but this was no fault of 
 the government officials. 
 
 The busy Lady Mildred Estcourt, during one of her visits 
 to Kingwood, by professing great interest in Charles' case 
 had induced his father to tell the whole story of his love ; 
 when, naturally concluding that he would write to Lucy, 
 she determined to intercept the correspondence if possi- 
 ble. By a keen search she discovered Charles' messen- 
 ger, and, making him some small present, told him to be
 
 92 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 sure to come to her whenever he brought letters from 
 Kingwood, as she always desired to write at the same 
 time to some of the same persons. The poor negro, sus- 
 pecting nothing, promised and obeyed ; thus twice when 
 the black waited upon her, had she abstracted Charles' 
 letters, giving him in their place for deposit in the office, 
 a package whose direction was to Lucy, but whose con- 
 tents were blank.
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 THE MEETING WITH A GREAT MAN. 
 
 RANDOLPH was anxious not only to reinvigorate 
 Charles' bodily health, but to strengthen his intellectual 
 power. He saw that he was too prone to dreams and 
 reverie, and that if he much longer indulged in such 
 tastes he would become quite unfitted for real life. 
 
 He fell into conversation with him one day on the sub- 
 ject of mankind in general, and followed up his remarks 
 by sketches of individual character, especially of those 
 who had at one time been borne down by a weight of 
 domestic affliction or extraordinary reverses of fortune, 
 but who, by perseverance and dogged industry, had risen 
 at last triumphant. 
 
 "There is a young man, my dear cousin Charles," 
 said he, " living in the neighboring county of Hanover, 
 with whom I have become lately acquainted, and whom 
 I consider a most remarkable example of talent which has 
 mastered misfortune. He has overcome vast difficulties, 
 and by almost superhuman efforts placed himself in a 
 position of recognized merit and independence. His 
 name is Patrick Henry, and you may be sure that he 
 will one day be eminent, and that his words will have 
 weight in the counsels of our country. If agreeable to 
 you, we will ride over to Hanover Court House, and see 
 him, as I understand he is there at present." 
 
 I will gladly do so, but tell me more about him." 
 " He is yet very young, but already has a wife and 
 children to support. He was for a long time supposed 
 to be incorrigibly idle and careless ; he was twice en- 
 
 (98)
 
 94 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 gaged in trade in which he made two signal failures, 
 reducing himself and family almost to beggary, and he 
 also tried farming with no better success. His friends 
 became worn out with his continued ill luck, insisting 
 that he was fit for nothing but to hunt, and fish, and play 
 the violin, and hang around a tavern, listening to the 
 gossip of any loiterers that chanced to enter. They had 
 no hopes either of his perseverance or talents, when he 
 suddenly determined to become a lawyer ; yet, strange 
 to say that, with very short study he has achieved 
 wonderful success. He is formed by nature peculiarly for 
 law, or rather for a wondrous and almost intuitive power of 
 seizing upon the strong points, the great facts of cases, 
 and presenting them in language of irresistible eloquence. 
 Of law as a science he has as yet but little knowledge. 
 He has lately made himself prominent in the great cause 
 of which you have doubtless heard, namely, the revenues 
 of the clergy derived from the impost on tobacco. He 
 took the strongest ground against the holy fathers, and 
 his speech is said by those who have heard it to have 
 done him immortal honor.* I became accidentally ac- 
 quainted with him, and desire you to know him, because 
 I think he would exert an influence on you of the best 
 character, and also for one or two private reasons of my 
 own, which I will not now unfold to you." 
 
 Charles assented, and shortly afterwards, in the after- 
 noon of a pleasant day, the cousins found themselves at 
 Hanover Court House, and, drawing near the tavern, 
 heard the sound of a fiddle, accompanied by the noise of 
 shuffling feet, and now and then a loud laugh. 
 
 * This is an anachronism. Patrick Henry did not make this speech 
 until several years after this period (1755-6), but, for the purposes of 
 the story, the author has taken a poetic, or rather chronologic, license.
 
 THE MEETING WITH A GREAT MAN. 95 
 
 " Some fun is going on," said Randolph, " let us see 
 what it is." 
 
 They approached and threw open the door leading 
 into the bar-room of the tavern, and in a moment more 
 found themselves in the midst of the jolly company from 
 whom the noise proceeded. Some dozen or twenty stout 
 fellows, mostly farmers in appearance, mixed with several 
 indubitable specimens of the tavern lounger, were busily 
 occupied dancing with all their might to the sound of a 
 fiddle. 
 
 It was played in a lively jig, and with considerable 
 skill, by a tall, raw-boned young countryman, mounted 
 on the top of a barrel in one corner of the room, whence 
 he could overlook the whole crowd beneath him. Though 
 obliged to work his arm hard for their entertainment, he 
 entered into the fun with full zest, and now and then 
 stamping on the head of his barrel, would play with 
 renewed vigor, shouting at the same time, " Come, boys, 
 that's not half fast enough ; I can tire you all out and do 
 twice as much at a time in the bargain." 
 
 Then suiting the action to the word, he fiddled with 
 such amazing velocity, and with his feet beat such a tattoo 
 and double shuffle on the end of his barrel, that it rocked 
 again, set the dancers into roars of laughter, and these 
 soon raised such a cloud of dust that it was almost 
 blinding. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Brandon, are you there," said he catching 
 sight of Randolph and his cousin ; " glad to see you ; will 
 come down in a few minutes." 
 
 " Who is that man ?" asked Charles. What does all 
 this mean ? I thought we were coming to see Patrick 
 Henry." 
 
 " So we have come to see him," replied Randolph 
 laughing. That is he."
 
 96 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " "What ! you do not mean to say that that clownish- 
 looking fellow in the corner, jerking away at that fiddle, 
 is the great man you have told me of?" 
 
 " Certainly I do. Remember Ulysses' bow was some- 
 times unstrung." 
 
 " That was not a fiddle bow." 
 
 " How do you know it was not ? But our friend 
 Henry is no aristocrat in manners more than in birth, and 
 I honor him for his simplicity. He can give a good 
 reason himself for acting so." 
 
 " What would father think of this ?" 
 
 " Heavens ! he would be paralyzed with horror ; but 
 here comes Mr. Henry," and the great man descended 
 and came to them. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr. Brandon ; hardly prepared to 
 meet you, as you perceive ; but the truth is, father-in-law 
 has gone off hunting to-day, and I am keeping tavern for 
 him. It is right, you understand, to make a merry house 
 as well as a good one. Besides, you know, it is my duty 
 to help father, in return for many a kind deed he's done 
 for me." 
 
 " But who have we here ?" he added, looking towards 
 Charles. 
 
 " My cousin," said Randolph, " I had forgotten to 
 introduce him." 
 
 "Mr. Brandon, of Kingwood, I think," said Patrick 
 Henry. 
 
 " The same, sir ; and it would give me much pleasure 
 to see you there, when you can spare time from your 
 profession." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Henry, " thank you ; it would 
 afford me much happiness to pay my respects to you 
 there," while at the same time a quiet smile shot across 
 his face, as he at that moment pictured to himself the
 
 THE MEETING WITH A GREAT MAN. 97 
 
 reception he would be likely to have from old Mr. Bran- 
 don, whom he knew by reputation as one of the staunch- 
 est aristocrats of the realm, and whom he saw occasion- 
 ally in the streets of Williamsburg, rolling along with the 
 pompous pride of a lord mayor of London. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Brandon, if you will wait a moment, until 
 I act as barkeeper for these people, as well as fiddler, I 
 will be with you ; " so saying, he unlocked a cupboard, 
 and helping each man to a glass of whiskey, brewed a 
 jorum of most excellent punch for Randolph and his 
 cousin. 
 
 They remarked that Henry did not drink, himself; 
 when he informed them, that he seldom touched any 
 thing but pure water. 
 
 " It is strong enough for me," said Mr. Henry, " and 
 the more I confine myself to it, the nearer does my mind 
 seem to approach the purity and clearness of that ele- 
 ment, and my flow of spirits is as constant as that of a 
 running brook." 
 
 Charles had now an opportunity of examining the man, 
 of whom Randolph had so favorably spoken. In dress he 
 was not to be distinguished from the rustics around him ; 
 his clothes were coarse and threadbare, and bore marks 
 of having recently been used in the chase, of which he 
 was passionately fond. 
 
 His figure was tall and lank ; his gait was awkward ; 
 his face long and thin was of a uniform sallow bronzed 
 tint, without a particle of color in his sombre cheeks. A 
 high forehead and long nose, were his prominent features ; 
 but his eyes baffled description, though at once arresting 
 attention. They were not large ; deep set in the head and 
 so shaded by thick, bushy, overhanging eyebrows that, at 
 times, they were almost hidden from view, but on the 
 slightest emotion, they darted fire from their bluish gray 
 5
 
 98 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 orbs, in a manner well calculated to awe an opponent. 
 His voice was firm and melodious ; and 'the little awk- 
 wardness he displayed on first entering upon a topic, was 
 rapidly shaken off as he became excited, when his whole 
 frame assumed a port of dignity and power. 
 
 Such is a brief notice of the man, who afterwards became 
 so celebrated, but who at that period was scarce conscious 
 of his own genius. He declared himself less pleased with 
 the fame he had already won, than the easier circum- 
 stances of his life, after so much poverty; rejoicing, that 
 he was now able to earn a comfortable subsistence for his 
 wife and children, in whom he took the greatest delight, 
 and of whom he spoke with such affectionate warmth, 
 that the tears stood in his eyes. He gave the cousins 
 an outline of his own life, drawn in a ready humorous 
 style spoke of his truant school days, when the book 
 he loved best, was the book of nature, studied while in 
 pursuit of the stag upon the mountain side, or of his rel- 
 ish for the Epicurean philosophy, while sauntering for 
 hours beneath the shade of the trees, overhanging the 
 brook, into which he cast his line. 
 
 Yet, he expressed keen regrets for time lost, and 
 desultory habits, which had so grown upon him, that he 
 could scarce conquer them. Then, changing the theme, 
 and speaking of the public men and measures of the day ; 
 with true artistic skill, and a few touches of strength, he 
 drew masterly pictures of every prominent individual ; 
 displaying the keenest insight into human nature, and 
 laying bare all its secret springs of action. In regard to 
 public affairs, every subject that Randolph could suggest, 
 proved to have previously engaged his attention ; in many 
 of which he predicted results, long afterwards verified in 
 the revolt of the Colonies. He spoke of taxation a sub- 
 ject which, even then, had excited strong feeling in the
 
 THE MEETING WITH A GREAT MAN. 99 
 
 country; he condemned the measure, and ended his 
 remarks by a sudden and brilliant speech, eloquent in 
 praise of liberal government, and the progressive march 
 of civil liberty, so unexpected, yet thrilling, that his aud- 
 itors a number of whom had returned to the room, when 
 he began speaking now rewarded him with many loud 
 cheers. 
 
 He expressed the hope of seeing Charles often, and 
 urged him to join in a hunt to begin on the following 
 Monday. It was to last nearly a week, and would offer 
 to Mr. Brandon the pleasure of camping out. 
 
 Before parting, Randolph drew Mr. Henry aside, and 
 asked him, " If he had heard any thing lately of Lady 
 Mildred?" 
 
 " Nothing of importance ; and you know that one of 
 my condition, cannot approach such an exalted character 
 ' a a Cecil,' is it not, she calls herself? She does not 
 deign to speak to me." 
 
 " Nor to me, neither ; for which I am very much 
 obliged to her." And then Charles could hear nothing 
 more of the conversation excepting that, now and then, 
 the words " will," and " codicil," were introduced, and 
 Mr. Parchmount mentioned. 
 
 They took their leave then of Mr. Henry, and rode 
 homewards. 
 
 " How do you like our friend ? " asked Randolph. 
 
 " Very much indeed. I was astonished at his conver- 
 sational power and eloquence ; but, does he always dress 
 in such uncomely style ? " 
 
 " By no means. On proper occasions he is clothed be- 
 comingly and looks like another man ; but he cares little 
 for show and splendor, and displays, as I think, really 
 better taste by retaining some of his old habits, than 
 by suddenly assuming a different style. But, rely upon 

 
 100 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 it, his career will be brilliant ; for he is the very incarna- 
 tion of genius and common sense." 
 
 " Here we are at home again," he said, after a hard 
 ride of an hour or two ; during which the sun had gone 
 down, and left the travelers to the light of the stars. 
 
 " Now we will see what Matilda is doing." 
 
 The young wife was anxiously waiting; and as she 
 came forward to greet them with one of her pretty smiles, 
 Charles was surprised to see the grave Randolph, who 
 for the last hour had said scarce a word, dash himself off 
 his horse, seize her in his arms as if she was an infant, 
 and kiss her a dozen times over ; proving, by this affec- 
 tionate behavior, what loving husbands there were a hun- 
 dred years since. 
 
 Matilda submitted to this treatment without manifest- 
 ing resentment, her blushes only making her lovelier 
 than ever ; but she soon disengaged herself, and led the 
 way to her table, which was abundantly supplied with 
 provisions for hungry riders.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 
 
 THE little that we have seen of Lady Mildred Estcourt, 
 serves to give us some insight into her character, and 
 before proceeding to dwell farther upon her varied quali- 
 ties of mind and heart, we will look back a few years at 
 the history of so marked a personage. 
 
 We have told that she was of English origin ; that her 
 grandsire, the bold, bad statesman, was held up by her 
 as a model of virtue and wisdom beyond that of all his 
 compeers, but that she regarded her own father, who was 
 of mild and deserving character, with contempt, or at 
 least with utter indifference. Would that her grandsire 
 were now living, to recognize his own proud spirit in 
 hers ; she would keep bright the lustre of his fame, and 
 she would ever choose to be known and named as " the 
 granddaughter of the celebrated statesman, Robert 
 Cecil," rather than by the name her husband bore. 
 
 In youth she was handsome ; her beauty was of the 
 haughty style which is marked in the throng, noticed 
 rather as a marvel, than to be loved. She had chosen 
 for her husband Mr. Estcourt, a gentleman of fortune, 
 quite her equal in birth and education, but of a yielding, 
 plastic temper, without much apparent will of his own, 
 but who, like such vacillating persons in general, when 
 once he had resolved on anything, displayed an obstinacy 
 not to be overcome by persuasion or threats. The Est- 
 courts had been married in England, and were first seen 
 in Virginia when Blanche was about two years of age. 
 They settled on an estate near the city of Williamsburg ; 
 
 (101)
 
 102 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 but the husband did not live long to enjoy his property. 
 His child had scarcely passed her fourth birthday, when 
 he died of consumption, with which he had struggled for 
 some years. Soon after his demise, his widow sold the 
 estate, and in affluent circumstances, went to reside at 
 the capital. Short as was the duration of her wedded 
 life, it sufficed for her power to bind, him as with fetters 
 of iron. Though she brought no fortune to her husband, 
 she scarce allowed him the expression of opinion even as 
 to his worldly possessions ; all were claimed as hers ; and 
 she spoke of them always in such a manner as left no 
 doubt on the minds of those who heard her, that she 
 considered her husband's interest in them as solely depen- 
 dent on her will. Mr. Estcourt might occasionally assert 
 his right to be considered her equal, but she always 
 checked him imperiously, expressing astonishment that 
 he should venture to remonstrate, and she a Cecil who 
 had stooped to marry an Estcourt. Stooped to marry 
 him ! if she had, it was done only for his fortune ; and 
 some persons were charitable enough to say that she 
 would have cast him off on her marriage day, had a 
 richer suitor presented himself. Simple, easy man, he 
 doubtless soon found out that submission only could pur- 
 chase peace, and when once accustomed to her sway it 
 proved so habitual to him, that he went and came, and 
 rose and sat, and did her bidding to the letter in all things, 
 as she commanded, without a murmur. 
 
 Given up to her himself, mind and soul, he had from 
 the first, when his child began to know the word of com- 
 mand, instructed her ever to be ruled by her mother. 
 She knew best ; she was to judge exclusively of every 
 matter, small, as well as great. He was to take no part 
 in the training of the infant, any more than if it was a 
 stranger ; thus voluntarily surrendering one of the most
 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 103 
 
 precious rights, the sweetest pleasures of a parent and a 
 father, to watch the tiny creature expanding in life and 
 loveliness, and aid its growth in holiness day by day. 
 He did not accept this precious charge ; he obeyed not 
 the dictates of his own reason and common sense ; and 
 what wonder that the child, soon seeing the difference be- 
 tween her parents,*ehould hold to the one, and despise 
 the other. 
 
 In the short time which elapsed before Mr. Estcourt's 
 death, Mildred gamed the most unenviable notoriety. 
 No one was disposed to pay that profound court to the 
 granddaughter of Cecil, which she thought her due ; 
 none would tamely endure the insolence of this woman, 
 whose object in life was to trample everybody in the dust 
 beneath her feet. The Virginia dames, among whom she 
 visited, were proud-spirited as well as lovers of peace ; 
 and were neither willing to gratify her propensity for 
 making mischief, nor to bow down to one whose whole 
 life, judging from what they saw of it, must have been 
 one continued quarrel. Many of them, therefore, gave 
 her to understand, that her prejudices, and piques, and 
 hatreds, were not subjects of sufficient importance to 
 warrant her keeping a dozen families in an uproar. And 
 when her husband died, never did a woman quit her 
 home less pitied or less loved than she, accompanied by 
 the scorn, contempt, and execrations of her neighbors. 
 She imagine d, when leaving the country, that the gentry 
 would too late discover the fatal mistake they had made, 
 of having suffered to go from them, one so superior, so 
 deserving of homage ; that they would sigh for her re- 
 turn, and pray for it with tears. The real truth was, that 
 they rejoiced at the departure of such a fell spirit ; that 
 such an incubus was removed ; and in fewer days than 
 she had passed months among them, she was dismissed
 
 104 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 from their thoughts, and for all time forgotten. In the 
 city of Williamsburg she pursued a similar course ; but 
 the community, having been timely warned of her char- 
 acter, she found her powers for mischief and strife very 
 greatly diminished. It enraged her that she was avoided ; 
 but blind to her own faults, as she was to others' virtues, 
 she regarded herself as the most persecuted of her sex ; 
 and often declared that no human being ever had half as 
 much trouble as she did. No one, however exalted her 
 station, if she were the descendant of a hundred Cecils, 
 treats others as Mildred did, without having in return 
 a tremendous retribution; without days of gloom and 
 nights of sleepless sorrow. And who pities when this 
 punishment comes? for come it does and always will. We 
 have said that her husband died ; he slowly wasted with 
 consumption, and those who looked upon his daughter's 
 bright, but hectic beauty, remembered the disease of the 
 father, and feared that its seeds were implanted in the 
 child. 
 
 There was a very singular circumstance connected with 
 Mr. Estcourt's death, in regard to a will which he was 
 said to have made in his last illness. The story went, 
 that two lawyers, Parchmount and Redtape, who were 
 partners, had been employed to draw for Estcourt an in- 
 strument, declared to be his last will and testament, re- 
 voking, as usual, all former wills, and that it ran, not as 
 many persons would suppose, solely in Lady Mildred's 
 favor. In his last hours, thinking, perhaps, that he had 
 done wrong in yielding everything to her guidance, or to 
 show a power after he was dead, which he dared not 
 manifest when living, this will restricted her in a great 
 degree. This will bequeathed his whole fortune to his 
 daughter Blanche, on her becoming of age ; but if she 
 died unmarried, the whole property was left to a nephew.
 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 105 
 
 There was but a small provision made for the wife, and 
 this she was to enjoy for life only, without power of be- 
 queathing it. And if she married again, it was at once 
 to pass from her. Rumor declared further, that this 
 will, executed without the knowledge of Mildred, was 
 made on the last day of Estcourt's life, in consequence 
 of some news of startling nature concerning his wife ; 
 information which had reached him in his dying hours, 
 of transactions in which she had been partaker in former 
 years. Be this as it might, the will was drawn carefully 
 by Redtape and Parchmount, duly signed and witnessed, 
 but not delivered to the lawyers for safe keeping, because 
 at the last moment Mr. Estcourt bethought him of a 
 codicil which he wished to add, but declined doing so 
 that day, feeling too much fatigued to attend to any 
 further business. Besides, there would be plenty of time 
 on the morrow, for the will was to be drawn in duplicate. 
 But when the morrow came, Mr. Estcourt was a breath- 
 less corpse, having died suddenly in the night. 
 
 The will which had been drawn up with such precision, 
 and which showed at the last that Estcourt had opinions 
 of his own, if he never before had chosen to exert them, 
 and which now were to put a life-long check upon his 
 wife's pride and power, that will, we repeat, was after the 
 departure of the attorneys placed by Mr. Estcourt care- 
 fully in a drawer of his wardrobe, where he kept sundry 
 valuables ; this drawer was fastened by a secret spring. 
 No one knew that he had placed it there, and he " died 
 and made no sign." 
 
 But when after his burial, search was instituted by the 
 lawyers and witnesses, two of whom were named his 
 executors, no will could be found ; the house was ransacked 
 from garret to cellar, but all in vain. Mildred was sus- 
 pected of having destroyed it, but she bore undismayed 
 5*
 
 106 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 the proof of a most thorough examination by Redtape, 
 which may be imagined did not soothe her irritable 
 temper, but nothing was elicited. She was enraged 
 beyond measure, on being informed of the tenor of the 
 will, and did not scruple to express her hopes that it 
 would never be found, but the charge of having made 
 way with it she indignantly denied; and she was in truth 
 innocent in this case. She indeed knew nothing of the 
 matter, and when the secret drawer was found at last by 
 some one accidentally pressing the spring, it was empty, 
 she testifying in the most positive manner that she never 
 before knew of its existence. Nor did she, but another 
 was aware of it. A confidential female servant of hers 
 was the real culprit. One of those mean, prying, pimping, 
 wretches, whose ears are always wide open for any little 
 bit of tittle-tattle and scandal, and whose proclivity in this 
 wise was joined to an inveterate love of pilfering, had, 
 unknown to Mildred, been made acquainted by her 
 husband with this secret drawer; and as she always pro- 
 fessed great piety, Estcourt deemed the story safe in her 
 keeping. He had never missed anything, for she was too 
 cunning to rob that treasury, but she had long desired 
 to leave her place for other reasons, which we shall soon 
 mention. Fixing her period for doing so at the time of 
 his death, which she judged could not be far off she 
 resolved then on extensive plunder, which should ensure 
 her a handsome sum, and some hope of settled comfort 
 for the rest of her days. 
 
 She slept in a room adjoining Mr. Estcourt's, being his 
 appointed nurse in his illness; Mildred, who professed 
 to feel too keenly to stay by him at night and witness 
 his sufferings, betaking herself to a remote and solitary 
 chamber, where she could be out of the way and sleep 
 comfortably.
 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 107 
 
 That last night, this servant was aroused by hearing a 
 noise of distress in her master's room. She entered and 
 beheld him gasping for -breath, unable to speak, with one 
 hand raised to his white face ; and as she came he pointed 
 with the other to the secret drawer. The deliberate 
 wretch looked at him a few seconds, as she marked the 
 last ripple of life ebb away, and when he had fallen back 
 upon his pillow, and the hand had dropped by the side of 
 the dead man, she felt his pulse and placed her palm 
 over the motionless heart to be assured that the spirit 
 had fled ; and, proceeding to the cabinet, touched the secret 
 spring. The drawer opened, and the miscreant robbed 
 the dead master who had bestowed his confidence upon her. 
 
 She concealed the jewels and money securely about her 
 person, and then proceeded coolly to examine the parch- 
 ment by the gleam of that taper whose rays were the last 
 material light that ever shone upon those quenched orbs, 
 which now, with frightful fixedness glared as if with hor- 
 ror, at the creature by its bedside. 
 
 As she perused the document, a grin of delight, like the 
 mocking sneer of a fiend, sat fixed upon her face, and her 
 first thought was to replace it and wait for the triumph 
 which was sure to come, when her mistress Mildred should 
 hearken to a voice beyond the grave, dooming her to 
 poverty. But she thought more deeply, and with a smooth 
 calculating satisfied smile, refolded the parchment, placed 
 it in her bosom and shut the drawer. 
 
 If in that dim chamber which death had entered, which 
 the struggling beams of the midnight rising moon faintly 
 lighted, as sole witness of that awfully sudden catastrophe 
 and the deed of cruelty which followed it, that desperate 
 menial prayed ; it was that her crime might rest undis- 
 covered ; if she rejoiced, as she did, it was at the sudden 
 untimely fulfillment of her hopes of years. When she
 
 108 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 had dimmed the taper again, and carefully marked that 
 the room bore no trace of disorder, prudently forbearing 
 to touch another article, she conveyed her spoils to a 
 lading place of safety ; and then, with feigned tears and 
 frantic sobs, rushed to the room of her mistress, and 
 beat at its door to tell her tale of grief and misery for the 
 loss of the poor dear kind sweet master, she loved so 
 well. She too was examined, but nothing found against 
 her; there was no suspicion of foul play in regard to the 
 dead man, for the physicians summoned, delivered a 
 learned opinion that his death was perfectly natural, and 
 their certificate to this effect, couched in terms altogether 
 unintelligible, was of course entirely satisfactory. 
 
 This servant, Jane Hook, after remaining a few weeks, 
 and receiving the thanks and presents of the neighbors 
 for her noble devotion and self-sacrifice in attachment to 
 her late master, packed up her wardrobe and disappeared, 
 going to another part of the country, where we shall 
 again encounter her ere long. 
 
 There was another will which Mildred knew of, and 
 which Redtape knew of, for he had a duplicate copy of 
 it. It had been made some years previous, when the 
 wife's influence over her husband was as yet unlimited, 
 and this one was wholly in her favor. 
 
 Mildred produced this document in due time. She had 
 retained it in her own possession ever since it was drawn, 
 and had used her influence to prevent Estcourt from 
 making another, as he sometimes said he would. She 
 claimed now the entire property in virtue of this will. 
 Redtape resisted her as long as possible, therefore adding 
 himself to the list of her thousand and one enemies, be- 
 cause he always hoped the missing document would be 
 found, and thought that it was some reflection on his own 
 professional skill and caution that such an important
 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 109 
 
 paper should disappear in this mysterious manner, and 
 elude all pursuit. But nothing could be heard of it, and 
 without it, no matter in what way Estcourt wished his 
 property devised, the former will was in full force, and 
 nothing could set it aside. 
 
 It was acknowledged to be valid by Redtape, and 
 after allowing a reasonable time to recover the other, 
 without avail, a decree of court settled the question, and 
 Lady Mildred took quiet possession of the whole estate. 
 
 But Mr. Redtape was not satisfied ; he always declared 
 that sooner or later the mystery would be brought to 
 light, much to the astonishment and confusion of cer- 
 tain parties. He had no positive ill-will to Mildred, so 
 as to rejoice in seeing her deprived of property, but he 
 forgot her in his anxiety that the case should stand upon 
 its proper merits, which he deemed the last will to involve. 
 With this idea, added to the pertinacity which distin- 
 guishes some of the more terrier-like members of the 
 legal profession, he was ever snuffing round endeavoring 
 to get upon the scent of this extraordinary matter. He 
 was quite likely, however, to be baffled, for up to the 
 period of which we write, nothing had transpired, and Mil- 
 dred had possessed the estate for about fourteen years. 
 
 But to hold her fortune was one thing, and to enjoy 
 her life quite another, for it is not very probable that 
 Mildred could pass hers happily, owing to*" circumstances 
 which we shall divulge. Her temper and disposition 
 were by no means calculated to ensure her peace of mind, 
 for those like her, " the worthless and offensive members 
 of society, whose existence is a social pest, invariably 
 think themselves the most ill-used people alive, and never 
 get over their astonishment at the ingratitude and selfish- 
 ness of their contemporaries." 
 
 She had looked, on first coming into possession of her
 
 110 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 estate, for a brilliant career ; to bestow her hand and 
 fortune this time on one of established rank among the 
 aristocracy of the country, and thus queen it over those 
 who had incurred her displeasure. But her hopes, year 
 by year had been disappointed ; she found no one des- 
 perate or foolhardy enough to link himself with her ; she 
 grew more and more alone, in spite of her wish to dazzle 
 and lead society, and in fact was tolerated but for her 
 daughter's sake, who was as much a favorite as her 
 mother was hated. It burned into her haughty spirit to 
 find that her charms and her fortune were unsought, and 
 that her influence daily grew less. As her daughter grew 
 up and entered society, a striking, beautiful, and fascinat- 
 ing woman, she frequently threw open her house and 
 entertained in elegant style ; but now baffled for years, 
 with hopes which promised but brought no fruit to her 
 desires of a second marriage, this she reluctantly aban- 
 doned, and devoted all her energies to secure a splendid 
 lot in life for her daughter. 
 
 But Mildred had other and far more harassing sorrows 
 than the world knew of, and her punishment was the more 
 terrible because she could reveal her grief to no one, but 
 was forced, for many reasons, to keep it profoundly 
 secret. That wretch of a servant, who had purloined 
 valuables and stolen the will on the night of Estcourt's 
 death, found in that document an exhaustless mine of 
 wealth, and by its means had wrung from Mildred many 
 a handsome sum of money. The mistress was matched 
 in this instance by one of equal craft and wickedness, and 
 the lower fiend had tortured her to the last degree. 
 
 Elsewhere we shall disclose scenes in Mildred's former 
 life, in which this servant had taken part ; but it will 
 suffice to say, that she had acquired an influence and 
 power over her mistress not to be shnken off, A short
 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. Ill 
 
 time after her husband's death, Madam Estcourt received 
 a letter from this woman, who had removed to another 
 part of the country, Mildred knew not where, until this 
 missive came from Newport, Rhode Island. Jane briefly 
 referred in her letter to certain days past and persons inter- 
 ested, in a manner which, as Mildred read, curdled the very 
 blood around her heart. She wrote that she had found 
 the will, for which such keen search had been made, and 
 that her former mistress was now utterly in her power, rich 
 though she was. 
 
 For the price of secrecy in concealing this document, 
 as well as the crime in which Mildred in years past had 
 been an actress, was demanded a certain sum of money, or 
 evil should befall her. The will should be produced, and 
 her possessions should pass from her. Mildred had 
 enough and to spare, and could purchase peace, security, 
 and undisturbed enjoyment of her fortune, by simply 
 ministering to the wants of her poor servant. Jane 
 added, that she was now to be married, and tauntingly 
 concluded by saying, that her love for- her mistress was 
 still unabated. 
 
 The guilty Mildred never doubted the truth of Jane 
 Hook's tale, and complying with her request once, fairly 
 committed herself to the miscreant's power. 
 
 The money was sent, and from that time she had lived 
 under continual dread of discovery, under constant extor- 
 tion from the wretch who had, as Mildred thought, married 
 one as vile as herself, and whom we shall speak of in an 
 ensuing chapter. 
 
 Such was the fearful penalty Mildred paid; crime is 
 wept for in tears of blood, but these will not wash away 
 remembrance of the sin ; and even if no remorse could find 
 its way into that iron heart of hers, it was yet a prey to bit- 
 ter anguish, rage, fear, and hate. There was also another
 
 112 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 cause of misery to this woman. On one hand it was said, 
 that when Mildred first came to America from England, 
 that she was accompanied by a sister who was a widow, 
 with one young son ; that after Mr. Estcourt's death, they 
 had been domiciled with her for a short period, during 
 which time the sister was subjected to the harshest treat- 
 ment, which she bore patiently as long as she could, being 
 of far more tender nature than Mildred, but that at last, 
 worn out with such a course, she had left her house, and 
 suddenly disappeared with the child, no one knew whither. 
 She had kept herself entirely secluded, while with her 
 sister, and when she left, there was no one who knew her 
 or cared to ask for her. It was now whispered on the 
 other hand, that this sister had loved not wisely but too 
 well, and that the stern Mildred, who held herself to be 
 without spot or blemish, could never forget or forgive 
 such a sin in one of her kindred. She had harbored her 
 and her fatherless love-child as long as she could, but the 
 unrepentant transgressor had repaid kindness with ingrati- 
 tude, and left at last without Mildred having any suspicion 
 that she was about to take such a step. Henceforth, of 
 course she was not to be named, and ere long it was for- 
 gotten that such a being had ever been seen in the com- 
 munity. Mildred herself, having never taken pains to 
 trace her, was now ignorant if she was living or dead, or 
 what had happened to the unfortunate child. 
 
 But in one of those letters which Jane Hook wrote 
 from time to time, in which demands for money were 
 spiced with threats in case of refusal, Mildred's sister w:is 
 named ; spoken of as an innocent lamb, as in truth she 
 was, with hints that justice would yet be done her, and 
 that her son would claim his own. 
 
 And now, wretched as Mildred was, with none to look 
 to for hope and consolation for this was a subject she
 
 MILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 113 
 
 could not name to her daughter an awful sense of her 
 own guilt and the wickedness of her conduct towards her 
 sister, whom she knew to be blameless, came upon her. 
 She would seek her out ; she would be reconciled with 
 her ; a plausible story could easily be told to the world 
 how her suspicions, which once appeared actual certainty, 
 were now entirely removed, that she had been found to 
 be innocent, and was received back with the deepest affec- 
 tion ; this she thought would go far with heaven in expia- 
 tion of her sins. With this purpose she wrote to Jane, 
 asking information of her sister, and in due time received 
 for answer, that she had been living with her son in New- 
 port, but they had disappeared for some years, and that 
 she knew nothing of either. 
 
 This letter did not tally with the former, in which her 
 sister was spoken of, and not knowing whether Jane Hook 
 was lying in every part of her epistle, or whether it was 
 partly true, and being unable to find out, because she 
 knew no one else in Newport, she determined before long 
 to visit that place in person, and suddenly pounce upon 
 her tormentors. She would frighten them thoroughly ; 
 she would by threats or bribes get possession of that will, 
 and once in her clutches, it would soon be scattered to the 
 winds; then with her whole energies bent to marry her 
 child to Charles Brandon, and to effect a reconciliation 
 with the discarded sister, she would triumph at last, and 
 in triumphing, be happy. 
 
 Ah, how easy a task was all this to her in imagination 
 now ; how far easier it would have been in reality to have 
 done justly in years past, and her reward would have been 
 abiding. But there must be some reason given for her 
 sudden move to the north, especially to the Brandons, 
 and it struck her that a plausible one could be furnished 
 in the health and spirits of her daughter Blanche.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 MILDRED ESTCOURT was now not only disappointed and 
 vexed that Charles Brandon should pass so much of his 
 time with his cousin Randolph, who she knew would 
 instil into him any feeling rather than one of affection for 
 her, but for some time past she had real cause for solici- 
 tude in regard to her own child. She, however, attributed 
 the change in her entirely to interest in Charles, the dis- 
 covery that his affections were bestowed upon another, 
 and that her own love could never be returned ; knowledge 
 which could only be fatal to her peace and happiness. 
 The poor girl had visibly altered ever since that time 
 when she found by Charles Brandon's distant manner to 
 her, that her hopes were futile. She had been insensibly 
 led to regard herself as his destined bride. His atten- 
 tions to her, she was obliged to confess, were not such as a 
 lover would employ; still their union was anticipated, and 
 had been mentioned to her as so natural a possibility, that 
 she had indulged the pleasing thought too far. Vainly 
 did she regret it now, and more so that she felt compelled 
 to exonerate him from all blame. A sad change had 
 indeed come over the beautiful girl ; she had lost in a 
 great degree her vivacity of spirits, and interest in the 
 society even of her friends who loved her devotedly, and 
 she withdrew from them as much as she could without 
 giving them pain. 
 
 Her form lost its rounded symmetry ; her cheeks grew 
 thin, but their color heightened, and her large eyes shone 
 with a strange light. A slight cough now troubled her, 
 (114)
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 115 
 
 which she in vain strove to keep concealed from her 
 mother ; and those who looked upon her wasting beauty 
 predicted, that she would sleep in an early grave. She 
 had loved, loved as she felt and knew, in vain ; but hers 
 was a timid, shrinking passion ; she had scarce dared 
 trust herself with it ; she had not breathed it to a single 
 friend, not even to her mother, who, fully as she was 
 aware of it, had hitherto thought best to say nothing of 
 it to Blanche until Charles could be influenced to offer his 
 hand. " He never dreams of me," thought the poor girl. 
 " Would that I could banish this hopeless passion from 
 my breast, and be cheerful once more. But I shall soon 
 die ; I feel that life has no happy future for me ; let me 
 lie down and be forgotten then may heaven bless him 
 more than it has me." 
 
 Mildred thought ; " This disease must be cured. I will 
 not see my daughter dying by inches before my eyes, 
 without an effort to save her. Charles shall marry her, 
 and at the first hour of their engagement even, she will 
 begin to revive." 
 
 But the mother little knew that not love only was se- 
 cretly mining the health of her child ; another insidious 
 destroyer was at work consumption was silently but fa- 
 tally progressing. 
 
 It deceived her as it has a thousand parents more fond 
 than she. She now deemed it the proper time to ques- 
 tion Blanche, hoping that her daughter's sentiments 
 would accord with her own, for were such the case, she 
 saw little difficulty in the accomplishment of her wishes. 
 
 " Blanche, my child, I have something to tell you, 
 come and sit by me. I have of late felt exceedingly con- 
 cerned for your health, and I have a proposal to make 
 which I am sure will please you. It is a pleasant season, 
 and a journey will do you much good. Therefore, pre-
 
 116 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 pare in a week to leave for the north. I wish to go to 
 Newport. You saw it as a child, but quite too young to 
 remember it. Now you will see it with different eyes. 
 You know we landed there when we came from Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " But mother you astonish me ; go to so distant a spot 
 in the colonies at this late season ! Can you mean this 
 seriously ? Why can we not seek the sea shore at some 
 nearer point. Beside, your proposal sounds to me like a 
 command." 
 
 "And if it be a command, have I not a right to issue 
 it ? You have never disobeyed me." 
 
 " Nor do I wish to do so now ; yet, if I think at all, as 
 I must when a proposal or even a command is made to 
 me, I may surely in this instance." 
 
 " Well, think, if you desire, but we must go ; I say 
 must. I have much to occupy me during my visit to 
 Newport. Widowed as I am, with the whole manage- 
 ment of our estate devolved upon me, I have many tilings 
 to harass me. We must go at once to Newport, I say." 
 
 " Surely, mother, I will cheerfully accompany you. 
 You have, indeed, heavy cares ; but how often have I 
 urged you to let me lend assistance. I could lighten you 
 of much of your load." 
 
 Innocent creature, thought Mildred, would to God 
 thou could'st. 
 
 " No Blanche, you could not help me." 
 
 " Indeed, I might ; but you never would tell me what 
 troubled you. I have wondered at your distress when 
 those strange-looking letters, which never to me appeared 
 like those of gentlefolks, came to you ; and you would 
 bury your face in your hands, and at times weep so bit- 
 terly, and again be angry. Often have I tried to comfort 
 you, but you turned me away."
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 117 
 
 "Child, you know not of what you are talking. The 
 letters were naught, naught." 
 
 " But I have heard you moan piteously in your sleep, 
 and toss upon your pillow, and utter strange words." 
 
 "Words !" said Mildred, starting in terror. 
 
 " Oh ! mother, do not frighten me with such awful 
 vehemence ; if there is something dreadful to be told, I 
 can bear it. How much less could it afflict me than sus- 
 pense, and my wish of sympathy in your misery denied 
 me." 
 
 " There is no misery Blanche, you are too anxious, 
 child. Have no fears." 
 
 " But mother, I must feel for you sadly, indeed, al- 
 though you would never allow me to see those letters, or 
 even learn who wrote them. You would only say they 
 were from Newport." 
 
 " Peace, Blanche, about the letters ; nothing worries 
 me now, I tell you, and I go chiefly on account of your 
 health. You require change." 
 
 "Change has little charm for me, and will not long 
 avail," thought poor Blanche ; but she tried to smile, and 
 said, " Then, dear mother, I will fear no more ; it will be 
 delightful to me to visit the north." 
 
 Mildred mused as to the manner in which she should 
 touch upon Charles ; she drew Blanche closer to her side 
 and kissed her. 
 
 " My daughter, tell me how you feel ?" 
 
 " I am not strong." 
 
 " Shame," said Mildred, thinking it best to come to the 
 point at once and assume a tone of virtuous indignation, 
 " shame that your illness should have been caused by the 
 heartless treatment you have received !" 
 
 " Shame, mother ! there is no one at fault." 
 
 " There is, tell me not so. How dared Charles Bran-
 
 118 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 don act as he has done ? win your regard, then throw it 
 lightly by ? But he shall not." 
 
 " Mother," said Blanche, hurriedly, and with a quiver- 
 ing lip, " I cannot, will not, listen to this." 
 
 " And has he not worked all this evil ? did he not woo 
 and win you ? did he not cast himself at the feet of an- 
 other, heartless traitor that he is. You know you love him." 
 
 " I did once love him," said Blanche, very firmly, but 
 in a sweet and modest manner, " but it is not in my nature 
 to waste affection on those who do not care for it. I am 
 too proud to degrade myself. I have the Cecil's blood in 
 my veins as well as you, mother. But Mr. Brandon never 
 did attempt to deceive me ; he never gave me any proof 
 of love, by word or deed, and our last meeting, months 
 ago, was one of cold courtesy." 
 
 " But you say you loved him once ; if you do not now, 
 why did you then ? " 
 
 " The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and its own 
 joys and secrets too. Mine told me to love him, but 
 never why." 
 
 " Blanche, you are a strange girl ; but now if Charles 
 did love you, how would you return his affections ? " 
 
 " But he does not love me." 
 
 " If he could, though ? 
 
 "He cannot." 
 
 " Do not answer me so, I have no patience with such 
 replies. Would you not love him in return ? " 
 
 " If of his own free will, he were ready to bestow his 
 strong, unselfish, unswerving love, I might again return 
 it ; but if only a sense of honor tempted him to offer his 
 hand in reparation for supposed injuries, I would reject it 
 with disdain." 
 
 " But, Blanche, he must, he does love you, and you do 
 not blame him."
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 119 
 
 " No ; for he never sought by smooth words to win me 
 and then desert me. His conduct has been kind and hon- 
 orable." 
 
 " Then, child, there is no difficulty in the way. It will 
 require but little time ; leave me to manage it." 
 
 " Manage it, manage it ! What do you mean, madam, 
 to devise a plan for the purpose of bringing Mr. Brandon 
 to my feet? Excuse me, but I am party to no such 
 manoeuvering." 
 
 " What temper is this, daughter ? 
 
 " My own, madam ; it is time indeed I find to display 
 my spirit. I will not tamely submit to any such indignity." 
 
 "Tush ! no indignity is meant; do I not know best." 
 
 "Your judgment must be impaired, mother, if you 
 imagine that the course you indicate will receive my sanc- 
 tion. I have always been to you a dutiful and obedient 
 daughter, but I will not in this matter be made a puppet. 
 I warn you in good time, if you approach Mr. Brandon 
 witli the intent disclosed to me, he will be obliged also to 
 listen to my sentiments. They will not agree with yours. 
 Let me hear no more of this." 
 
 Mildred saw that she had gone too far, and had roused 
 in Blanche a noble spirit of resistance. She was surprised 
 but awed, and resolved to let the project rest for a season. 
 
 And Blanche was resolved too, not only in regard to 
 her own heart, but also concerning the secret troubles in 
 Newport. She now acquiesced the more cheerfully in the 
 proposed visit, being determined, while there, if she pos- 
 sibly could, to fathom the mystery.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MB. BRANDON INDIGNANT. 
 
 HAVING prepared for her journey with Blanche, Lady 
 Mildred Estcourt now determined to test the scheme she 
 had planned for inducing Charles to offer his hand. She 
 saw, with trembling, the great change in her daughter's 
 health and spirits ; and although she knew not that con- 
 sumption was at work, she felt the urgent necessity of 
 speedy success hi her schemes. Loving Blanche as much 
 as such a woman could love anything, still the possibility 
 of losing her by early death, was not of half the moment 
 that the failure of her designs would be. If Blanche died 
 unmarried, what security had she against the infamous 
 wretches who preyed upon her ? After saving a hand- 
 some sum from her tribute, they might prefer to dra^ 
 her before the public, and make a full exposure of her 
 evil deeds. 
 
 She did not reflect, that should they dare take such 
 steps against her, they would naturally involve themselves 
 in trouble; but the perceptions of guilt seldom accord 
 with clear judgment. While she believed that Jane 
 Hook's regard for Blanche alone restrained her and her 
 accomplice, the possibility of their ultimate vengeance 
 hung over her like a sword. They had the power, ;iu<l 
 perhaps the wish, to reduce her at one fell stroke to 
 poverty and despair ; and she cursed the moment when 
 she had been weak enough to yield to them. She could 
 have enjoyed as much, with Blanche in possession of the 
 estate ; but it was too late to repent or regret now ; :i 
 savage resolution seized upon her to gain her ends, no 
 
 (120)
 
 MB. BRANDON INDIGNANT. 121 
 
 matter by what means, or in case of failure, despair would 
 kill her. 
 
 With this view, she sought her opportunity, and, 
 without going to Kingwood, where she feared that Mrs. 
 Brandon would thwart her scheme, held an interview 
 with her husband in Williamsburg. Mr. Brandon was 
 walking in the street; Mildred saw him approaching, 
 stepped to the door, and accosted him ; quite accidentally, 
 of course. He politely ascended the steps to ask the health 
 of the ladies, and she induced him to enter the house. 
 
 Blanche was out; the mother considered the chance 
 too favorable to be suffered to pass. After a few moments' 
 gossip on common-place topics, she artfully led the con- 
 versation to turn upon her daughter. 
 
 " Mr. Brandon, you have a wife, she is a mother, and 
 you can form by her some idea of a mother's feelings for 
 her child. Did I not therefore know that you can sym- 
 pathize with me, I never could persuade myself to speak 
 as my duty impels." 
 
 " I listen, madam, all attention ; pray tell me what it is 
 that concerns you." 
 
 " It is the health of my darling daughter, the dearest 
 that mother ever had; you do not know, indeed, the 
 depth of my love for that sweet child." 
 
 Mr. Brandon bowed in a profoundly respectful manner. 
 
 " So tender a charge has ever filled me with the most 
 anxious solicitude for her well-being, which has most for- 
 tunately been preserved to her until lately . . . but . . . 
 truly . . . Mr. Brandon, you do not imagine how much I 
 am pained even to approach this subject." 
 
 " Madam, why not*inform me at once ? I am ignorant 
 of any cause of your daughter's illness ; we are all liable 
 to the evils which flesh is heir to ; but is this an affection 
 of the mind?" 
 6
 
 122 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 "Ah, of the mind! now you touch the point, Mr. 
 Brandon. I was sure that one of your acute perceptions 
 would soon discover the cause of my grief; but my sen- 
 sitive nature shrunk from the confession." Here Mildred 
 sunk back, and wept in touching style. She knew the 
 use of tears, and had drilled them to come when called 
 for. 
 
 " Dear Madam Estcourt, compose yourself; I did not 
 know before that you suffered from sensitiveness." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; acute sensibility has made half my life mise- 
 rable. I feel so deeply for others' woes, the world would 
 not believe it." 
 
 " It is an ungrateful world, madam." 
 
 " It has proved so to me ; but my hopes rest in heaven." 
 
 "Your daughter" . . . suggested Mr. Brandon. 
 
 " You do but recall me to my misery. I a Cecil, and 
 the Cecils, who have always been so noted for their pe- 
 culiar sensibility, their tender regard for the feelings of 
 others, must sympathize not only for my daughter, but 
 for one, also, almost as dear to me." 
 
 "And that one is" 
 
 "Is Charles, dear boy," said Mildred, sobbing. She 
 again fell back, and other tears came to add emphasis. 
 They were the italics of her strong sentences. 
 
 " Madam, madam," said Mr. Brandon, profoundly im- 
 pressed, " you astonish me." And his perceptions being 
 by no means as quick as Mildred's flattery implied, his 
 face denoted bewilderment almost comical-. 
 
 Mildred slowly recovered ; not too fast> she was too 
 good a tactician. " My dear Mr. Brandon, I feel, now 
 that I have told you the secret of 'my tenderest charge, 
 that we can better sympathize with each other. And 
 how will you, generous man, be pained at the thought 
 that Charles has been too pointed in his attentions to
 
 MR. BRANDON INDIGNANT. 123 
 
 Blanche ! Perhaps I ought not to impute blame to him ; 
 it grieves me to do so ; yet, can I refuse the evidence of 
 my own senses ? I see her drooping, and he no longer 
 approaches her." 
 
 "And you have no doubt that my son's dereliction is 
 the cause of her melancholy ? " 
 
 "I fear so. I would not have you understand that 
 Charles actually proceeded to the length of addressing 
 her ; but there are other modes of winning ; we know, 
 dear sir," said the artful woman, "how such things are 
 done." 
 
 She paused to mark the effect of her maneuvers. She 
 had touched the right key. The proud old aristocrat 
 was a man of honor ; and the idea that Charles had ever 
 ventured to tamper with the affections of any lady, stirred 
 him to anger. But his sense of honor was ever inconsist- 
 ent, and he could see no wrong in his own course towards 
 Lucy, whose love Charles had won. 
 
 With Blanche, however, his son's equal, the case was 
 very different; he perceived her wrongs clearly, and 
 thought her the most aggrieved of her sex. He now 
 burst out in anger: "He shall make reparation for his 
 injuries, madam ; he shall make reparation, and quickly ; 
 by heavens he shall marry your daughter ! " 
 
 " Oh ! not unless he loves her," faintly suggested Mil- 
 dred, who cared little whether he did or not ; " not 
 unless he loves her." 
 
 " It is nothing," said Mr. Brandon, vehemently ; " he 
 ought to love her, madam, and he shall." 
 
 " But, suppose he cannot ? " 
 
 "Cannot, madam? cannot? Do not talk to me of 
 cannot. I say he shall ; and he shall marry her too, if I 
 insist ! " 
 
 " Be more calm, my dear Mr. Brandon," said Mildred,
 
 124 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 recovering her spirits. " I must go to Newport, in a few 
 days, for the health of my sweet charge, and we can man- 
 age it all on my return." 
 
 " Of course we can. Yes, madam, we can. You are 
 light, you are right. Go to Newport ; and I give you 
 the word of a Brandon a word, madam, which never 
 was broken and I flatter myself, that few houses can say 
 as much ; my word for it, I say, that on your return you 
 shall find my son ready to do exactly as we say. So, go 
 to Newport, madam ; bid your daughter put on her 
 brightest looks again, and she shall shortly be the loveli- 
 est bride in the colonies. Have no fears, madam have 
 no fears, my command is to be obeyed; never gave a 
 command in my life that was not. Did I ever inform you 
 what summary work I made with my son's silly love 
 affair ? Would not listen to it ; commands, madam, again 
 obeyed, you see ; and as for the girl he said he loved, 
 I" here he stopped short ; for a recollection of the man- 
 ner in which Lucy had faced him, gave him a twinge of 
 agony, " she went home," he continued, faintly, before 
 detailing to Mildred the tyrannical injustice of his course. 
 
 "And how did Charles bear it?" asked the plotter. 
 
 " He naturally rebelled at first ; but now is quite sub- 
 dued, and bears it meekly as a lamb. I know that he has 
 thought better of it ; in short, madam, he has reflected, 
 reflected, madam ; he is a Brandon, and when a Brandon 
 does reflect, he remembers the ancient honor of his 
 house." 
 
 "Indeed!" thought Mildred, "if your son suffers him- 
 self to be ruled by you, he must have left his brains at 
 the north;" but she closed the interview, without ex- 
 pressing this opinion aloud, congratulating herself in the 
 happy prospects of her daughter, and leaving Mr. Bran- 
 don to prepare his son for the destiny awaiting him.
 
 MR. BRANDON INDIGNANT. 125 
 
 He saw Charles at once, and was much astounded to 
 find his overtures received in any but a lamb-like manner. 
 His eulogium on Blanche, the promised splendor of 
 his wedded life, and the words; "My son, be a good 
 boy, and think no more of this other silly matter ; let it 
 pass from your mind ; " was treated, at first, with indiffer- 
 ence, and then, as he pursued the subject, with burning 
 indignation. 
 
 In a few fiery words, Charles told his father, that he 
 was, and would be, master of his own affections that he 
 wished no further reference to Blanche that he did not 
 love her, and never could that, moreover, grave and 
 insuperable reasons existed to prevent any connection 
 with such a person, as her mother. His heart, he said, 
 was unalterably fixed on Lucy Tyrrell ; and, even if he 
 never married her, neither time nor trial would change 
 his love. 
 
 In vain the father swore, and stormed, and threatened, 
 that if his son did not marry Blanche, he would turn him 
 out of the house. 
 
 " That you may do," said Charles ; " but you will not 
 thereby accomplish your purpose. Banish me from your 
 doors, but I will never, never marry Blanche Estcourt ! " 
 The irate man threatened, as he had many times before, 
 to cast the rebel off forever, without a shilling. 
 
 "One fact you forget, sir," said Charles, "that the 
 estate is entailed ; and in such a manner, that you cannot 
 destroy the provisions of your father's will ; you may 
 withhold aid during your life, but the landed property is 
 mine at your death." 
 
 This was the opening of strife between the father and 
 son ; it was continually renewed with increased bitter- 
 ness on the part of the sire, and firmer determination on 
 the part of Charles. His mother was distressed at it,
 
 126 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 beyond measure ; but she could not counsel her son to 
 change his purpose, and her prayers and tears availed not, 
 with her husband. The once joyous household, was 
 happy no longer, and deep gloom settled on the mansion, 
 the former chosen seat of good cheer and revelry.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 IN order to understand more clearly the dark purposes 
 of the unprincipled Mildred, and those secrets which she 
 was obliged to conceal even from her own daughter, we 
 must briefly review a portion of her life, antecedent to 
 the mysterious abstraction of the will. 
 
 In accordance with her husband's desire of removal to 
 America, soon after their marriage, she left England 
 with him and their daughter Blanche, then a young infant. 
 She was accompanied, also, by a widowed sister, and her 
 son, a boy of five or six years of age. The deceitful Jane 
 Hook, followed, in capacity of a servant ; and the 
 other passengers consisted of Captain Brooke, a naval 
 officer, who was to join his squadron on the American 
 coast, and a petty trader, by the name of Elisha Bai'low. 
 He had been valet to Brooke, in former years, and had 
 afterward transacted business in the colonies, sometimes 
 in one place and sometimes in another; and, having 
 broken up his last establishment, was now returning from 
 a visit to England, where he had purchased a stock of 
 goods preparatory to settling in any new place which 
 he might think favorable for traffic. 
 
 The voyage was a long and boisterous one ; the ship 
 crazy and leaky, was much damaged, and during a heavy 
 gale off the coast, the captain fearing she could not 
 weather it, resolved to run for Newport harbor, instead 
 of trying to fight his way to the capes of Virginia whither 
 she was bound ; and accordingly the storm-tossed, wearied 
 
 (127)
 
 128 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 passengers, were delighted to cast anchor at last, and 
 ride securely in the beautiful Narraganset Bay. 
 
 Captain Brooke was a man of the world, who had pass- 
 ed much of his time amid the gay capitals of Europe, 
 and thoroughly skilled in all the arts of corruption, he 
 sought to make a dull voyage agreeable by the same 
 system of pleasure which he had pursued on shore, and 
 by which he had ruined the peace and character of more 
 than one woman, who had trusted to his words. Bold 
 and unscrupulous, with little belief in female virtue, he 
 was nevertheless restrained by the dignified demeanor 
 of Mildred's sister Miriam, who permitted no approach to 
 familiarity, and he could not but respect the woman who 
 by the simple purity of her nature kept him at proper 
 distance, and even caused him to think better of the sex, 
 in some particular instances, than he ever had before. 
 But with Mildred herself the case was very different ; his 
 keen insight into character soon penetrated her hollow in- 
 sincerity ; he saw that she cared little or nothing for her 
 husband, and that her affectation of piety had no more 
 reality in it, than some other attributes of which she 
 boasted. Estcourt was too much confined by sea sickness 
 to heed the intimacy which was springing up between his 
 wife and Captain Brooke, and a cautious management of 
 their affairs, entrusted to Jane Hook on Mildred's part, 
 and to the sneaking trader Elisha Barlow on Brooke's, 
 established a correspondence which grew more tender as 
 the voyage was protracted. Lost to honor, Mildred lost 
 caste even in the estimation of the wretches who aided 
 her downfall, but she little dreamed that retribution was to 
 come, and in great measure to be inflicted by their hands. 
 
 Let us dwell on this no more ; the guilty woman was 
 soon left by Captain Brooke who went off to join his 
 squadron, and all the Estcourt family (for Miriam bore
 
 RETROSPECTION. 129 
 
 the same name) determined, before setting out for Vir- 
 ginia, to remain for a while in Newport, charmed by the 
 beauty of the island. 
 
 And now Mildred's punishment commenced ; she dis- 
 covered too late the dreadful mistake she had made in 
 placing herself within the reach of such creatures as Jane 
 Hook and Elisha Barlow. 
 
 The trader began the work of torture by such means 
 as a vulgar knave would resort to, a threat, a demand of 
 hush money, or there would be revelations of damning 
 character, which would produce scenes not easily quieted 
 between Mildred and her husband. 
 
 Bold and daring as she was by nature, Mildred shrunk 
 with terror at this, for guilt and cowardice are allied. She 
 was reduced to the dire expedient of asking the advice 
 of Jane Hook, whom but a brief season before she would 
 have discharged in an instant had she dared to offer her 
 counsel. The friend in need of course thought that Barlow 
 meant in earnest what he said, that a little money would 
 quiet him, and that though she hated to gratify such a 
 villain, yet perhaps it was the only course. She would 
 undertake to see him, and oblige him to make oath never 
 to trouble her mistress more, as soon as his demand was 
 satisfied. To this Mildred agreed, little dreaming that the 
 two harpies were combined together to plunder her, and 
 Jane returned from her errand with the information that 
 Barlow was quite content with the sum paid him, and 
 would harass her no further. This was a lie, for they had 
 agreed to share the booty and extort every shilling they 
 could from her. This resolve of theirs was followed 
 ere long, just as the family were about setting out for 
 Virginia to settle on the estate Estcourt had purchased, 
 by a demand on the part of Barlow of such magnitude, 
 that all the money Mildred had in her own possession
 
 130 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 could not satisfy it. Her husband's liberality must be 
 appealed to ; here was a dilemma ; Jane Hook must again 
 be consulted; and now came the most damnable iniquity 
 of the whole plot. Mildred must be able to give a satis- 
 factory reason for asking this sum of her husband, and 
 step by step, by devilish art in hints, and suggestions, the 
 absolute necessity of the case making it imperative for 
 some desperate move, the baited, distracted woman, was 
 induced to connive at a plan which should give her the 
 money, and discharge her persecutor by throwing her 
 own guilt upon her innocent sister. Horrible as was this 
 scheme there was no other escape for her, and she reasoned 
 with herself; "This cannot last forever. I shall be free 
 from that leech Barlow in Virginia ; Estcourt I know will 
 not, cannot live long, he is desperately ill now. The story 
 of Miriam's shame will not be known beyond our own 
 household, and at my husband's death I will renew our 
 intercourse, tell her that I was imposed upon by false 
 stories, and all will be well again." 
 
 Monstrous wickedness ! and yet she adopted it in de- 
 spair. With the same arts by which she had been worked 
 upon, and to which she now lent her own aid, Estcourt 
 was taught to believe that his sister-in-law's conduct had 
 been such that she could not with propriety become a 
 member of his household, as had been intended. It was 
 much better now that she should be given enough to 
 make her comfortable in retirement in Newport, which 
 could easily be done by adding something to the little 
 property she possessed, and leaving her to repent of her 
 sins at leisure. Thus, under pretence of aiding her sister, 
 Mildred would secure the money, which would go to feed 
 the insatiate maw of Elisha Barlow. 
 
 Mr. Estcourt could scarce believe when he heard of 
 Miriam's conduct ; but everything, by false swearing, was
 
 RETROSPECTION. 131 
 
 perfectly proved. There was such exquisite skill in the 
 hints and confessions of Barlow and Jane Hook, when, 
 at Mildred's suggestion, they were questioned on the sub- 
 ject! Such dreadful fears had Jane had, which, alas! 
 had proved too true ; and such deep contrition was ex- 
 pressed by smooth-tongued, smirking Elisha, that he un- 
 wittingly had ever had anything to do with the business! 
 " If he'd only knowed the contents of them ere little notes, 
 nothink would have tempted him!" etc., etc., that all 
 appeared to Estcourt as clear as daylight. He was 
 shocked and indignant ; but he had a kind heart, and on 
 Mildred making him promise that he would not see her 
 sister, alleging that her distress was too great, he readily 
 offered a larger sum than his wife asked for. She took it, 
 and thus was enabled to carry out a double purpose to 
 silence the knave's tongue and endeavor to alleviate 
 Miriam's situation by the miserable consolation of money. 
 There was yet another part to play in this stupendous 
 game that towards her sister in person; but it was 
 managed with the same address which had attended 
 other stages of it, and was rewarded with like success. 
 The loss of Miriam's husband, to whom she was fondly 
 attached, had preyed upon her spirits to such an extent 
 that it was feared, at one time, her reason would be 
 dethroned. She was recovering in some degree ; the 
 voyage proved of great benefit to her, and the care of her 
 child began to absorb her attention and draw her 
 thoughts from off their melancholy fixedness. Nor was 
 it necessary in this vile plot that she should be directly 
 accused and scorned. The chief points were already 
 established Estcourt's belief in her dishonor, and the 
 money secured. 
 
 It was only requisite now that Miriam should be 
 alarmed and disgusted ; that she should refuse to have
 
 132 BRANDON J OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 aught to do with one who even suspected her of wrong. 
 This was difficult, but was artfully accomplished by Mil- 
 dred's denial that any one but her husband distrusted 
 her. 
 
 The indignant woman, fired with the bare hint of such 
 a doubt of her rectitude, at once saw that by keeping 
 with Mildred, her own position would be one of abject 
 baseness, almost tantamount to a confession of guilt. She 
 determined not to leave the spot she was in, preferring to 
 educate her boy, who had already begun to display a 
 froward nature, in the ways of the New England people, 
 rather than amidst the more luxurious institutions of the 
 south. 
 
 Had she confronted Estcourt, all this structure of lies 
 would have been dashed to the ground ; but Mildred's 
 facility in making one falsehood serve to conceal another, 
 prevented the meeting. She assured Miriam that he was 
 far from looking at her conduct in a criminal light, but 
 only thought she had been rather imprudent, and that he 
 loved her too tenderly to breathe to living soul the 
 faintest word of what he scarce credited himself; and 
 furthermore that, owing to her husband's feeble health, 
 a conversation on such subjects would be so exciting that 
 it might injure him seriously. Miriam took for her son 
 the money handed her by Mildred, on the assurance that 
 it did not come from Estcourt, but was her own. 
 
 Jane Hook had nothing to gain by tainting Miriam's 
 reputation in the mind of any one but Estcourt, and as 
 for the pitiful Elisha Barlow, he considered the account 
 fairly balanced ; that the wrongs inflicted on the inno- 
 cent woman were compensated, or, as he expressed it, 
 " credited," by the punishment dealt out to Mildred ; and 
 for his forbearance in not extorting money from her 
 sister, or attempting to do so, he impiously talked of
 
 RETROSPECTION. 133 
 
 treasures laid up in heaven, from which bank he would 
 receive his own with usury when he came to present his 
 bill upon the day of judgment. He congratulated himself 
 on the great skill he had displayed in the management of 
 this whole matter, frequently chuckling and remarking, 
 that it was " all right, all right," a set phrase of his, 
 which, properly interpreted, meant always, all wrong ! 
 Now the scheme of crime, of cruelty, and of robbery was 
 complete, all was accomplished, and the sisters parted 
 with tears and sorrow, feigned on the part of Mildred 
 but real with the sufferer ; one went with her husband and 
 child to Virginia, bearing with her a load of guilt ; the 
 other, strong in her own innocence, and happily unconsci- 
 ous of the wickedness which had transpired, remained 
 with her son in Newport.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. 
 
 ELISHA BARLOW, having begun so profitable a business 
 much sooner than he could reasonably have hoped for, 
 determined at once to settle in Newport, then far more 
 populous and flourishing than New York. 
 
 Some men bear a singular resemblance to certain of 
 the brute creation, their characteristics being at times of 
 marked similarity ; and the appearance, motions, and de- 
 meanor of Elisha, invariably suggested the cat. He was 
 of moderate height, thin and meagre, with precisely that 
 stealthy pace in his walk distinctive of the feline race. 
 His white face was constantly moved by a smirk which 
 played about his pale lips ; while his starved sandy- 
 colored whiskers seemed stunted in growth by the 
 meanness of their owner. His eyes, which were of 
 greenish grey, dotted in the pupils with minute brown 
 specks, looked as if ever alert for a victim, and a habit 
 of jerking his head up and snuffing at the same time, as 
 if he scented a rat, added to his cat-like attributes. 
 There must be mentioned another trick, of snapping his 
 long nails, and cracking them between his irregular, and 
 not very white teeth, when he found himself in any 
 position of difficulty, and we complete the portrait of 
 this human grimalkin. His laugh never came from a 
 greater depth than his teeth ; one may imagine that an 
 honest dog comes very near laughter, when he wags his 
 tail, and roars out a good hearty bow wow ; but the 
 mirth of a cat consists only in a purr, while its back is 
 up, and its claws ready for scratching. Thus the puss-like 
 (134)
 
 BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. 135 
 
 Elisha's smirk of satisfaction was the best indication that 
 somebody had been bitten ; or that he was preparing for 
 a spring. He was as ignorant a fellow as could well be 
 found in the colonies ; his language was a sort of jargon, 
 partly the English of the mother country, and partly the 
 provincial dialect of the low orders of Virginia ; that of 
 whites mingling much with negroes ; and while a diffuse 
 talker, his chatter never amounted to any thing worth 
 hearing or remembering. He was a compound of every 
 mean and sordid quality ; an insatiate love of money was 
 mingled with such avarice, (legibly written on his low, 
 Avrinkled forehead,) that these traits frequently stood in 
 the way of his own interest, even when urging him on to 
 commit every petty piece of knavery, as well as fraud, 
 upon a large scale. No villainy was too great or too 
 little for him. Narrow as was his intellect, it could em- 
 brace both extremes of iniquity ; while extraordinary 
 vanity induced him to think that his evil deeds were 
 quite unknown, and that he was considered a model of 
 industry, honesty, and liberality. 
 
 His habits of business consisted in fuss, semblance of 
 doing immense work, which was only trivial ; low shrewd- 
 ness, dictated by cunning ; and adroit concealment of 
 rascality by a show of candor. And his universal mode 
 of blinding all men to his true character, was by hypoc- 
 risy so well worn, that it was as much a part of him as 
 his clothes ; and which particularly manifested itself by a 
 profession of religion. Conspicuous attendance at church, 
 and at religious meetings, had so imposed upon the sin- 
 cere worshippers of " Trinity," that he had been chosen 
 one of the vestry ; and wished it to be thought that he 
 was on terms of great intimacy with the pastor, the 
 Reverend Thomas Pollen. 
 
 "Well, reelly now," said Elisha very frequently, "reelly,
 
 136 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 there is nothink as does my heart as much good, as com- 
 ing up to the tabernickle these ere Sunday mornin's. If 
 I acted as some of them are men does yonder, I should'nt 
 like to show my face here ; I'd resign my place in the 
 vestry. What I do like, is to see men act honest. I 
 always, every Saturday night, afore I say my prayers, try 
 to think if I've done anythink in the week to keep me 
 from feelin' all right ; and if I haven't, I can walk about 
 the town so peaceful, with the testament of a good con- 
 science ; and I can go down to the pier, and feel so happy 
 to think how my vessel will soon come in from the islands, 
 and reward me openly." 
 
 " Neighbor Tilley," Elisha might add, while waiting at 
 the church door for the pastor to come, and speaking in 
 a soft, smooth voice, " I s'pose you doesn't know what ne- 
 groes is quoted at, now, in Jamaica ?" 
 
 And neighbor Tilley, very likely astounded at such a 
 question, at such an hour, would look surprised, and 
 briefly answer, " no ;" when Elisha would observe, " no 
 matter, merely thought I'd jest mention it." 
 
 He had a very nice little way of "jest mentioning it," 
 when anxious to sound any one about a matter in which 
 he was not quite sure he could cheat him undetected. 
 
 Then, without staying to ask neighbor Tilley any more 
 questions, he would enter the church, and with the softest 
 cat motion, steal up the aisle, with eyes humbly bent down, 
 and the most delicate smirk playing about his lips ; and 
 then, in the pew, he would smoothly revolve in his mind 
 the price of " wool and ivory," in Jamaica. He would 
 think that just about this time his sharp little brig must 
 have planted a cargo of " niggers " there pretty safely, 
 and at so much a head ; she would take sugar in return, 
 which, in its rotation, would be melted into rum, in one 
 of the twenty-two distilleries then flourishing in Newport.
 
 BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. 137 
 
 The spirit would be shipped out to the coast of Africa, 
 where it would buy another lot of slaves, worth so much. 
 And this delightful calculation was indulged in, until 
 Etisha was in such a frame of mind, as not easily to be 
 moved by a sermon from those startling words, " What 
 shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose 
 his own soul?" Then, with what excessive humility would 
 he hand round the plate for collection ; and before he laid 
 it down again, pause, when he felt most eyes were look- 
 ing at him, and with a careful effort at concealment sure 
 to attract notice, place a broad piece of silver in it. Yes, 
 Elisha thought that everything looked " all right, all 
 right!" Doubtless, those numerous half crowns de- 
 posited for so many Sundays in such a number of 
 years, would be cared for with compound interest, and roll 
 up for him at least a thousand pounds' worth of salvation ! 
 Barlow the vestryman had now for some years been 
 doing a pretty flourishing trade ; by dint of lying, cheat- 
 ing, and saving, he had accumulated quite a handsome 
 sum. His shop in the main street, was full of goods of 
 all kinds, including groceries ; and a constant throng of 
 buyers from morning till night, indicated a lively business. 
 All things looked fair, and above board ; Elisha always 
 endeavoring to impress the public with the extraordinary 
 advantages to be obtained in buying of him ; and few 
 knew, excepting his poor clerks, that all was not as it 
 should be. Cutting their wages down to the lowest 
 point, he ground as much work out of them as they could 
 do ; but as sure as any of them began to suspect him of 
 trickery, and manifested the least distrust, they were im- 
 mediately given notice to quit, recommended to try some 
 other situation as the work was too hard. Then, per- 
 haps, Elisha's partners, for he had various partners, every 
 one of whom he swindled in turn, wondering at this,
 
 138 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 would be quieted by " he thought he had mentioned it." 
 This phrase was of similar purport to that of " no matter, 
 thought he'd jest mention it ; " and was in frequent use 
 whenever any piece of knavery was to be slurred over, 
 as of no moment. It was not known, however, that Eli- 
 sha's business was partly done in a very sly, underhand, 
 underground manner ; that, in fact, he had a private 
 understanding with some professional gentlemen, vulgarly 
 called smugglers ; who, with that disdain, characteristic 
 of enlightened minds, regarded revenue laws as mon- 
 strous impositions on the spirit of the age ; and only to 
 be obeyed by low and grovelling plodders. Elisha fully 
 coincided in this opinion ; and carried it out, as far as his 
 own safety would allow ; though he would have looked 
 with affected horror upon any one who advocated openly 
 even a belief in their injustice. 
 
 There was a secret rendezvous out on the island (of 
 which we shall say more in another chapter), and Elisha 
 frequently visited it in the dusk of evening, returning 
 safely laden with silks or cloths, which had not been 
 duly entered at the " receipt of his Majesty's customs." 
 These articles he was enabled to sell at good profit, tak- 
 ing care not to place them so low as to excite any suspi- 
 cion in the mind^ of buyers, while, at the same tune, ad- 
 verting to other dealers who had similar goods in honest 
 possession at a little higher rate, he would observe, 
 " Well, reelly now, it is a shame how them are men tries 
 to keep up prices." 
 
 But Barlow, with all his nice, smooth, oily manner, now 
 and then found himself in such a corner that, like a cat, he 
 showed his teeth and claws, when a steady determined 
 resistance made him display the mean abject cowardice 
 of his nature. 
 
 Captain Walrus, a bluff sailor, who had made several
 
 BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. 139 
 
 voyages to India and also to China, had been in the 
 habit of dealing with him, but having detected Mm in a 
 piece of rascality by which he would have made a large 
 profit, had prevented his doing so. Elisha was thereby 
 incensed to such a degree that, after " studying over it," 
 as he was accustomed to say, he concluded to scare the 
 captain into compliance with his wishes, and, accordingly, 
 sending for him to come to his shop, asked him to walk 
 up stairs, when he made a show of drawing a pistol, 
 threatening to shoot unless paid a round sum on the spot. 
 Captain Walrus, however, only coolly doubling up his 
 fist, laid it gently on the trader's nose, so that its gigantic 
 proportions and iron weight could be felt with eloquent 
 emphasis, and then slowly backed him around the room, 
 the coward exclaiming with terror, " Now don't, now 
 don't ! " The captain, contenting himself with this, and 
 expressing his perfect contempt for him and his threats, 
 took care to inform some of his friends that he considered 
 Elisha only a " paper tiger," an epithet which he had 
 learnt among the Chinese, who by it designate a bluster- 
 ing fellow without courage. 
 
 This nickname appeared so well suited to Barlow, that 
 it became the one by which some of the community 
 generally spoke of him, and we shall frequently apply it 
 to him ourselves in the course of the ensuing narrative.
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII. 
 
 LUCY'S TBIAL8. 
 
 IT is a frequent cause of annoyance in life that unprinci- 
 pled and designing members of society occupy our atten- 
 tion, to the exclusion of those whose intimacy we desire 
 to cultivate, and who are capable of imparting happiness. 
 Mildred, her deeds, and her accomplices, occupy much 
 of that space which sympathy would lead us to devote to 
 her victims, but the tale must be told in accordance with 
 the truth of its events as they actually happened. 
 
 When Lucy Tyrrell again saw her humble home, how 
 changed it appeared. She left the island a child, she 
 returned a woman. As in Tieck's beautiful story of the 
 Elves, the " Serena" of this history came back from fairy 
 land, where she had passed bright days, until the King 
 of the Magic Realm came to visit it, and then mortal 
 must tread no more within fairy bowers. The golden 
 gates must thenceforth be shut upon her, and conducted 
 to the portal, she must bid a long farewell to all that 
 enchantment, and seek again the home once so dear, but 
 never before so homely. But Lucy Tyrrell had a gene- 
 rous spirit, a noble heart, and she felt that it was still her 
 duty, tried though she was, to be her parents' solace, 
 even as it had been her pleasure before, in the happiest 
 hours of her childhood. How often then had her merry 
 laugh rung out at some slight mishap in her mother's 
 household, and such a sparkle of mirth always won good 
 humor from the matron, vexed as she might be. When 
 [140]
 
 LUCY'S TEIALS. 141 
 
 her father, saddened at the prospect of his lot, had sat 
 desponding in his study, because he imagined that all the 
 thoughts matured in his mind and preached as glad tid- 
 ings unto men, were but as pearls flung before swine, 
 how often had Lucy, by a gentle kiss upon his brow, 
 roused him from his reverie, when looking into her sweet 
 face, as her eloquent lips won him from his desk, had he 
 passed with her into the fresh, pure air, and felt that all 
 his toil, all his care was amply repaid him ; for she led 
 him, as he had her of old, along the strand where the 
 wild billows tossed in the shells, and, pointing "over the 
 waste of waters as the sun sunk from view, reminded him 
 of her childish days, when he had told her of golden 
 visions to come again with the coming morn, and why 
 not for him ? Oh, then he felt the recompense, and fold- 
 ing his darling Lucy in his arms, while he kissed her with 
 a father's holiest kiss, blessed God that he had given him 
 such a child. 
 
 She was ready to resume her duties, a poor islander, 
 once more ; but at first she hurried to her little chamber, 
 whither in days of old she had sometimes fled, and was 
 happy, freed from intrusive visitors. There she now, 
 unseen, unheard, sobbed wildly, in the bitterness of her 
 heart. At last, drying her tears, she looked around on 
 her neat, narrow room, its single window opening upon 
 a landscape of bleak downs and rocky passes, and that 
 friend from infancy, the mighty sea. Then she turned 
 to the trim, snowy couch which a mother's hand had last 
 smoothed, the rude prints which decked the walls, the 
 cabinet of shells, and pebbles, and sea mosses which she 
 hud gathered with her own hands. Oh! could his 
 picture only hang among those prints, it would redeem 
 them all. His image was glassed in her memory ; he had 
 been her teacher, had led her bright mind onwards day
 
 142 BRANDON : OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 by day to appreciate a better art ; but he was not visible 
 to smile upon these, and how worthless they appeared. 
 But her shells, her pet shells and mosses, which she had 
 taken such pains to gather bright from ocean, these she 
 could still value, for they were the gifts of nature, and he 
 would love to look upon them if ever he came to the island. 
 After she had spent an hour in her chamber and was 
 calmed, she ventured to the door of her father's study. 
 She knocked, but there was no reply ; she lifted the latch 
 and slowly ventured in, thinking that her father might 
 not have heard her, but the room was vacant. The win- 
 dows were open, and a soft autumnal breeze stole into 
 the study, and gently fanned her faded cheek. She 
 closed the door, and seated, looked around on the old 
 familiar objects, but no tears flowed now. For hours she 
 sat gazing listlessly on those volumes wfrich, in her former 
 pride, she had loved to arrange and keep neat for her 
 father's hand. At times she would totter to the shelves, 
 then, in utter brokenness of heart, sink back upon her 
 chair. She was roused from her trance at length by a 
 kiss upon her brow, and she saw her father. We pass 
 over the scene. 
 
 She day after day came to his study and lingered near 
 him ; she gave him many a hint to speak of her sorrows, 
 but he spoke not. It is a peculiarity, and a very unfortu- 
 nate one, in the New England character, that it exacts 
 implicit obedience from childhood, yet seldom rewards 
 with praise. Nothing, judged by its cold criticism, is 
 ever well done ; it might always have been better done. 
 That old Puritan spirit is harsh and stern ; that spirit 
 which, like flint, would strike and kindle fire, but never 
 melt, and though Lucy's father displayed far less of its 
 rigor than many, and had ever been more like a com- 
 panion to her than a grave parent, yet now she deeply
 
 LUCY'S TRIALS. 143 
 
 felt it. Now she found in her father's face no response 
 to her own ; no, his name was to be unheard, forgotten 
 she could read this in his face. With her mother she 
 had never enjoyed the same communion as with her 
 father ; and now occasionally the good-natured, but ill- 
 timed jest about crossed love, jarred upon Lucy's ear. 
 Gradually becoming more resigned to her melancholy 
 fate 
 
 " No longer she wept, her tears were all spent ; 
 No longer she wept, and she thought it content : 
 She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale, 
 And she drooped like the lily broke down by the hail." 
 
 But she yet had pleasures hi memory. Her uncle, 
 pitying her, and desiring to soothe her by every means 
 in his power, had, with her father's permission, given to 
 her the harpsichord over which she had enjoyed so many 
 happy hours, and now with her music she could at once 
 please her parents, and solace her own heart, as she drew 
 from the keys those sounds which had delighted Charles 
 Brandon, when he had praised her diligence and exulted 
 in her progress. 
 
 She resumed her visits to the cottages not as she was 
 wont, partly with a view to amusement, but only to cheer 
 and help such as were sick in body or in mind, and she 
 would often pass long portions of the day with them, 
 nurse them, and smooth their coarse pillows with her deli- 
 cate hands, or read to them from their Bibles, when they 
 would tell her that the Word of God from her lips sound- 
 ed dear to them. There were eyes that turned upon 
 their bed of illness, to look after her with a blessing as 
 she withdrew at evening, and shone brighter as she came 
 again with another morning; and there were hard rough 
 hands which had grown knotted hi the battle of life till
 
 144 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 they felt like iron, which now, at the least touch of her 
 soft fingers, would open and gently play with them, and 
 give that pressure of gratitude which their feeble words 
 could not express. 
 
 Sometimes, when the sick would ask her to tell them 
 of her life while away from them in the city, and which 
 they thought must have been a round of pleasure and 
 happiness, she would try to do so, and speak of any sight 
 or amusement which she deemed likely to interest them, 
 although a constant memory of Charles wove itself into 
 all her thoughts, and pained her, for she could scarcely 
 speak of one experience of that time in which he did not 
 bear part. 
 
 She had waited long before she heard from him, and 
 with a sick heart, for she had been amazed and shocked 
 at the receipt of the two blank letters which Mildred had 
 sent. She was utterly at a loss to imagine the reason for 
 such strange conduct ; the handwriting, too, was un- 
 known, though evidently that of a female. Stranger 
 still that these missives were from Williamsburg, the very 
 spot whence Charles had told her his letters would be 
 sent. She rightly thought some evil agency was at work. 
 At last came the letter which, owing to Randolph's care, 
 had escaped the clutches of Mildred. She anticipated 
 many such pleasures, when her father, unwilling that she 
 should indulge hopes which he regarded as vain, at once 
 expressed his disapprobation of the correspondence, and, 
 writing to Mr. Brandon, forbade it altogether. 
 
 This was cruel, though not intended to be so. Lucy 
 wrote to her lover for the last time. She told how 
 deeply it grieved her not to be even able to continue 
 writing as she had hoped, but that she should never love 
 him the less, that in spirit she would always be with him. 
 She urged him to be patient, trusting in God, and not to
 
 LUCY'S TRIALS. 145 
 
 abandon hope ; all might yet be well with them, but that 
 she knew that his sense of honor would not encourage 
 her, in defiance of her father's injunction, to carry on a 
 clandestine correspondence. In con elusion, with womanly 
 delicacy but strong love, she begged him to see as much 
 of her cousin Matilda as he could, and do all in his power 
 to make her happy hi her new home separated from her 
 parents. This request was interpreted by Charles as it 
 was meant, for he knew that Matilda would be sure to 
 write to Lucy and speak of him, by which means the 
 lovers would not be utterly cut off from each other, but 
 could yet interchange affection and hope for happier days. 
 But a balm to Lucy's wounded spirit came from the 
 sea ; she daily visited the shore, as she always had in 
 childhood, when she watched the sinking sun, its parting 
 splendors flushing over the deep and far heavenward to- 
 ward the zenith ; though now her gaze turned not upon 
 its glories, but like her spirit looked ever to the south, 
 where lay the home of her beloved. Often so sad in 
 heart that she longed, like Sappho, to bury forever her 
 love and misery beneath the waters, still she stood stead- 
 fast, watching as if expecting him, though he came not, 
 until the last glow faded from the heavens and twilight 
 fell upon another weary day. Yes, a balm came to her 
 agonized heart from out the sea ; she loved it as more 
 than a friend ; when but a child it had sent its delicate 
 foam in play across her tiny feet as she trod the shore, 
 and it had told her many a tale of wonder and delight in 
 the pebbles and pretty shells it had strewn before her. 
 As she grew older it had become a teacher ; its voice, which 
 the Almighty gave, was never to be wearisome, never 
 silent, and even hi her sweet slumbers still singing, singing 
 all night long in her little chamber, and around the rude 
 old house, still ever on the watch, hour by hour sounding
 
 146 BKANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " all's well, all's well." And now, in the saddened expe- 
 rience of her maturer life, that sea seemed to look up into 
 her face with pity, and breathe sympathy, and say that 
 all the trials of that poor heart once cast upon its waters 
 should be lost in its immeasurable depths. And then 
 slowly, but sweetly and serenely, as she sat upon its shore 
 and looked over its far heaving surges, the load upon her 
 soul grew lighter ; and she was visited by visions of hap- 
 pier days, days when he should at last obey the magnet 
 power of those persuasive eyes, and come once more to 
 bless her. 
 
 In silence she breathed to the deep listening sea all her 
 hopes and fears, all her tender and most secret thoughts, 
 and it gave back peace ; peace far better than the hope 
 deferred which maketh the heart sick ; and from daily 
 watching by the brink of ocean, she rose with gentler 
 feelings, with new emotions, which, if not of hope, were 
 yet not despair ; with strength which enabled her once 
 again to smile, and to cheer her parents in the poor old 
 home.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 RACHEL'S HISTORY. 
 
 RACHEL, the recluse, heard of Lucy's story soon after 
 her return to the island. As we have before seen, she 
 was on terms of intimacy with Mr. Tyrrell, and he had 
 told her of his daughter's misfortunes. She had appeared 
 strangely interested when she heard the names of Mildred 
 and Blanche mentioned ; and without informing the pas- 
 tor of her resolves, sent for Lucy to come and see her, as 
 she now determined to inform her of her own history. 
 She saw clearly, much more so than the clergyman could, 
 what evil spirit was at work ; and when she appointed a 
 time for Lucy, she told her to bring with her those blank 
 letters, of which she had been informed, as she wished to 
 examine their superscription. Lucy obeyed, and set out 
 on her visit. It was an October afternoon, chilly, and 
 gusty ; and the sunbeams could scarce pierce the masses 
 of heavy, gray clouds, which hung, lowering, over the 
 sea, imparting to it their own leaden hue, varied by the 
 occcasional slants of light, which fell upon its waters. 
 
 The wind was rising, the surf dashed upon the shore 
 with a long, moaning sound, as before a tempest ; the sea 
 birds flew around with wild shrieks ; and one or two ves- 
 sels in the offing, were making all sail for harbor, ere the 
 tempest should gather upon them. 
 
 Lucy found Rachel, as usual, alone ; serene and stately. 
 " I have heard your sad story, my poor child," she said ; 
 " I grieve for you, deeply. You can scarce believe me 
 
 (147)
 
 148 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 that I may be enabled to do you a service ; but you must 
 first listen to the history you have so often asked for. It 
 is little worth the hearing ; yet it is the true story of a life, 
 and one life is as much from God as another. Your 
 sorrow has come, but may it be your lightest. Now, 
 wait an instant, and I will tell you ;" and she arose, and 
 opening the door, looked, as she was often accustomed 
 to, over the wild sea, as if in search of some vessel ; then, 
 coming back, reseated herself, and began. 
 
 " You know that I came from England. I was born in 
 luxury, and reared with tender care ; and at an early age 
 was married to one I dearly loved ; but, in a short time 
 after my marriage, my parents were both carried off by 
 a malignant fever which desolated London. 
 
 " My father, the son of a celebrated statesman, did not 
 love his father, who was always harsh and unkind to 
 him ; and, immigrating to this country, after a few years 
 in it alone, determined to make a pennanent settlement 
 with his family. He went back to England for them ; 
 when he was seized with the disease I mentioned, which 
 swept off thousands in a few weeks. He left but a small 
 property. My ills began with that first and dreadful be- 
 reavement. Save my husband, I was nearly alone in the 
 world. I had a sister ; but she has, indeed, been to me 
 rather as a fiend ; and in her the fierce, unloveable spirit 
 of my grandsire early displayed itself. My father used 
 to say, that he feared she would bring down his gray 
 hairs with sorrow to the grave ; but I rejoice that he was 
 spared the misery I have borne. My husband was of the 
 same rank in life with me ; for both families belonged to 
 the gentry of the land ; but he, being a younger son, did 
 not inherit a tithe of the property which the entail placed 
 in the hands of his elder brother. But that was of little 
 moment, for he loved me dearly, and a happy life I looked
 
 RACHEL'S HISTORY. 149 
 
 for. But the fever which had killed my father and mother, 
 had ruined his health ; for, after nursing them in their 
 dreadful illness, when nurses and surgeons fled from con- 
 tagion, and the only sound in the streets was the dead- 
 cart rumbling by, he himself was attacked by the same 
 disease ; and though he rose from his bed of sickness, it 
 was but as another creature, such a change had the fever 
 wrought in him, who was before so strong and handsome. 
 He removed from London to Warwickshire, not far from 
 the proud castle of Warwick's earl, with whose family 
 my own had been intimate for a century past. But the 
 sweet country air of England only restored my husband's 
 health for a brief season ; then he drooped and died ; and 
 lies buried in the yard of St. Mary's church, amid the 
 relics of the haughty Brookes and Grevilles." Here 
 Rachel paused a few moments, and covered her face with 
 her hands ; then, with a voice which trembled with agi- 
 tation as she touched upon another subject, continued : 
 " he left but one to bear his name, a son ;" and when she 
 thus spoke, she turned her face as if involuntarily, and 
 looked out of the window towards the sea. " One son, 
 Sole joy that was left to me on earth. And now, where 
 is he ? He was between five and six years of age when 
 my husband died, and I thought it best, because of my 
 small property, to come to America ; for here it would 
 support me more comfortably than in England, the 
 country of the rich alone. My sister, too, and her fam- 
 ily, were about coming over, and I joined them in Lon- 
 don, whence we all sailed together. It is a long time past; 
 eighteen long years of sorrow and misery. And yet no 
 end to all woe." 
 
 And here Rachel, whom the reader has already dis- 
 covered to be Mildred's sister, gave Lucy an account of 
 the voyage, and of Barlow and Jane Hook, as well as of
 
 150 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Captain Brooke, whom she had known in England ; but 
 whom she did not at the time of the voyage, suspect of 
 any improper intimacy with her sister. She continued 
 her story, detailing the scenes between herself and Mil- 
 dred at Newport, where they had parted, she uncon- 
 scious of the ignominy which had been heaped upon her. 
 " It was not," she said, " until after the death of my 
 sister's husband, that I found out what a wretch she must 
 be. Thinking she would be glad to have me with her in 
 Virginia, to comfort her in her affliction, I took my little 
 son, hoping that the sight of his bright, handsome, bold 
 face would make her happier ; as he could be playmate 
 for her orphaned child, her sweet little daughter. But 
 never shall I forget the harsh, bitter treatment I received. 
 Even curses were mine ; and blows might have been, had 
 I remained much longer with her. I could scarce dream 
 why, until my unnatural sister, knoAving that I was inno- 
 cent, accused me of the worst of crimes but murder, told 
 me that a story which her husband believed, of my shame, 
 was all proved true, that I had sinned with Captain 
 Brooke, and that all the world should know it. I now 
 saw how foully I had been slandered in Newport ; " and 
 here Rachel detailed to Lucy, an account of that plot, of 
 which the reader has been informed. "This was too 
 hard, it nearly crushed me ; and, gathering my scanty 
 wardrobe, I induced one kind-hearted black to remove 
 me with my child, at night, from the hateful abode of 
 slander and crime. Yes, crime ! for not long after I had 
 returned in wretchedness to Newport, that dreadful Jane 
 Hook appeared there, and confessed enough to make me 
 firmly believe that she had committed some foul deed; what 
 it was, she would not say, only that she knew I was inno- 
 cent; that she, with Barlow, had been the means of 
 blackening my character, but that my sister's punishment
 
 RACHEL'S HISTORY. 151 
 
 had now begun, and that she should show no mercy to 
 her, the guilty adulteress, in expiation of her own sins, 
 and in pity for me. All was now revealed ; and I could 
 account for my sister's hatred of me. Still, I could have 
 lived down slander. I was not forced to beg bread ; and 
 my wretchedness, extreme as it was, I could have, per- 
 haps, forgotten in time, but for my child." 
 
 Here Rachel's recollections came again, with irresisti- 
 ble power ; she bowed her head, and sobbing wildly, shed 
 those tears of frantic sorrow, which give almost as great 
 pain when seen and listened to, as when wept by our- 
 selves. " My poor, poor, lost son," she said ; " oh ! that 
 I could but see him die, I would ask but to close his eyes, 
 and bury him, and watch by his grave until death should 
 lay me beside him ; then could I feel that Heaven would 
 forgive him, and accept us both. My son Ralph early 
 displayed a spirit like that of his great grandsire ; bold, 
 rash, and wilful. He was ever fond of escaping from me^ 
 being absent for hours, and as he grew older, for days. 
 The sea was his passion ; he was born to live upon it, and 
 long before he was ten years old, he could manage a boat 
 with perfect skill ; and fearless by nature, never hesitated 
 to venture outside of the harbor in the wildest weather. 
 Soon he acquired a perfect knowledge of every winding 
 of the shore, every sounding of the bay. Frequently it 
 was deep night before he would come into harbor. But 
 this love of the sea did not displease me ; for I was glad 
 that he was disposed to lead an active life. I shortly 
 found, however, that he was ruled by no principle ; nei- 
 ther fear of God, nor love of me influencing him ; though 
 I would have died for him. He neglected his studies ; 
 refused at last to go longer to school ; and what could I, 
 a weak woman do, but weep and pray for him ? His days 
 passed in idleness, amidst bad companions; he learned
 
 152 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDEED YEARS AGO. 
 
 their wicked ways, and lost all sense of shame. At last he 
 told me that he would enter some shop, and learn a trade. 
 I had fondly hoped that he would finally change, and 
 take to his books, that the pride of my heart might be 
 gratified in sending him to college ; for which purpose, I 
 had saved every penny I could ; and had almost denied 
 myself food and clothes. And now, it pained me that he 
 should engage in a calling in which I knew his wild and 
 reckless habits would never'serve him. But when I found 
 that he was to be with that wretch, Elisha Barlow, I 
 gave up all hope. What hold the villain had upon him, 
 I could not then tell ; but he exercised a fascination that 
 drew my poor boy to him. I knew that he had furnished 
 Ralph with money, for some services, which had always 
 been spent with worthless comrades, in drunken revelry. 
 When I begged him on my knees, to shun the miscreant, 
 oh, God ! then he mocked me, and I felt that my cup of 
 misery was indeed full. By some means unknown to me, 
 Barlow drew Ralph into his schemes, as he had done 
 others ; and my miserable son became, before he was six- 
 teen years of age, one of a gang of marauders and smug- 
 glers. No doubt his tempter was in league with these, 
 one or two of whom, it was supposed, he sent to the 
 gibbet, by information lodged with the government, so 
 well timed, as to screen himself from suspicion. This 
 Barlow had the audacity to tell me that he knew enough 
 of my son to hang him, when I confronted and upbraided 
 him with his iniquity. 
 
 " Not long after this, during one of those unlawful ex- 
 peditions, Ralph's life was jeopardized, and he nearly 
 caused the death of one who had been the means of in- 
 flicting cruel wrongs on me. The little vessel to which 
 Ralph belonged, had landed goods on the coast, intended 
 to be passed into the country without duties, and while
 
 RACHEL'S HISTORY. 153 
 
 he and his companions were busy in their hiding place, 
 storing their contraband articles and dividing their spoils, 
 they were surrounded by some of the revenue officers, 
 led on by a captain in the navy, who had discovered their 
 position, and had cruised off the coast for some time in 
 hopes of capturing their vessel. The smugglers made a 
 desperate resistance ; one or two were taken and after- 
 wards executed, the rest fought their way through their 
 assailants and escaped. 
 
 " Ralph was engaged in a struggle with the captain, 
 and being a much younger and more powerful man, 
 easily overcame him and cut him down. He was no 
 other than Captain Brooke, who had exercised so fatal an 
 influence on our fortunes. And now my tale is nearly 
 told ; a price is set upon the head of my son, but he seems 
 to bear a charmed life ; he has escaped a thousand snares 
 and dangers, and still pursues his unlawful traffic on the 
 seas, and every man's hand is against him*" 
 
 " But you haye not yet told me why you are here, 
 Rachel," said Lucy, now hesitating to call her by that 
 designation. 
 
 " My real name, Lucy, is Miriam ; I took that of Rachel 
 when I came here in order to more completely elude ob- 
 servation. I could not remain in Newport, known as the 
 mother of a robber and a pirate ; no, there all things ap- 
 peared to run red with blood," said the unhappy woman ; 
 " here at least I can hide my grief from every eye." 
 
 " And does Ralph know that you are here ? " asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 " Yes, he has seen me ; now ask no more of him." 
 
 " Not of him," answered Lucy, " and yet one question 
 more. What was your sister's name ? " 
 
 " Mildred, Mildred Estcourt," 
 
 I suspected as much, thought Lucy, remembering what
 
 154 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Charles Brandon had said of her ruthless character; but 
 I did not know one could be so wicked. 
 
 " Now, Lucy, darling," said Miriam, " let us speak of 
 my sorrows no more. We have both suffered from the 
 wickedness of one woman, but do not despair. Let me 
 look at those blank packets which came from Virginia." 
 
 Lucy showed them. Miriam regarded the superscrip- 
 tions attentively, and said nothing, but she thought, 
 " Just as I deemed would prove true her writing, her 
 writing. Merciful heaven ! grant that in this instance I 
 may prevail ;" and her thoughts took the shape of resolves 
 to write forthwith to two persons, who, she hoped, would 
 do good service to Lucy Tyrrell. 
 
 During Miriam's narrative, the wind had risen to full 
 fury, and as Lucy walked homewards, the whole ocean 
 was lashed into foam ; that night a dreadful tempest, ac- 
 companied by thunder and lightning, struck terror to 
 her heart. Tbte frightful creatures of whom she had 
 heard, in her dreams appeared to be connected with her 
 fate ; and the tumult of the elements which shook her 
 window, was, to her terrified imagination, some hideous 
 shape striving to burst the casement, and seize her in its 
 grasp.
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 NEWPORT OF OLD. 
 
 THE quaint little town of Newport was very much the 
 same one hundred years ago that it is to-day, we mean 
 the portion of it lying along the harbor ; for its costly and 
 beautiful villas which now make it the most exquisite of 
 summer residences, are the creations of the last fifteen 
 years. "We need not, therefore, fully describe its aspect 
 at the time of our story, for it can easily be seen now by 
 any one of a party who trusts himself in a pleasure boat, 
 to the pilotage of Captain King of the " Susan H. Lloyd," 
 or old Father Nason of the " Mary N." He must 
 imagine that he is a loyal subject of King George the 
 Second, instead of a disappointed office-seeker under 
 the administration of James Buchanan. Then forgetting 
 his grumbling, as he shoots past the light-house on 
 the pier at the end of Goat Island, let him look over 
 the harbor and he will see, with one or two slight 
 changes, such as a steeple here and there, the very 
 Newport of our story. Here were studded many of the 
 same houses which now cause the stranger to wonder at 
 their old quaint gables and carved cornices ; and on the 
 brow of the hill stood the classic Redwood Library, then 
 the recent work of the assistant architect of Blenheim 
 Palace. Trinity Church spire tapered gracefully aloft; 
 and the mysterious old stone mill, since rendered a hun- 
 dred fold more interesting by the genius of Cooper and 
 
 (155)
 
 156 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 Longfellow, wore the same ruined look it bears now. 
 The sunny glades, the sequestered dells, and the wild sea- 
 shore, of which such exquisite descriptions live in the 
 poetry of Brooks, and Tuckerman, and Calvert, were 
 scarce different, only more lonely then. 
 
 The tints of the skies were as pure as those which 
 have inspired the coloring of Malbone .and Staigg, in their 
 invaluable miniatures, and the rocky cliff and the blue sea 
 shone bright, but had not then charmed a master painter 
 like Kensett. 
 
 What a jewel is that little Rhode Island, with which 
 there is nothing to compare on the whole Atlantic coast ! 
 Shielded alike from the rigorous cold of the north and 
 the burning heats of southern summers, the Gulf Stream, 
 which plays along its shores, tempers its waters, as if loth 
 to part with so much beauty, kindly freights the gales 
 with sweet remembrances of its warmth, and diffuses in 
 the atmosphere that delicious softness conducing to 
 repose, yet without the langour of tropic climes. The 
 island scenery is of every varied charm, from the craggy 
 shores, the smooth, hard beaches, where the sea birds 
 circle and fishers cast their seine, to the wooded glens, 
 the rich teeming meadow lands, the round bare hills, 
 crowned here and there with the breastworks of revolu- 
 tionary days, or the ancient windmills which grind the 
 corn, while the old patient pony waits for hre load, 
 tethered to the moss-covered stone wall. 
 
 Who loves not to look upon the dense, dark orchard of 
 gnarled apple trees, the cool, deep wells, and long beam 
 for drawing water, the peculiar sycamores lining the roads 
 for miles, too many of them now touched by decay ; the 
 silent, lonely ponds of fresh water, decked with odorous 
 lilies ; the historic " Hanging Rocks," where the spiritual 
 Berkeley sat and wrote his deathless works, and the
 
 NEWPORT OP OLD. 157 
 
 greener cliffs, trod in long hours of religious musing by 
 the eloquent Channing. 
 
 Lady Mildred and Blanche Estcourt arrived safely in 
 Newport after their tedious journey, and repaired to the 
 public house of that day, which was kept by John Law- 
 ton, familiarly called " Jack." His tavern stood nearly op- 
 posite to the State House, but no sign of it now arrests 
 the antiquarian's attention. The snug, cosy, high-peaked, 
 gabled inn, of reddish brown, has been destroyed to make 
 room for the present staring white shingle palace, known 
 as the Park House, but yet, 
 
 " Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
 The parlor splendors of that festive place ; 
 The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, 
 The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; 
 The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, 
 "With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay ; 
 Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
 And news much older than their ale went round." 
 
 Jack Lawton did one's heart good to look at ; rosy and 
 portly, he stood in his top boots the picture of independ- 
 ence and good humor. His scarlet waistcoat, with shin- 
 ing buttons, set off the shape of his capacious paunch, and 
 was pleasant to behold. One of his eyes had a remark- 
 able twinkle in it, as if he had always something funny to 
 tell of; it was merrier than his laugh, for that began so far 
 down, and had so much fat to contend with, that it was 
 nearly stifled, and slowly gurgled up like air bubbles from 
 an ale butt. 
 
 " We shall remain, sir, some time, and wish therefore 
 to have your best rooms," said Mildred. 
 
 " Yes, ma'rm ; I will show you one room I can give 
 you, the same one as famous Dean Berkeley used to sleep
 
 158 BRA.NDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 in sometimes. Dean he was when he was over Trinity 
 Church ; bishop he's been since ; dead he is now, ma'rm, 
 these five years. Lord rest his soul, ma'rm," and Jack's 
 countenance would have looked solemn but for his eye, 
 which was twinkling rapidly. 
 
 "I have heard of Bishop Berkeley, a famous scholar; 
 and did you know him well, Mr. Lawton ?" Mildred con- 
 descended to say. 
 
 " Know him, ma'rm ? would know his bones, poor 
 soul ! It's nigh thirty years since he come out to Rhode 
 Island ; stayed here two and a half year, ma'rm, and 
 made every body love him. He preached in Trinity 
 Church, close by here, where you'll see the organ he gave 
 to it ; plays most beautiful, with a crownd on top on it." 
 
 " And he sometimes slept in this room ? " asked 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Yes, miss, sometimes he come in from Whitehall, 
 where he lived ; its three mile out from town. I always 
 drives strangers out as likes to see the place, and I 
 shows 'em the Hanging Rocks, too, where he wrote his 
 books. I has a nice copy of his works, miss." 
 
 " Ah, have you read them, Mr. Lawton ?" 
 
 " Why no, miss," said Jack, very frankly, and not at all 
 confused ; " you see in my youth I has'nt had the benefit 
 of much schoolin', and them works of the bishop's is too 
 deep for me ; but I am a keeping 'em for my little girls, 
 as now goes a schoolin' to Mrs. Morpus, and I am proud 
 to say, miss, there is'nt two smarter girls as goes to school 
 anywhere. They will understand 'em, in course." 
 
 " You are very proud and fond of the memory of your 
 good bishop I find, Mr. Lawton." 
 
 "Yes indeed, miss, and we ought to be, he did a 
 great deal for us in Newport, though he stayed such a 
 short time, only two and a half year; but times is altered
 
 NEWPORT OP OLD. 159 
 
 now," said Jack, despondingly, " they is not so good as 
 they once was." 
 
 Innkeepers are not apt to take melancholy views of 
 life, but it is a peculiarity of the race all the world over, 
 and worthy of note, that they always inform their patrons 
 that times are not so good as they once were. 
 
 " Then those days were very pleasant," said Blanche, 
 willing to indulge Jack on a theme which appeared so 
 interesting to him. 
 
 " Lord bless us, yes, miss ; there was Dean Berkeley, 
 and Mr. Callender, the parson, and Mr. Redwood, him as 
 founded the library, you'll see it on the hill, and other 
 gentlemen of known parts. Sometimes they used to dine 
 here, and always said I gave 'em good wines. I've many 
 a time since heard it said that there was'nt no such 
 fine society anywheres else in the whole colonies. Ah, 
 them was times ! " and Jack's eye in his enthusiasm 
 sparkled like Sirius. 
 
 " And who is settled over Trinity Church, now, sir ? " 
 asked Mildred, turning the conversation. 
 
 " The Rev'd Thomas Pollen, ma'rm ; he came out from 
 England about four years agf6. ir Nice man, but he can't 
 come up to the Dean. Mrs. Morpus, as my little girls 
 goes to school to, keeps house for him; there she go 
 now, ma'am." Jack pointed out of the window, and the 
 ladies saw a stately figure walking with solemn grandeur 
 at the head of a troop of little girls. The procession 
 moved with remarkable precision, for Mrs. Morpus prided 
 herself strongly on " deportment," and instructed her 
 pupils to assume a queenly carriage in the street. Her 
 presence was rendered more imposing by a bonnet of 
 warlike shape, something like a casque, crowned with 
 heavy ostrich plumes, which to classic readers recalled 
 Hector's helmet, whose "nodding crest" terrified his
 
 160 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 infant. A corpulent green umbrella, decorated with a 
 long brass ferule, a ring, and a hooked horn handle, waved 
 in a majestic manner, and rather added to the formidable 
 state of Mrs. Morpus. The most rash man might well 
 pause before encountering that lance which was a terror 
 to all the little boys in Newport. 
 
 "So that is Mrs. Morpus?" said Mildred; "I shall 
 become acquainted with her when I see Mr. Pollen, as I 
 intend to. Can you tell me, Mr. Lawton, if such a per- 
 son as Elisha Barlow has a shop in this town ? " 
 
 Jack's eye at this question winked more than ever, it 
 glittered like a whole constellation on a clear winter's 
 night. 
 
 " Yes, ma'rm, he has ; but my private opinion is, that 
 Lishe Barlow is no more nor less than a willin. I never 
 lets him come nigh me with his palaver. Mrs. Morpus 
 is the one for him, too. He takes to his heels when he 
 sees her a coming. Does you know him, ma'rm ? " 
 
 " I have heard of him. If we wish for anything more 
 Mr. Lawton, we will call you." 
 
 " Thank you ma'rm, always at your service ;" and mine 
 host bowed and took his leave. 
 
 When Blanche was in some degree restored from her 
 fatigue, her health being much impaired, as she showed 
 by her altered looks, her mother began, in the first place, 
 to search for her sister Miriam ; with what success may be 
 imagined. She could hear nothing of her, but she was told 
 enough, and more than enough, of her son Ralph, whose 
 story was narrated in the last chapter, and whom she heard 
 spoken of as a wonder of deviltry and daring, bidding 
 fair to rival Captain Kidd in time, provided his neck 
 was not broken too early in life. 
 
 Of Miriam, as we shall henceforth call her, she could 
 only hear that she had suddenly disappeared ; few knew
 
 NEWPORT OF OLD. 161 
 
 enough of her to pursue any long conversation on the 
 subject ; in fact, she had always led nearly as secluded a 
 life in Newport as when Lucy found her in the island. 
 
 Baffled in her quest, Mildred was surprised one after- 
 noon by a yisiter announced as Mr. Castlemain, who de- 
 sired to see her in private. On his entrance, she found 
 him to be a very presentable personage. He was a law- 
 yer of distinguished reputation in the Providence Planta- 
 tions, a man of about fifty years of age, and of dignified, 
 noble appearance. " Madam Estcourt, I believe," said 
 Mr. Castlemain. 
 
 "The same, sir; be seated, and inform me, if you 
 please, why I have the honor of your visit." 
 
 After some preliminary conversation on general topics, 
 Castlemain said, " I called to see you, madam, in relation 
 to a sister of yours, whom I believe you have not seen for 
 some years. Miriam is her name, I think." 
 
 "Yes, sir; Miriam Estcourt, a dearly beloved sister, 
 whom it grieves me to find that I cannot hear of. My 
 poor dear sister ! " 
 
 " H-m," said Mr. Castlemain, slowly drawing a long 
 breath; "you are fondly attached to her, I have no 
 doubt. Pray, madam, have you ever heard of a will 
 made by your late lamented husband in favor of your 
 sister's son ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have heard such a thing mentioned, but I do 
 not believe he ever did such an act of injustice to me ; 
 besides, the will never could be found, and I have been 
 in possession of the estate in full for many years." 
 
 " Mr. Redtape drew that will, did he not ? " 
 
 " I have told you, sir, that I do not believe there ever 
 was a will ; nothing could be learned of it, and we should 
 doubtless have long since have forgotten it but for the 
 pertinacity of Mr. Redtape."
 
 162 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " Very likely, madam ; but lie informed you that there 
 was a will, if I mistake not." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mildred, looking at him with wonder, 
 " how did you know it ?" 
 
 " Oh, we lawyers frequently have correspondence at 
 long distances ; I have known Mr. Redtape for many 
 years. Now, madam, let us suppose for a moment that 
 your husband, in his last moments, did make such a will, 
 can you assign any reason for it, or have you any sus- 
 picion of the cause which could possibly induce him to 
 do so?" 
 
 " No, I have not," said Mildred, haughtily. 
 
 "Very good, madam. Now in the second place, I 
 \vish to know if you are acquainted with the character of 
 a trader in this town named Elisha Barlow, and his wife, 
 who was a Jane Hook ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know them thoroughly ; Jane was my maid." 
 
 " Your opinion of them is not very high, I presume." 
 
 " I hate them ! " 
 
 "I suppose so," said Castlemain, adding suddenly, in 
 the midst of her anger, " how much do you think, that 
 from first to last, you have paid them?" 
 
 Thrown off her guard completely by Castlemain's 
 manner, " Full three thousand pounds," said she ; then dis- 
 covering her mistake, she hurriedly added, " What did 
 you ask, money ? I have paid them none, why should I ? 
 I mistook your question ; paid them ! nothing." 
 
 " My dear madam, your first answer was the true one ; 
 do not attempt to deceive me." 
 
 " I wish to deceive no one," said Mildred. 
 
 " Only perhaps in this instance," thought Castlemain. 
 " Now I wish to know distinctly if the sum you named 
 to me is the true one, or is it exaggerated ? " 
 
 " I will answer you nothing more, sir. How dare you,
 
 NEWPORT OP OLD. 163 
 
 a perfect stranger to me, put such questions ? I should 
 think you were another Redtape." 
 
 " We are very good friends, and know more of this 
 whole business than you think for; but intend you no 
 harm ; and you may do yourself a service by answering 
 quietly the questions that I put to you." 
 
 " I will not answer them until I learn your authority 
 for questioning me ; and above all, the name of the person 
 from whom you received the information you appear to 
 be possessed of." 
 
 "Are you very desirous of hearing the name of that 
 personage ? it might call up recollections not altogether 
 agreeable to you." 
 
 "What care I for recollections; you have no one 
 to name, you are thinking to make sport of me ; do your 
 worst." 
 
 " His name, then," answered the imperturbable lawyer, 
 "since you are anxious to hear it, is Brooke, of his Majesty's 
 naval service ; Captain Greville Brooke, and at the time 
 he gave me this information, he put into my hand a 
 packet of letters, most of them very brief and very 
 pointed. Here they are," he added, drawing them from 
 his pocket, and holding them towards Mildred ; " do you 
 recognize the hand- writing ? " 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " gasped Mildred, as she heard that 
 name pronounced, and saw her own writing on the fatal 
 notes she had sent to Brooke, " ask what you want of me ; 
 be quick, and spare me." 
 
 "You deserve pity, indeed," retorted Castlemain, 
 " for your kindness to your sister. She is, however, I 
 believe, far happier this day, with all her misfortunes, than 
 you are. Do not think that I am about to make use of 
 these letters ; they have been in my possession for many 
 years, and no one except Captain Brooke knows of their
 
 164 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 existence, not even my friend Redtape. You, I think, 
 have been justly punished, not only in the loss of money, 
 but the agonies of remorse, for which there is no balm. 
 Now listen to me attentively, for the punishment towards 
 you is not intended, but is for Barlow, whom I consider 
 even more guilty. Do you know of the actual existence 
 of that will, and where it is ?" 
 
 " I do not believe in the will at all," said Mildred with 
 dogged obstinacy, now recovering herself. 
 
 " You must, madam," said Castlemain, " or you would 
 not have paid out full three thousand pounds hush 
 money." 
 
 " And if there is such a one, heavens, only think of it, 
 the whole property would pass out of my hands! " 
 
 " Assuredly ! but how many years have you helped to 
 keep your innocent sister and her son from the enjoyment 
 of their rights. At this instant you might be living 
 together with far more happiness to you than all your 
 gold has ever bought for you. I know your sister 
 Miriam well, and had she at the time of your husband's 
 death even known of your guilt as thoroughly as she 
 does now, she would have been too generous to have cast 
 you off penniless. It was a devilish, murderous business 
 throwing your own guilt on her in the way you did ; it 
 helped to unsettle her reason for a time ; she lost control 
 over her son, who, but for your unparalleled baseness, 
 might at this instant be her support and stay, instead of 
 wandering, as he does, with a price set upon him, as :i 
 pirate and a smuggler. Oh, woman, what an awful posi- 
 tion is thine ; think upon it ! " 
 
 ' But, indeed," said Mildred frantically, " I never saw 
 that will ; if it was made, God knows I am innocent of 
 having secreted it." 
 
 " And I believe you are," said Mr. Castlemain, " and
 
 NEWPORT OP OLD. 165 
 
 am happy to say thus much for you ; all might at this day 
 have been well enough, if, at the first attempt at extortion 
 on the part of Barlow, you had refused and exposed him ; 
 even if the will had been found, it was as much as his 
 neck was worth to have had it hi his possession. You 
 would have found Mr. Redtape a kind listener, and by no 
 means a harsh man. Have you any of Barlow's or Jane 
 Hook's letters ?" 
 
 " No," said Mildred, humbled, " I burnt them all for 
 fear of discovery." 
 
 " That is a pity, they would be strong evidence against 
 them." 
 
 " Where is Miriam ?" asked Mildred. 
 
 " That, madam, I must now decline to inform you ; she 
 does not wish to see you." 
 
 " Oh, what shall I do ! what will become of me ! " 
 
 " Keep quiet, my dear madam, keep quiet, no evil is 
 likely to befall you just now ; let me entreat you, for you 
 now see I have your good at heart, to remain in this 
 place for a while, and do nothing but attend to your 
 daughter's health. The poor young lady, I fear, has 
 much need of care, but you know our Newport breezes 
 are famed for their good effects on invalids. You did 
 not come here exclusively on her behalf, as I well know 
 from Mr. Redtape, but now redeem the purpose of your 
 visit by devotion to her. My daughter, Emily, will take 
 great pleasure in calling upon Miss Blanche. Once more, 
 madam," said the counsellor, rising, " only one word of 
 advice : Do not go near that detestable Barlow or his 
 wife ; you know enough of them. You need have no fear 
 of their extorting any more money from you ; I will 
 provide against that. I have my eyes on Barlow, and, 
 will or no will, shall endeavor to trip him up before
 
 166 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 long. Again let me beg you, madam, not to go near 
 him." 
 
 With this warning, Mr. George Castlemain, bidding 
 good day, sallied forth, and, going to his own house, sat 
 down to write a long letter, and, we hope, a very satis- 
 factory one, to Ranger Redtape, Esq., of Williainsburg, 
 Virginia.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 VISITING A TIGBE. 
 
 IT was a pleasant season in Newport, and Mildred, 
 according to the advice of Mr. Castlemain, remained 
 several weeks without attempting to see Jane or Elisha. 
 Emily Castlemain made the acquaintance of Blanche, to 
 whom, with that rapidity which ladies use in such matters, 
 she became much attached, although she disliked her 
 proud, haughty mother as others did. 
 
 Poor Blanche knew that soft breezes and beautiful 
 scenery could do little for her. She enjoyed the island, 
 and thought a home there would be far better suited to 
 her than in the richer south, but the memory of one 
 passionately loved ever mingled itself with her visions 
 and hopes. " If he could be with me, even for the little 
 time I have to live, how much happier could I die," she 
 thought, and she no longer endeavored to cast his image 
 from her. Deep within she felt the glow and fire of 
 strength growing feebler, while her pulse rapidly beating, 
 like the unchecked spring of the time-piece, was the sure 
 indication that life woiild soon cease its throbbing and be 
 still forever. Yet she looked forward with no dread and 
 no sorrow beyond that of leaving her mother, whom she 
 dearly loved, and of whose real character she was quite 
 ignorant ; little knowing that for her own purposes of 
 aggrandisement that mother was still scheming to make 
 use of her. But now she passed days of happiness, or 
 what she supposed happiness, sent, as she thought, by 
 
 (107)
 
 168 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 kind heaven a sort of delicious dreamy existence, in the 
 soft, sunny autumn days, which she knew must before 
 long change for winter's chill. On one occasion, after 
 visiting the shore, now so thronged with pleasure seekers, 
 she composed and dedicated to her friend Miss Castle- 
 main the following copy of verses, on 
 
 "THE CLIFF AT NEWPORT." 
 For long bright hours could I sit and dream, 
 And gaze upon the ocean waves, which seem 
 To bring each day new visions of delight, 
 Each day unveil new glories to the sight. 
 
 Dashing and foaming, with their feathery spray, 
 Onward in gladsome chase they speed their way, 
 Breaking in silvery streams the brown rocks o'er, 
 Or lulled to rest upon the pebbly shore. 
 
 And oft an instant's pausing seems to fill 
 All things with sacred silence, and to still 
 The water's voice; again their solemn sound, 
 Rolls like deep organ harmony around. 
 
 And, Oh ! how lovely when the parting day 
 Sheds softest radiance ere it fades away ; 
 And the broad vault of heaven's reflected hue 
 In golden lustre tinges Ocean's blue : 
 
 When far amid the bright and glowing west, 
 The weary sun lies cradled on the breast 
 Of gorgeous clouds, 'neath canopies of light, 
 And dazzling glory, vanishes from sight. 
 
 Oh, I could gaze forever, and still learn 
 Of thee, exhaustless Ocean ! still discern 
 From thy deep volume, thy eternal roll, 
 More that must raise and purify the soul. 
 
 Still proudly roll ! bearing upon thy breast 
 Some to their haven, some to endless rest ; 
 And let thy grand, unwearied voice proclaim 
 Thy mighty Ruler -evermore the same!
 
 VISITING A TIGER. 169 
 
 Iii spite of the caution which Mr. Castlemain had given 
 her, Mildred finally could not resist her desire of con- 
 fronting Elisha. She saw him in Trinity Church on Sun- 
 days, his face wearing an expression of sanctimonious 
 humility and great appearance of devotion. He handled 
 the plate for collection with an air implying, " I am 
 not worthy to touch it," and she observed him after- 
 wards even partaking of the holy communion, professing 
 to rejoice that fie, at least, was " not like this publican." 
 
 Curiosity, rage, and hopes of vengeance prompted 
 her to seek him, and although the rascal, no doubt well 
 on his guard from the warnings of Mr. Castlemain, had 
 uniformly passed her as if he had never known her, 
 she determined to visit him and open the subject of 
 the will. Accordingly, learning from Emily Castlemain 
 that her father had gone out of town for the day, she 
 dressed and repaired to Barlow's shop, which the curious 
 in such matters may see to this day in Newport, on the 
 main street, nearly opposite to Peckham and Bull's wharf; 
 though, we are happy to say, they will not find Elisha 
 therein. 
 
 The Paper Tiger, at the moment of Mildred's entrance, 
 was engaged in some nice calculations, a kind of triple 
 rule of three, in which " sugar," and " rum," and " nig- 
 gers," were the quantities involved, and the computation 
 was evidently pleasing, from the rascally smile which 
 lighted his white features. No sooner, however, did 
 he hear that commanding voice pronounce his name, than 
 the smile was gone, the " niggers" took to their heels, 
 and he felt nearly as frightened as when Captain Walrus 
 laid his huge fist alongside his nose. 
 
 " Drat that are woman," thought Elisha ? " when I was 
 a susposin' now Mr. Castlemain had made' everything all 
 right ; but I must try to get her out ; let, me study over 
 S
 
 170 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 it," and Elisha pretended to be absorbed with his calcula- 
 tions, and not to have heard her. 
 
 " Mr. Barlow," bawled Jimmy Wall, a small boy, 
 "here, sir, if you please, a lady wishes to see you," and 
 Elisha went forward, looking as innocent as a lamb led to 
 slaughter. 
 
 " I have come to see you at last, sir," said Mildred, 
 with abrupt hauteur. 
 
 " Well, now, reelly, ma'am, reelly at this ere instant I 
 cannot noways remember your name. I think you must 
 have made a mistake ; its no doubt my neighbor Tilley 
 you called to see, we is frequently mistook for one 
 another ; he lives jest acrost the way ; Jimmy will show 
 you." 
 
 " No he will not," said Mildred ; " I know nothing of 
 your neighbor Tilley, and I came to see you, Elisha 
 Barlow. My name is Mildred Estcourt, and you know 
 it well enough." 
 
 " There now, reelly, jest I come forward I was a think- 
 in' -if this could be any old friend of mine, but, not lookin' 
 to see you in Newport, or herin' of your bein' here, it 
 kind a 'scaped my memory. Reelly, now, I'm delighted 
 to see you." 
 
 " False, sir," said Mildred, who was disgusted with 
 Elisha's lying speech; "false, as you have ever been 
 yourself, sir." 
 
 " Look out for fun now," said Charley Smith to Ben 
 Franklin (not the philosopher) ; " how she does give it to 
 the old sinner ; glad of it too," and the shopboys giggled 
 with delight. 
 
 " Reelly, ma'am, upon my word," said the Paper Tiger, 
 looking rather alarmed, " this kind of conduct is most 
 extra-ordinary, ma'am ; I makes no profession of bein' a 
 liar. 4- member of the church, ma'am, and one of the
 
 VISITING A TIGER. 171 
 
 vestry to be talked to in this sort'er way ! I don't think, 
 if I was'nt honest, I should be allowed to hand round the 
 collection plate on Sunday. Did you not see me, ma'am, 
 engaged in that are trust ?" 
 
 " And if you did not steal the money you received," 
 answered Mildred, " you must be strangely altered. You 
 to pretend not to know me ! " 
 
 " Indeed, now," said Elisha, chuckling, as he thought 
 of what he had gained, and, looking at her with a villain- 
 ous smile, " surely you is'nt able to say that I have ever 
 had any money of yourn ; but if I have, and you'll only 
 mention what for, I'll get one of our young men, Lycur- 
 gus Hill, to make out your account." Perceiving that 
 he had stung her, he called out, " Curgy," and resuming 
 his look of injured innocence, paused for a reply. Receiv- 
 ing none, for Mildred was now so enraged that she could 
 not speak, " Now I comes to think on it," he continued, 
 maliciously, " only a short time ago a friend of yourn, Cap- 
 ting Banks, was it ! let me see ; no, that was'nt the name ; 
 no, Capting Brooke, ah, that was it ! Brooke, ma'am ; ah, 
 I see you recollects him ! was in, and ". . . . 
 
 " If you have a room, sir," said Mildred, haughtily, " to 
 which we can retire from the gaze of these striplings, I 
 will be obliged to you." 
 
 " Oh, certing, certing," snarled Elisha ; " should have 
 oifered it before, only when one makes out as how I was 
 a liar and a thief, I is'nt so particular. As I was a sayiri', 
 Capting Brooke called to ask about you, and ". . . . 
 
 " Lead on, sir," said Mildred, in a low voice ; " lead on, 
 and if you dare to mention that man's name again, I will 
 have you cudgeled in your own shop." 
 
 As the door of the private room was closed upon them, 
 and they stood face to face without disguise, " Now," 
 said Elisha, turning his pallid, villainous countenance
 
 172 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 upon her, the foam almost flying from his lips, and his 
 
 eyes gleaming with fury, " now, damn you, you , 
 
 talk to me in that are style again, and I'll strangle you." 
 
 " Cease to damn me, Elisha Barlow, but reserve your 
 curses for yourself; your days are numbered, and I hope 
 to see you end them at the gibbet. The rope that 
 stretches your neck is already twisted ; and did you 
 dream of forever escaping my vengeance ? I have proof 
 enough against you, mark my words, and Mr. Castlemain 
 shall avenge me." 
 
 It would have been a singular sight to the lover of 
 marvellous changes, to have noted that which came 
 over the Paper Tiger, at the sound of that name. His 
 knees literally smote together, his lips quivered, a cold 
 sweat broke out upon his brow, he tottered to a seat, 
 and gasped out, "Oh, Lord! now, Ma'am Estcourt, 
 mercy !" 
 
 Mildred looked at him with the deadly eye of an ana- 
 conda, before springing upon its victim. " Mercy ! you 
 shall have it. I would laugh to see you ground to pow- 
 der between mill-stones, or slowly sawn into shreds. I 
 would sit beside you in your dungeon, and make you die 
 a thousand deaths, in the terrors I would paint of that 
 hell into which your coward soul will plunge; and I 
 would see you robed in your shroud, and watch you 
 writhe in torture, as you swung in air. "Will that do, for 
 mercy's sake? You devil, you leech, who have been 
 sucking my life-blood for years, your time is near at 
 hand." 
 
 " Yet," continued Mildred, seeing the effect she had 
 produced on him, to her own astonishment, " it may be 
 well with you even now. Answer me what I ask you, 
 and, for once in your life, speak truly, or you will rue 
 your lies."
 
 VISITING A TIGER. 173 
 
 "I will," said Elisha, faintly; "now ask what you 
 wants as soon as possible, 'cause I expects people begins 
 to wonder at my bein' out of the shop so long." 
 
 " Let them wait ; what care I for that ? Now, tell me, 
 sirrah, when and where you last saw Captain Brooke." 
 
 " I hasn't seed him for years not since about the time 
 your sister, Miriam, left here." 
 
 "I knew you had not. Now, have you anything to 
 say about Miriam? Where is she ?" 
 
 "As sure as there's a God in heaven, I doesn't know. 
 I tried to find out, not long since the time you wrote 
 Janey, askin' and Mr. Castlemain found I was a doin' 
 so, and said if I dared make any more search for her 
 O Lord, he did talk awful!" 
 
 "And Ralph where is he? You have seen him but 
 a short time since, I know." 
 
 " Oh dear, now, how did you happen to know so ? 
 Seems to me like as if hell was breakin' up all round 
 me !" 
 
 "Of course it is the devils will soon be on you," 
 replied his comforter; "where is Ralph ? I say." 
 
 "Well, now, Ma'am Estcourt, I am a goin' to tell you 
 somethink, out of the great regard I used to have for 
 you in past times, afore these ere troubles of ourn come 
 on us. Ralph, you know, is jest tied right up ; he is 
 at sea somewhere somewhere, pnrsuin' his unlawful 
 trade" and here Elisha, with hypocrisy that had be- 
 come almost second nature, rolled up his eyes in horror 
 " but, you see, the Government's on the look-out for him, 
 and next time he tries to land on the coast it'll be right 
 down on him. Now, I'm anxious that Ralph should be 
 spared, if possible, and so is Mr. Castlemain; we has 
 agreed together on that are pint. How nice it might 
 have been for Ralph, if he'd only tuk my advice, and
 
 174 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 done jest right. Many a time I've warned him of his 
 sinful course ; sez I, Ralph, now . . . . " 
 
 " Hush ! you make me sick with your lies. What of 
 Ralph?" 
 
 " Well, now, the whole long and short of the matter 
 is, I spose, you want to know concerning that are will, 
 and I think I've hit on a nice little plan I've been a 
 studyin' over. You know, susposin' the will was de- 
 stroyed, you'd feel all right, and so would I. Ralph, as 
 I say, is out of the question. Now, don't you think if I 
 was to make you sure, by actooally destroyin' that are 
 parchment you're a lookin' on, that I oughter have some- 
 think for all the trouble I've had about it ? Say some- 
 think quite nice and handsome, now, and I'll set right to 
 work. Then you'll feel all comfortable, as you know I 
 could never ask you for anythink more." 
 
 The audacity of this cool proposal was too much for 
 Mildred. 
 
 " Elisha Barlow," said she, " talk not to me of Ralph 
 being out of the way ; he is not dead. You know, vil- 
 lain, that you trained him in wickedness from his boy- 
 hood; that he might become tainted with crime and 
 branded as a felon, because he was the heir named in 
 the will. You judged that if he was compromised, you 
 could more easily plunder me, and prevent him from 
 claiming his own. That has been your plot ; was there 
 ever a viler one ? " 
 
 " Well, reelly, now ma'am, you has found me out ; I'm 
 sorry, very sorry, but that aint no matter now ; lets talk 
 of this ere other plan of mine." 
 
 The scamp, in greedy hope of more plunder, again 
 urged his proposal. He had, without thinking of it, or 
 intending to do so, informed Mildred of the will, and of 
 his complicity with Ralph, two points which she was glad
 
 VISITING A TIGER. 175 
 
 to know of. She slowly drew her chair up to Elisha's, 
 took him by the arm, and fixing on him the gaze of a 
 basilisk, hissed out : " Give me that will, or I will have 
 you murdered. Give it to me; not a penny more of 
 mine shall ever cross your palms, but instead, if you do 
 not pay me a round sum back, you shall swing as sure as 
 there is a gallows in the land. Do you mind me ?" she 
 asked, shaking him fiercely. 
 
 " Ah, what have I done ! When I told you that are, 
 I thought we was agoin to be friends," said Elisha, tremb- 
 ling with fear. 
 
 Mildred, not condescending to answer this ; looked at 
 him with eyes, in which, for friendship, one might read 
 daggers or poison ; then repeated, " Give me that will, 
 and pay what I demand of you, or this day I denounce 
 you to Mr. Castlemain." 
 
 " Don't, ah don't ! " whined the Paper Tiger, appearing 
 now to be bereft of teeth and talons. 
 
 " I will, by heaven, unless you take heed ; will you 
 obey me?" 
 
 " Yes, I will." 
 
 " At once ? " 
 
 " Yes, as soon, that is, as I can get that are will ; it's not 
 in Newport." 
 
 " Mind you do not lie any more to me ; how long will 
 it take you to get it ? " 
 
 " A day or two, if you will only keep quiet ; but not 
 to make you feel oneasy, I will pay you somethink now. 
 We can settle that are up at onc't. Let me see, I 'spose 
 fifty pounds would make that all right ! " 
 
 " Fifty pounds, you miser ! fifty pounds to me ! pay me 
 down five hundred pounds, and that for the first instal- 
 ment of what you shall have to disburse, or your neck is 
 not worth a week's purchase. Five hundred pounds ; do
 
 176 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 you suppose I do not know thoroughly, as well as Mr. 
 Castlemain, of your riches, through your connection with 
 smugglers and ruffians ; my poor nephew Ralph, among 
 the number, whom you have made what he is ! " 
 
 This random shaft of Mildred's winged home; the 
 wretched Elisha imagining his plots all discovered, was 
 ready to promise anything ; and after vainly trying to 
 buy Mildred off with one, two, three, four, or even four 
 hundred and fifty pounds, had the inexpressible misery 
 of paying the inexorable woman five hundred to hold hoi- 
 peace, besides agreeing to put the will into her hands in 
 a day or two. 
 
 Well pleased was Mildred with the result of her visit, 
 which opened so inauspiciously ; while Elisha felt degraded 
 in his own eyes, and completely disgusted at the manner 
 in which he had been used by the imperious Lady 
 Mildred.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. 
 
 THE plotters little imagined that their interview h;ul 
 been known to a third party, who, unseen and unheard, 
 had listened to every word between them. Mildred 
 perhaps would not have cared much, but we " reelly " 
 tremble to think what Elisha's feelings would have been. 
 It so happened that Mr. Castlemain, not having any very 
 firm faith in Mildred's promises, had ordered her to be 
 watched ; and as ministers of police frequently select 
 agents with whom they would not associate, yet employ 
 for their skill, our old acquaintance, Jane Hook, had been 
 chosen for the service of spy. 
 
 She passed for Mrs. Barlow, but she was not, Elisha 
 having falsified his promises to her, as he had to every 
 body else, and year after year, put off making his treach- 
 ery to her " all right " by marriage. The woman, whose 
 character we know thoroughly, determined at length to 
 be revenged, and as soon as Mildred made her appearance 
 in Newport, knowing that her visit must be in connection 
 with Elisha, she went to Mr. Castlemain and unfolded a 
 pretty tale of deception towards herself, as well as a long 
 catalogue of rogueries, in which smuggling was not the 
 worst. So much did she tell, and so true her words 
 proved, that Castlemain, finding her love for the wretch 
 turned into hatred, employed her to watch him as well as 
 Mildred. When they came into that back-room, she 
 being in an apartment overhead, heard their voices, and 
 stealing down a narrow, dark stairway, fastened at its 
 8* (ITT)
 
 178 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 foot the door which opened into the apartment, then ap- 
 plying her eye to the key-hole, after the most approved 
 chamber-maid-style, she saw and heard every thing with 
 secure delight. Nor was it long ere Castlemain was in- 
 formed of this ; he saw Mildred at once, and hinted that 
 the air of Newport was only suited to her on account of 
 her daughter ; then perceiving that she did not under- 
 stand his meaning, he astounded her by a detail of much 
 of her own conversation with Barlow, and informed her, 
 that if she attempted to see him again, she would be the 
 sufferer. 
 
 He sarcastically asked her to be content with five hun- 
 dred pounds, and moreover frightened her well by telling 
 her not to open letters again unless they were addressed 
 to herself. She could not imagine how he had derived 
 this intelligence, never thinking it came from Miriam, but 
 supposing that the argus-eyed Redtape, who appeared to 
 be capable of seeing through stone walls, had found out 
 that she opened Charles Brandon's letters. 
 
 It will be remembered that Blanche had determined 
 to fathom the mystery of the letters which had caused 
 her mother such distress, but the state of her health had 
 not permitted her to do so ; and she had been quieted by 
 Mildred, who told her joyfully that she had recovered a 
 handsome sum of money from one who had defrauded 
 her. That had been the only cause of her distress, and 
 Blanche feeling unable to pursue the matter, was obliged 
 to be content with this information. 
 
 Mildred could secure no further chance of seeing Elisha, 
 except at his devotions in church, and at length took her 
 departure, with Blanche, for Virginia, baffled in regard 
 to the will, when it was almost in her grasp. She had 
 been assured by Castlemain that Barlow could give her 
 no more trouble. Ralt>h was outlawed; but what it the
 
 TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. 179 
 
 will should fall into Castlemain's hands, and he determine 
 that Miriam should be reinstated. She shuddered at the 
 prospect before her ; she must marry Blanche to Charles 
 Brandon now, or she should go mad with misfortune and 
 despair. 
 
 We need not detail the interviews which Mr. Castle- 
 main had with Elisha ; it is sufficient to say that they were 
 of such nature as to make the trader feel very uncomfort- 
 able and uncertain as to his own position. 
 
 He consequently tried to be more than ever devotional 
 before men, while he was revolving various plans to save 
 himself, by delivering up some of his freebooting friends 
 to the tender mercies of the government. This being 
 accomplished, and his own safety insured, he was resolved 
 to give up such a dangerous branch of business, and live 
 an altogether different life. 
 
 A short time after Mildred had left Newport, in the 
 dawn of a January morning, a smaU. vessel might have 
 been descried coming in from sea, and before the sun arose, 
 she had entered the west passage of Narraganset Bay, 
 and as if seeking to avoid observation, anchored in a 
 sheltered nook between Connanicut and Dutch Islands, 
 quite out of the* range of vision. Her sails were not 
 furled, but clewed up, and she swung at her moorings as 
 if ready at an instant's warning to trip her anchor and 
 scud before the breeze. A sharp watch was set, and all 
 that day some one was pacing her decks, ever sweeping 
 the horizon with his glass, but no sail hove in sight. 
 
 The vessel was small, of not more than two hundred 
 and fifty tons burthen, brig rigged, heavily sparred, and 
 spreading an immense area of canvas in proportion to 
 her size; her model was built for speed as well as 
 strength, and her deck swarming with desperate-looking 
 characters, had also a number of heavy guns which now.
 
 180 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 however, were drawn in board, and the ports closed ; so 
 that to a stranger's eye, at a little distance, she would 
 appear only a peaceful trader. 
 
 But this was the famous smuggler, which had been a 
 slaver too, the " Walk to Windward," as she was named, 
 and which had so long baffled the efforts of his Majesty's 
 ships to take her, had beaten off more than one of supe- 
 rior force, and was almost unmatched in swiftness by any 
 craft that sailed. 
 
 Ralph Estcourt (he was known on board of ship by 
 another name) had now the command of her ; a rapid 
 career of vice and crime had placed him in his position of 
 captain at the age of twenty-six, and well was he formed 
 for such a service. The ruffian who had commanded the 
 vessel before him, was a disciple of the terrific Black- 
 beard ; and when that monster's haunt on the Carolina 
 coast was broken up in 1718, had sailed several vessels, 
 not so openly piratical in their character as were his mas- 
 ter's. Through the instrumentality of Elisha Barlow, 
 Ralph had been introduced to the smuggler, who took 
 a great liking to him. In one of their voyages, this cap- 
 tain ended a long life of crime in a scuffle with a desper- 
 ate negro on the coast of Guinea ; and Estcourt, then 
 but about twenty years of age, was at once elected to the 
 command of the vessel. He was now seated in the 
 cabin, gazing listlessly out of one of the stern ports at 
 the distant ocean, and he occasionally hailed the watch 
 on deck to learn whether he saw anything in the offing. 
 He was tall and muscular, with atlantean shoulders and 
 chest, indicating tremendous strength ; a bronzed, ruddy 
 face, strikingly handsome, with large, intensely blue, cold 
 eyes expressed mind in no common degree, while firm-set 
 lips, as well as the massive jaw which showed through his 
 heavy beard, spoke of dauntless courage and daring.
 
 TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. 181 
 
 "We must wait till night-fall," Ralph said to the watch, 
 who was pacing the deck above. "Aye," answered the 
 other, " but there is a moon to-night." 
 
 " A young one, though ; it will soon be down ; a fog 
 would suit us better, for we could sweep her in, if the 
 wind failed, and I know, by soundings, every inch of the 
 channel." 
 
 " There will be no difficulty about that, captain," said 
 Estcourt's "first lieutenant" (as he styled himself), who 
 humbly imitated Ralph, and was now seated by him in 
 the cabin. " No difficulty about running in easy enough, 
 but the trouble will be in getting that rascal Barlow to 
 come off. He must be a damned scoundrel to have 
 served you so about that property of yours, you told me 
 of the other day ; how shall we manage to bring him off 
 without creating a brawl ? " 
 
 " Leave that to me, Dick Boltrope," returned Ralph. 
 " Yes, evil blast him, to have kept me from wealth and 
 honor, as he has, and made me what I am, with a price 
 set on me, and as much as my life is worth to run in shore 
 anywhere ! " 
 
 " You are sure, these men, captain, have not trumped 
 up this story to try to noose you ? ", 
 
 " No, indeed ; Admiral Brooke and Castlemain could 
 have had no interest in hatching such a lie. They know 
 I am too old a bird to be caught with chaff; yet, ever 
 since that time, you remember it, when we were landing 
 goods up the coast, and I cut Brooke down with my 
 hanger, leaving him for dead, as I thought though I did 
 not then know who he was those two men have fol- 
 lowed me up with this same story, communicated to me 
 by letters, which they took care should reach me in 
 a roundabout way. At first, I thought it as you have, 
 only meant to entrap me ; but now I know that their tale
 
 182 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 is true, and that cursed Elisha is at the bottom of the 
 whole trouble. If it was only for my own part, I'd give 
 myself up quick enough, for I am sick of this infernal 
 life, but until I know the government will pardon the 
 whole ship's crew of us, I hang out, by God ! But if 
 I can only entice Barlow to the pier, to-night, we have 
 him ; I'll get the truth out of him and something more, 
 or good-bye to Newport, forever, honest Elisha ! " 
 
 As the twilight fell at length, the anchor was raised ; 
 and the better to avoid suspicion, the brig making sail, 
 shot along the shores of the Connanicut, until rounding 
 its northern point, she passed between it and Pru- 
 dence Island, and then dropped down to Newport, 
 instead of entering the harbor by doubling Beaver-t;til, as 
 if coming in from sea. The ports were still kept down, 
 but the guns were shotted, and every thing made ready 
 for instant action, if necessary, and just as the moon 
 about nine o'clock at night was sinking to the horizon, 
 the "Walk to Windward," anchored off the town. A 
 four oared boat, with two men in the stern sheets, at once 
 pulled from her side and made for one of the most unfre- 
 quented wharfs. Leaving Dick Boltrope to mind the 
 boat, Ralph, well-armed, stepped ashore, and in a few mo- 
 ments had reached the shop of Elisha Barlow. The 
 moon had gone down, the streets were deserted, and 
 dark as Newport streets only could be before the gas 
 works were established ; but, familiar with the place, and 
 glad of the gloom, Ralph at the shop front gave a signal 
 which he had often used before, and in a few moments 
 the white face of Barlow peered out of the door, he hold- 
 ing a candle in one hand. In an instant, Ralph was inside 
 of the shop, and had fastened the door before Elisha had 
 recovered from his surprise. 
 
 " Why, reelly, now Ralph, and is that you ? I was
 
 TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. 183 
 
 jest a wondering why I had'nt seen you this ere long 
 time." 
 
 " Lead on," said Ralph, " and do not stand chattering 
 here ; have you not learnt manners yet ? " 
 
 "He, he, he!" laughed Elisha, "Well, Ralph, you is 
 always so amusing. Come in and sit down comfortable. 
 There's a fire in the back room, and Mrs. Barlow will be 
 glad to see you," so saying Elisha led the way, and seat- 
 ing Ralph, repeated, " I'll call Mrs. Barlow down, she'll 
 be glad to meet you." 
 
 " Stop ; we don't want any Mrs. Barlow's here, and 
 I've not long to stay. What do you stand there for, you 
 fool, gaping at me in that way ? I want something to 
 drink." 
 
 " Oh, indeed, something to drink ! I foi-got, let me 
 see, will you have some nice Canary wine ? " 
 
 " No, you mean wretch, get me some strong liquor ; 
 some aqua vitae, and hurry too." Barlow went into the 
 shop, and staying, as the impatient smuggler thought, too 
 long, was rated by him soundly on his return ; and before 
 Ralph would taste the brandy, he insisted that Elisha 
 should partake of it, which he was forced to, with awful 
 grimaces. 
 
 " You stayed so damned long, that I thought you were 
 trying to poison the stuff with some of your cursed 
 drugs ; you would rather do it, than not," said Ralph ; 
 then swallowing the fiery liquor at a draught, added, 
 " rich old stuff, this, and comfortable, too, this cold night. 
 I know it well ; it is some I brought in these three years 
 past. As you paid no duties on it, you can save your 
 conscience, I suppose, in not cheating your customers 
 who buy it, more than two hundred per cent, eh ?" 
 
 " Reelly," said Elisha, trying to smile, and looking su- 
 premely miserable in the attempt, " you is so funny."
 
 184 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 "Pshaw!" answered Ralph, "now for the business I 
 have in hand. Here," said he, producing a small bundle, 
 which, being opened, displayed some of the richest silks 
 and laces that ever glistened before Elisha's eyes, " here 
 is only a sample, Barlow, of what I have on board ; I 
 must be off, you know, by dawn of day ; and as you want 
 some of these things in short, must have them the best 
 way for you to see them undisturbed, is, to come to my 
 vessel, examine them at your leisure, and select what you 
 want. We can bundle them up for you, and set you 
 ashore without trouble ; no one will be the wiser for it ; 
 you can make your profit on them to any tune you please, 
 and I shall be out of sight, long before the sunrise. 
 Come !" 
 
 The proposition struck Elisha with anything but favor; 
 he had tricked Ralph too often to feel safe in his presence ; 
 and the bare mention of going off to his vessel, among a 
 crew of ruffians, who would put him in the rigging, and 
 flog him, or run him up to the yardarm, in mere sport ; 
 frightened him dreadfully. To oppose Ralph openly, 
 would, he knew, end by being carried off by main force ; 
 so deception, as usual, came to his aid, and turning to the 
 smuggler, he said, "well, Ralph, I've been a studyin' 
 over it, and spose I must go. But in the fust place, I'd 
 jest like to look out in the old buildin' in the back yard, 
 where I have my old account books, and see what them 
 are goods I got of you last, was invoiced at, so as to be 
 better able to judge of what I want now. Jest you wait 
 here a few minutes," said Elisha, lighting a lantern, " and 
 I'll be right back. Let me give you some more aqua 
 vitae." Ralph made no objections; Elisha replenished 
 his glass, and went out of the door leading into the yard. 
 He had no sooner reached it, however, than instead of 
 going to the old building, he q'uickly and noiselessly
 
 TRAWORS IN THE CAMP. 185 
 
 threw back a gate that opened on an alley, running by 
 the side of his shop to the street ; hurried through it, 
 crossed the main avenue, and in a moment or two, had 
 informed four or five of his opposite neighbors, of the 
 prize in his house ; told them to keep guard at the head 
 of the wharf, and in a few moments he would issue forth 
 with Ralph, when he could be easily surrounded, and se- 
 cured. How Elisha chuckled, as he ran back; all his diffi- 
 culties, present or anticipated, vanished ; he would obtain 
 the reward oifered for the smuggler ; and as for Castle- 
 main, he might go to the devil his own way as quick as 
 he chose to. 
 
 He reentered, and closed the door, locking it on the 
 inside. Ralph was seated, coolly drinking his brandy, 
 and Elisha little knew, that during his absence, another 
 scene had transpired. No sooner had he, going out, 
 closed the back door, than the one at the foot of the stairs 
 opened, and to Ralph's amazement, Jane Barlow entered. 
 
 " Mrs. Barlow !" said he, starting back. 
 
 " Hush ! do not speak so loud, I am not Mrs. Barlow, 
 and that wretch has gone to betray you." Then, in a 
 few seconds, and in those concentrated words which hate 
 only can supply, she told Ralph the story of her own 
 wrongs, of his, of the will, and of his danger where he was. 
 
 " Defend yourself at all hazards, and you have a good 
 chance to escape." 
 
 " Shall I take your husband on board my vessel, if I 
 can ?' 
 
 " Don't call the villain my husband. Yes, take him, 
 throttle him, kill him ; but don't let him return to me. 
 Be on your guard, here he comes;" and as Elisha's foot- 
 step was heard at the back door, she closed and fastened 
 her own as before. 
 
 Ralph was not alarmed, and the sense of danger only
 
 186 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED*YEARS AGO. 
 
 heightened his courage. " I'm a match for a dozen of 
 them," he muttered; "besides those five bull-dogs of mine 
 in the boat." 
 
 " Well, now," said Elisha, coming in in high spirits, 
 " you does'nt know how glad I was Ralph, to find it alt 
 i ight, all right. I can take some of them are goods, and 
 we'll be off at wunst." 
 
 " Wait a moment ; fill my glass again." 
 
 " That I will," replied Elisha ; " and as its cold as you 
 say, I'll try a little myself. Now then." 
 
 " Look you, Barlow, I had nearly forgotten it, did you 
 not, the last time I was ashore, promise me on my next 
 landing, to give me twenty pounds for distribution among 
 my crew ?" 
 
 " Yes, but reelly, we has'nt got time to attend to it 
 now, I'll do it next time." 
 
 " No, you wont," said Ralph, sternly ; " now or never. 
 And as I think of it, I want twenty more on top of it for 
 myself, and ten more beyond that for Dick Boltropc, my 
 first lieutenant." 
 
 " Oh, heavens ! Ralph, don't now !" 
 
 " I will, you infernal villain ; do you think you are to 
 grow rich all your life, with no fear of the gallows, and 
 not lend a helping hand to us, who do all your work, and 
 brave all the peril ! Fifty pounds out of that strong-box, 
 quick, or I'll make you." 
 
 The terrified Elisha opened his money chest, and 
 handed Ralph the sum he demanded; thinking, doubtless, 
 he should get it back in a few minutes ; and then, open- 
 ing the street door, they emerged from the shop. As 
 they did so, Ralph drew a cutlass. 
 
 " What do you do that for," asked Elisha. 
 
 "To cut you in two, if you play me false." 
 
 They crossed the street, and at the instant of reaching
 
 TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. 187 
 
 the head of the wharf, Elisha looked in vain for his friends ; 
 at this instant, Ralph, seizing him with an iron grip, said, 
 " your time has come, villain ;" and blew at that moment 
 a shrill whistle. It was answered at once from the boat, 
 and Elisha shrieked with terror. His friends, tired of 
 waiting, and thinking some ill might have befallen him, 
 had gone up the alley, intending to burst into the back 
 door, but found it fastened, just as they heard the whistle, 
 and Elisha's yell of agony. 
 
 They hurried back ; Ralph heard the sound of coming 
 feet, and pressing on, he stumbled over some object on 
 the wharf, letting go his hold of Barlow, who in an instant 
 ran, and was met by his friends. 
 
 There was no time for delay, or struggle in the dark- 
 ness. Ralph rose to his feet, and flung himself into the 
 boat. Two or three shots from the party on the wharf 
 fell harmless in the water ; and were returned without 
 effect by the smugglers, who pulled with main strength 
 for their bark. They soon reached her, sail was made 
 instantly, and when the morning shone, the " Walk to 
 Windward" danced on the waters of ocean; and Rhode 
 Island lay like a faint cloud on the far horizon.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 LUCY'S NEW HOME. 
 
 A SPACE of three years has been occupied by the 
 scenes of this narrative, and the incidents about to be re- 
 lated occur in the autumn of 1758. At this period, the 
 Boston packet brought to the island one morning a letter, 
 sealed with black, for Mr. Tyrrell, which informed him, 
 by Randolph Brandon, that his cousin Edward was dead. 
 He had bequeathed to him a house which he had owned 
 in Cambridge, besides a small sum of money, which 
 would about suffice to maintain him and his family com- 
 fortably, in the frugal manner of their life. The bulk of 
 the property of the deceased was left to his widow, and 
 from her would pass to Matilda Brandon, who would thus 
 become, in her own right, as rich as her husband. 
 
 Mr. Tyrrell grieved for the loss of his cousin, and he felt 
 sorrow that his last days should have passed without their 
 meeting; for since Lucy's unfortunate love affair they had 
 had no intercourse, and Mr. Tyrrell had blamed his 
 cousin Edward strongly for the part he had taken in it. 
 But now regretting, when too late, that hasty judgment, 
 he was the more penetrated by such kindness, inasmuch 
 as Lucy and her mother too were also left small sums of 
 money and memorials of friendship. 
 
 It was not until Mr. Tyrrell's wife, of more practical 
 turn than himself, spoke, after some days, of the 
 value of the bequests, that his thoughts ceased to dwell 
 solely upon the memory and generosity of his departed 
 friend. 
 
 (188)
 
 LUCY'S NEW HOME. 189 
 
 It appeared as if Providence had finally granted to them 
 an opportunity of leaving the island ; a design which, 
 frequently in former days, had been the subject of their 
 thoughts and conversation, though, indeed, since Lucy's 
 trouble, it had been seldom referred to. Suffice it to say, 
 that after some talk with his wife, Mr. Tyrrell determined 
 to avail himself of his cousin's bequest, and go to reside 
 in Cambridge, where he judged the literary associations 
 and society of the place would solace the latter portion 
 of his life, and prove, too, a happier home for his 
 daughter. 
 
 Nor had he, as he imagined, anything to dread from a 
 renewal of the engagement. He had forbidden it, as 
 Mr. Brandon had, in the most positive terms ; the corres- 
 pondence had long ceased, and he doubted not that 
 Charles, with the fickleness of youth, had already trans- 
 ferred his affections to the wealthy Blanche Estcourt. 
 
 But poor Lucy heard the news with unmitigated sor- 
 row. She wept with bitter anguish for the loss of her 
 dear, kind uncle, and called up again all the happy hours 
 she had spent under his hospitable roof, when he had been 
 so delighted with all she did, and more proud of her pro- 
 gress, her appearance, and art of fascinating, than even of 
 his own daughter's. The blessed times she had known 
 when he was so interested and pleased with her regards 
 for Charles, and had looked upon the youthful pair as so 
 likely to be happy in each other, would return no more. 
 She had gradually become calmed in her grief for her 
 own wrongs, was already resigned to her fate there was 
 no hour of the day but that she thought of Charles, but 
 with scarce a hope of ever being united to him. The life 
 she was leading, too, had its pleasures, not dependent on 
 earthly hopes and joys ; these were abandoned. 
 
 Her household duties performed, she was ever as a
 
 190 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 ministering angel to the sick, and the poor, and the broken 
 in spirit, as with noiseless feet she stole to their bedsides. 
 Her serene, chastened beauty shone in their eyes with 
 soft lustre, like one of the beautiful alabaster lamps, whose 
 radiance ever beams before the shrine in Catholic cathed- 
 rals, and which, withdrawn from the glare of day, re- 
 sembles some watching spirit, visible only in heavenly 
 flame. And with these poor people she had made a com- 
 munion of interest and intelligence ; she had learned how 
 to draw from them the recital of their lives, their trials, 
 their sufferings, and penetrating the homely garb in 
 which their thoughts were clothed, she found much of the 
 truest beauty in their simple, unaffected stories. " These 
 poor people must miss me," she said, " when I am gone, 
 and it pains me to the heart to think of leaving them, for 
 I have no pleasures to look forward to now as I had of old, 
 when I left the island for the first time." 
 
 The news afflicted the cottagers greatly. They talked 
 of it together in little groups, with sorrowful faces, and 
 would say to Lucy, " And shall we never see you no 
 more? won't you come again to see us when we are 
 sick, and give us our doctor's stuff, and read our Bibles 
 to us ? Oh, can't you stay a little longer, Miss Lucy, 
 only a little while, and then we'll try and not complain ? " 
 Lucy, with tearful eyes, would tell them not to mourn 
 for her, that she would not forget them, but would often 
 send kind messages and tokens of remembrance, and, if 
 she possibly could, would visit them once in a while. She 
 urged them not to forget the words she had spoken of a 
 better land on high, where they should suffer no more, 
 and to love the words of Him whose teachings she had 
 repeated to them. Her own words, she said, had been 
 weak and feeble, but His were able to sustain and comfort 
 them in all their afflictions.
 
 LUCY'S NEW HOME. 191 
 
 She went from house to house, when the time came 
 to say farewell. All blessed her, and many offered to her 
 little articles of their own making, each charging her at 
 the same time, " to think of poor old so and so some- 
 times." She visited alone every little nook of the island, 
 endeared to her from childhood by some memory con- 
 nected with it ; the schoolhouse, with its plot of green 
 before the door, where she had watched the children at 
 their sports ; the rude little church, where she had listen- 
 ed with such awe to her father in his sacred desk ; the 
 graveyard, with its quaint old tombstones and the heav- 
 ing heaps of earth, beneath which she had been told 
 reposed her little brothers and sisters, there she had sat 
 many a time and wondered, with a child's curiosity, how 
 they could sleep there, and still, as her father said, be in 
 the skies. 
 
 She felt that she should miss the reeded ponds from 
 which she had often seen the wild fowl fly ; the long glit- 
 tering beach and the rolling breakers which she loved to 
 watch ; and, beyond all, her ow n dear quiet home, and 
 her sweet little chamber which had been of late a sanctu- 
 ary, undisturbed by the cares and miseries she had known 
 before. 
 
 Miriam, in saying farewell, told Lucy that she might 
 sometimes hear from her ; but she did not again refer to 
 her sister or any part of the story she had narrated. Her 
 thoughts dwelt almost exclusively on her vagrant son. 
 
 In company with her father and mother, Lucy at length 
 left the island; and, with a heavy heart, she saw it sink 
 from her sight below the Avaters, as if all that she loved 
 were buried with it beneath the seas 
 
 Once again Lucy entered her uncle's house in Boston ; 
 butsawhimnot coming to greet her with that pleasant smile 
 which always lighted his features when they met. It was,
 
 192 BRANDON J OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO- 
 
 indeed, a house of mourning. She passed into the pretty 
 room where she so often sat with Charles, and sung, and 
 studied ; it was the same ; and the books, the familiar 
 objects of the apartment, spoke in touching memories to 
 her. But when she looked out into the garden, where 
 words of love were spoken, its desolate aspect struck her 
 to the heart; it truly pictured the wintry stern realities 
 of her own life, stripped of all its summer bloom ; the 
 bare trees tossed their branches against the cold gray sky, 
 the paths were strewn with sere leaves, and the fountain 
 that had shot its jet upwards in silvery spray, was mute 
 and frozen. 
 
 She was glad to find that her aunt was not left alone in 
 her sorrow. Randolph and Matilda were still present 
 with their infant son. The cousins had both altered since 
 Matilda was a bride ; both had had their griefs, and when 
 Randolph spoke to his wife of Lucy's changed looks, and 
 thin pale cheek, attributable but to one cause, they both 
 mourned over it. " She is a martyr," said he, " she looks 
 good and holy, as if she no longer lived for earthly hopes ; 
 but, oh, how sad that her happiness should be ruined, her 
 peace sacrificed, by the narrow-minded prejudice of two 
 self-willed men! "Were I my cousin Charles, I would 
 brave all my father's anger, for such a woman." 
 
 " True," said Matilda, " but you know that Lucy would 
 not disobey her father, much as she loves Charles; do 
 not, I implore you gladly as I would see him marry 
 her, do not try, by one word, to influence him to break 
 peace with his father ; it could do no good, and for my 
 own part, I shall endeavor to console Lucy, but speak 
 as though they were never to meet again." With this 
 purpose, Matilda, without actually saying that there could 
 never be a hope of the union with Charles, endeavored, in 
 conversation with Lucy, to impress her with its great im-
 
 LUCY S NEW HOME. - 193 
 
 probability. But she assured her, and truly, that Charles 
 dearly loved her, and would seek her the first moment 
 that her father relented in the least. She did not tell her 
 what Charles had really resolved on, and confided to her ; 
 namely, his determined purpose, ere long, if Mr. Brandon 
 would not act more justly, to openly set his authority at 
 defiance, and seek to make Lucy his own. Matilda had 
 not encouraged him in his purpose, and was unwilling to 
 tell Lucy, as it would only give her pain, and lead her to 
 refuse his solicitations. 
 
 It was settled that Matilda's mother should go with 
 her children to Virginia, and that the family mansion be 
 sold, which Lucy heard with keen anguish, as she had 
 hoped to visit much at a home so dear to her. 
 
 Before parting from Matilda, Lucy had another long 
 conversation with her about Charles. She told her to say 
 that she felt towards him the same deep love she had ever 
 felt it was unconquerable by delays or trials, but not 
 to seek her unless his father receded from the position he 
 held. If Matilda saw fit, she might further hint to Charles 
 that her own parents' scruples would be easily removed, 
 at any similar demonstration from old Mr. Brandon. 
 
 The relatives separated, the household furniture was dis- 
 posed of, the whole estate sold to strangers, and Lucy, 
 and her father and mother repaired to their new house in 
 Cambridge. Lucy at first was much delighted in arrang- 
 ing the household, and with her mother busied in making 
 their new and pretty furniture display itself to the best 
 advantage ; in placing her father's books and papers in 
 the ample, cheerful, sunny room, such a contrast to the 
 solemn darkness of his study on the island, but which she 
 loved best after all. Then came the laying out of the 
 garden, long before the first flower of spring peeped 
 forth, and receiving visits from- neighbors, who kindly 
 9
 
 194 BRANDON J OK, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 called with offerings of help, some more liberal in gifts 
 even than words. Lucy was glad to see the change 
 wrought in her father and mother, the former especially, 
 who now found for the first time in more than twenty-five 
 years the society he loved, of literary character. Books 
 by thousands charmed him in the college library, and he 
 now frequently said that he had lost the best part of his life 
 in obscurity, and that, hard as he had labored, he had 
 done no good, the Gospel seed having fallen upon barren 
 ground. Then Lucy would not allow this to pass without 
 comment, and would sometimes adduce visible proof of 
 her arguments when she received a letter from one of 
 the old cottagers, almost as puzzling as Egyptian hiero- 
 glyphics, but once deciphered, found to contain much of 
 sound Christian faith and hope, and almost always bear- 
 ing reference to some text which the good pastor had 
 preached long long ago, and which he had himself forgotten. 
 With the keen relish of years unsated, Mr. Tyrrell would 
 go back again to the library, after the discussion, and 
 revel among folios in the dusky alcoves, pausing now and 
 then to listen to the sound of the college bells, which he 
 declared the sweetest music he had ever heard ; though 
 we know they were not more musical one hundred years 
 ago than they are now, and sounded just as hatefully to 
 students at morning prayer time. 
 
 Lucy had little taste for society such as had enchanted 
 her two or three years before, when she first entered upon 
 life in Boston. The company of her father's friends gave 
 her pleasure, yet the enjoyment they afforded her was 
 less than the delight she took in seeing him happy, an 
 ornament of that intellectual society which he appeared 
 so well fitted for, and from which he had been so many 
 years debarred.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 EVIL TIDINGS. 
 
 MB. TYRKELL, now absolved from parochial cares, led 
 no longer the recluse life he had spent in the island, and 
 not only sought company to a degree which Lucy thought 
 excessive, but became anxious that she, too, should bear 
 part in it for her own sake. 
 
 Gloomy apprehensions began to mingle with her feel- 
 ings ; her father was proud of her ; he thought her charms 
 too rare to be hidden from the world, and wished her to 
 shine in society, even to lead it, when such display was 
 absolutely revolting to her. 
 
 Without totally discarding his clerical character, Mr. 
 Tyrrell was led away by the fascinations of company in 
 a manner that did not eventually conduce to his own 
 happiness or that of his family. Lucy saw with sorrow 
 that her wish of retirement was displeasing to him, and 
 what ti'oubled her far more, that the utter indifference 
 with which she received the attentions of several men, 
 whom the present world would style " most eligible 
 matches," was not countenanced by him in the manner 
 she expected. She did not live for attention, and wished 
 to receive none ; when paid it annoyed her ; she would 
 not suffer herself to be pursued by it, and in such cases 
 assumed a hauteur which repelled intrusion and forbade 
 approach. Though her father as yet did not express to 
 her his wishes, his looks indicated his displeasure, and for 
 the first time in her life she thought he judged her tin 
 
 (195)
 
 196 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 justly and unkindly. Had she not in everything been to 
 him an affectionate and dutiful daughter ? She had 
 given up at his command the one she loved, and could 
 not even this purchase peace, and the wretched privilege 
 of mourning over her sorrows in secret ? This was hard ; 
 what could it add to her father's happiness to see her sur- 
 rounded by those whose love and raptures she despised ? 
 At length when, in order to be freed from one or two 
 who hoped to win her by perseverance, Lucy absolutely 
 refused their offers of marriage, and they, like silly fools, 
 could not help talking and being enraged at it, the news 
 reached Mr. Tyrrell's ears. 
 
 He then spoke to his daughter, and, after her descrip- 
 tion of these two lovers, which led him to congratulate 
 himself that he was not to be father-in-law to either, he 
 followed up the conversation by asking if she would never 
 be willing to receive attention, provided a person against 
 whom nothing could be alleged were to present himself. 
 " Never ! " said Lucy, looking up to heaven, and speaking 
 most solemnly, " never, while I live ! " 
 
 " But why not, Lucy ?" said Mr. Tyrrell. 
 
 " Oh, my father," said she, bursting into tears, " surely 
 you know too well already." 
 
 " Lucy, Lucy, I am sorry to find that you still cherish 
 this youthful love. I was in hopes that it would have 
 been quite eradicated, by this time." 
 
 "Father, do you judge me thus, and think I would 
 lend my heart so lightly ? No, sir, believe me when I 
 love, I love ardently. I did not cast my affections on a 
 fool, or on an ordinary being. I did, I do love Charles 
 Brandon with my whole soul ; and never, never, will I 
 renounce that love, until I know that he deserves it no 
 longer; or that he has ceased to cherish me with the 
 same tenderness. Then I may listen to you with some
 
 EVIL TIDINGS. 197 
 
 patience. But now, my dear father, as you love me do 
 not mention this subject again, for it will kill me with 
 grief." Lucy buried her face in her hands, and sobbed 
 aloud ; and Mr. Tyrrell, for the time abandoning his pur- 
 pose, smoothed her hair with his palms ; then withdrawing 
 silently from the room, left his daughter to her own sad 
 reflections. 
 
 But Lucy was again harassed, ere long, and in this 
 instance by one for whom she had felt instinctive dread 
 from the first hour she saw him. This was the young 
 Mr. Lascelles, who lived alone in the large house which 
 stood near by ; the same person whom Charles had seen 
 come swaggering down to the gateway. Lucy had heard 
 with disgust, of her name being toasted at the frequent 
 entertainments which he held in his mansion ; when he 
 gathered together a number of boon companions, whose 
 noisy revelry was often carried far into the night. There 
 was nothing in his appearance to fascinate a woman of 
 refined tastes. His countenance bold, haughty, and sen- 
 sual, looked the proper index of his mind. A red, bloated 
 complexion told too plainly of high living ; and his whole 
 appearance would have exactly suited the ideal of a fox 
 hunting, carousing, English country squire. 
 
 But his education was not deficient ; he was of good 
 family, rich, and generous with his money; generally 
 popular ; and was received into the society of fashion as 
 a welcome guest. But to Lucy there was something in 
 him utterly repulsive. She could not endure his undis- 
 guised looks of admiration across the village church ; or 
 when she frequently met him in her walks. In spite of 
 her efforts to shun him, he appeared to cross her path go 
 where she would ; and to her dismay, it was not long 
 before he obtained an introduction to her father, and 
 succeeded so well in entering into his good graces, that he
 
 198 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 received an invitation to visit at the house. HLs jovial, 
 careless, happy style of talking, pleased Mr. Tyrrell. 
 Lascelles, who had been thoroughly educated, could also 
 when he chose, converse well on literary topics ; while 
 an intimate familiarity with classic authors, sometimes 
 supplied timely information in learning, which the clergy- 
 man had forgotten. 
 
 Mr. Tyrrell heard also frequently, anecdotes of his lib- 
 erality and kindness to the poor, all of which were strictly 
 true ; for the young man, fond as he was of company 
 and high living, had many redeeming traits ; and no one 
 could ever suspect him of a mean action. Nor was he 
 dissolute in his habits ; his reputation among women was 
 good ; he was even rather a favorite with them, although 
 the repoi-t of his wealth may have had much to do with 
 this kind opinion. 
 
 Having gained access to the house, Mr. Lascelles was 
 not long in making up his mind, that Lucy Tyrrell, of all 
 the women he had ever seen, was the one, the only one 
 worthy to preside over the destinies of his drawing-rooms, 
 and drive in his carriage. Lascelles fell in love. He did 
 not make himself miserable, because he thought he had 
 only to offer his hand and fortune to any woman, and she 
 would rejoice at the chance of securing him. On the 
 contrary, he gave more dinners than ever before ; and 
 was pleased in hearing Lucy's name continually linked 
 with his own, until he began almost to feel that matri- 
 mony was to ensue as a natural consequence, without the 
 trouble of courtship. 
 
 " To think," said he, " of my being in love ; I, who 
 deemed the fortress of my heart impregnable. Well, I 
 do not find it distressing, as I have read in the poets. I am 
 not 'sighing like a furnace;' nor shall I indite 'a woeful 
 ballad made to my mistress' eyebrow.' I'll go and take
 
 EVIL TIDINGS. 199 
 
 a horseback gallop now, and dream over this love of mine. 
 I will propose for Lucy next week." 
 
 Lucy's father and mother now had frequent conversa- 
 tions, of which she knew that she was the subject. And 
 she soon had too good reason to fear that they looked 
 upon Mr. Lascelles with a favor that would be likely to 
 encourage his suit. Mr. Tyrrell had said nothing to her 
 since that day when she so solemnly begged him to leave 
 her in peace, and to the solitude of her love. But her 
 mother frequently spoke of Lascelles with praise ; and as 
 we have before observed, she had less delicacy of feeling 
 than her husband. She often pained Lucy by the abrupt- 
 ness of her remarks, and her hints that she should not 
 neglect so good a chance of distinction in life ; instead, 
 as she expressed it, of "hiding her light under a bushel." 
 Sometimes in her walks, the mother would choose the 
 path which led by the great house, and bid Lucy mark 
 it, and the broad lands around, which then formed a no- 
 ble estate, though now much curtailed. Only a small 
 portion of the grounds now pertain to the mansion ; 
 though it still stands in its grandeur, known in later times 
 than Mr. Lascelles, as the head quarters of the great 
 revolutionary chieftain ; and now as the home of a cele- 
 brated poet. Mrs. Tyrrell would pause before it, and 
 with a mother's pride, hope that ere long it would be 
 her daughter's. And Lucy would again solemnly repeat, 
 " never ! It cannot, shall not be. Never ! never ! What 
 is his great house to me ; what his broad lands ! Did I 
 not cast words of scorn in the face of one, who holds an 
 estate to which this is but one of our island freeholds in 
 insignificance, because I thought he had dared to suppose 
 that I could be tempted to sell myself? And this Mr. 
 Lascelles ; how is it that he has delighted you and papa ? 
 What is he ? An idler, a spendthrift, if I mistake not,
 
 200 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 fond of his jolly comrades, and a coarse jest over the 
 bottle ; proud of his stud of horses and his dogs. What 
 value would a woman be in his eyes, but as something 
 prized for her personal charms alone ! She must be one 
 that his friends might come and look upon, to envy; 
 dressed to shine amidst heartless splendors, and doomed 
 to live without one true friend, or one really happy hour." 
 But the mother thought differently ; would argue and 
 suggest to no purpose. Lucy had but one answer ; " I 
 love another, dearly, devotedly love him ; and never will 
 I change until I know that he has changed." 
 
 Lucy now would often wish that she could go back to 
 the quiet island, where of late her life was passing so se- 
 renely, occupied with kind visitations to the poor old 
 parishioners. She sighed for the sanctity of her familiar 
 room ; for the quiet churchyard, that she might sit beside 
 the graves of her unknown brothers and sisters, who had 
 always been to her as angels. She longed once more to 
 stand upon the rocks, decked by the long salt seaweed, 
 which rose and fell with the waters, and watch the sun 
 go down over the billowy waste. She thought of the 
 times when as a child she had looked into the depths of 
 the gorgeous cloud rifts, and fancied she could behold 
 the walk of immortal spirits amidst their splendors ; and 
 when she had listened, entranced, to the voice of the sea, 
 which then sung songs of joy to her. Now she heard it 
 still, but its notes were sad ; it came to her in moaning 
 accents, as though foreboding ill; as she had heard it 
 moan so wild and strangely on that day when she learned 
 Miriam's story. 
 
 Although the correspondence between Charles and 
 herself had long ceased, she now thought it strange that 
 she did not hear of him through Matilda, who had for- 
 merly often written to her. She felt assured that Charles
 
 EVIL TIDINGS. 201 
 
 must know she had left the island ; he would hear of it 
 from Randolph, and it would be enough to excite his 
 interest in her new life : he could not have forgotten his 
 love for her and turned away to another ? This would 
 give Matilda pain to inform her ; but no ! she could not 
 harbor such a thought ; she longed to hear from her cousin, 
 but nothing came, and her sense of propriety forbade her 
 to open the subject. 
 
 One day she was in Boston, and happening to pass by 
 her uncle's mansion, it was closed, deserted and gloomy ; 
 but in the garden were igns of life, or rather what to 
 her looked like destruction. The garden wall was broken 
 down, the shrubbery neglected, the vase removed from 
 its pedestal, but the fountain still played on with careless 
 glee, sparkling, but heedless witness alike of joys now 
 forever gone, and of present desolation. 
 
 Workmen's tools, and piles of lumber strewn about 
 the ground, indicated building, and rough men trod care- 
 lessly over the spot so dear to her. She turned away 
 with a sad heart, and gloomy forebodings fell upon her. 
 
 Lascelles now redoubled his attentions; he offered 
 himself to her, she repulsed him with cold disdain. She 
 told him plainly of her engaged affections, and even if 
 her heart was not already won, that he could not gain it. 
 He was earnest, but not presumptuous or indelicate in 
 his pursuit; he hoped that time would induce her to 
 change, and regard him more favorably' Lucy reiter- 
 ated her resolves, and when he continued to repeat his 
 professions, she heard him in silence, then signified by a 
 bow that the conference was ended. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles, not daunted, laid the subject of his hopes 
 
 before Lucy's parents, and as he expected, found that his 
 
 proposals were favorably received. They both imagined 
 
 that a little time would produce a change in their daugh- 
 
 9*
 
 202 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 ter's feelings. Mr. Tyrrell spoke kindly to his distressed 
 child ; he said that he was now growing old, that in the 
 course of nature he could not be very long spared, and 
 that it was the great desire of his life to see his Lucy 
 happily married, as he thought she would find a kind, 
 generous, indulgent husband in Mr. Lascelles ; one in 
 whom no vices could be proved ; but much that was excel- 
 lent. Lucy heard in agonized sorrow, but shook her 
 head in determined refusal. 
 
 At length, Mr. Tyrrell came to her room one morning, 
 and put into her hands a letter. 
 
 He had been more kind than Lucy thought ; he had 
 written to Mr. Brandon greatly against his own inclina- 
 tions, asking news of his son, and if he still clung to the 
 memory of his daughter ; for although he did not say so 
 in his letter, he had determined, as her happiness was so 
 centered in Charles, to offer no further opposition to their 
 union, provided his father was at all disposed to favor it. 
 In due time came the answer from Mr. Brandon, who, 
 after dilating on the unexpected honor done him, said not 
 one word of his son's affections, but that he was shortly 
 to be married to the woman of his (Mr. Brandon's) choice, 
 Blanche Estcourt ; closing with a panegyric on the beauty 
 and virtues of that young lady, and assuring Mr. Tyrrell 
 of his distinguished consideration. 
 
 This news Lucy's father considered sufficient, and in- 
 dignant that his daughter should have wasted her noble 
 love on such a deceiver, as he considered Charles, showed 
 her the letter without hesitation. She read it, said noth- 
 ing, and when left alone, shed not one tear, but kneeling 
 by her bedside, she folded her hands, and prayed.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. 
 
 THE letter spoken of in the last chapter, as written by 
 Mr. Brandon, and which caused Lucy such intense sor- 
 row, had no truth in it, although the writer did not 
 mean to deceive w r hen he penned it. For Mr. Brandon, 
 having made up his mind that Blanche Estcourt was to 
 be his son's wife, no sooner received Mr. Tyrrell's com- 
 munication, in which news was asked of Charles, than he 
 determined to extinguish all hopes in Lucy, and wrote ac- 
 cordingly, without informing either his wife or his son of 
 having done so. But he wrote, thinking that his own plan 
 was of easy accomplishment ; that in short Charles was to 
 do as he insisted. Blanche should be Mrs. Brandon, and 
 his son her husband, and thus all would be concluded, 
 and the young couple feel much better that older and 
 wiser heads than their own had regulated affairs of matri- 
 mony for them, and saved them all trouble. But he was 
 slightly disturbed after dispatching his letter, when, on 
 seeing Lady Mildred, she informed him that the marriage 
 could not take place as soon as they wished ; that Blanche 
 had for some time past, made the most serious objections 
 to having the subject named. 
 
 " My God, madam ! " said Mr. Brandon, astounded, 
 " what do you tell me ? These young people are mad, 
 madam, absolutely mad ! do they intend to thwart our 
 plans, or try to do so ? for of course they will have to 
 yield to us; I repeat it, madam, do they?" 
 
 " I have no doubt they do." 
 
 (203)
 
 204 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " Then, as to that son of mine, if he was a little younger, 
 I would horsewhip him, but as it is, I'll . . . . " 
 
 " Stop one moment," said Mildred. 
 
 " No, madam, I will not stop ; my son, I say, shall 
 marry your daughter ; do you wish him to ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; but your son, it seems, has some will of his 
 own; and as you cannot horsewhip him into loving Blanche, 
 perhaps plans of persuasion will fail also." 
 
 " Loving, madam ! I did not talk of loving ; I was 
 thinking of marrying and giving in marriage only ; they 
 will love each other afterward ; of course they will." 
 
 "But," pursued Mildred, without noticing this non- 
 sense, " my daughter, I am sorry to find, has a temper 
 that I never knew of; she has always yielded to me the 
 most absolute submission, but on this point she is firm : re- 
 solved not to marry your son Charles even if he were 
 ready at this moment to offer his hand, unless she knew 
 that he devotedly loved her. What are we to do ? noth- 
 can be effected by passion ; for on this subject I have 
 never seen one more obstinately determined than Blanche ; 
 and passion will not influence her." 
 
 " I will disinherit my son." 
 
 " So I have heard you say before ; but what good will 
 be produced by doing so ? " 
 
 " The consequence to him, madam, will be tremendous, 
 beyond aught I can describe ; he might well shudder in 
 contemplation of thenV' said Mr. Brandon, with awful 
 pomposity. 
 
 " No doubt he will," said Mildred ironically. " But, 
 Mr. Brandon, do you think that he actually has an aver- 
 giou for Blanche, or are his feelings those of mere indiffer- 
 ence ? Let me ask, does he still profess to love Lucy Tyr- 
 rell?" 
 
 " I do not know," said Mr. Brandon, gloomily; " but I
 
 CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY, 205 
 
 think all that matter is over, for I wrote a letter to her 
 father in answer to one of his, and told him that his 
 daughter might think no more of my son. I should not 
 be surprised if she really had another love, because I re- 
 member me now, Mr, Tyrrell said that he did not wish 
 his daughter to cling to false hopes, to the disparagement 
 of those whom it might suit him to admit to his house. 
 Heavens! were she but once married or betrothed, and 
 my son knew of it, all our troubles would vanish." 
 
 " Very good," returned Mildred ; " now be counselled 
 by me. You can easily by another letter, find out if 
 Miss Tyrrell has a lover ; for you can base as an excuse 
 for writing, that the marriage with Blanche is postponed < 
 Mr. Tyrrell will be very likely to speak of his daughter's 
 prospects." 
 
 " Admirable counsel ! I will at once do so. I will also 
 speak to my son." 
 
 "You had better not, until you hear from Lucy's 
 father." 
 
 " Very well, madam, I will wait then ; and now how is 
 my sweet young friend, Miss Blanche, cannot I pay my 
 respects to her." 
 
 " No, thank you ; not to-day. She is ill, quite ill, and 
 cannot bear excitement." 
 "Not seriously ill, I hope?" 
 
 " Oh, no indeed ! nothing is really the matter beyond a 
 temporary weakness ; but you know a mother's anxiety." 
 " Then my kindest wishes to her, my dear madam," 
 said Mr. Brandon, and took his leave. 
 
 Blanche was ill, indeed ; she was a dying girl, to whom 
 the world was now but a resting-place, before she should 
 begin her journey into eternity ; all the schemes, hopes, 
 and plans of her mother, availed nothing now. She did 
 not suffer herself to dwell upon these ; she cherished her
 
 206 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 love as if for one dead, but no bitterness mingled with 
 her feelings. Thoroughly conscious of her situation, she 
 gave up her last days to religious instruction and thought. 
 She would say to Mildred ; " Mother, I have ever obeyed 
 you in all things ; but I know that the hour of my death 
 is near at hand, and I can not, indeed, will not listen to 
 words concerning earthly and temporal triumphs ; I think 
 not of these, let me depart in peace." 
 
 But the mother could not imagine that she was about 
 to lose her daughter forever; she saw her apparently 
 recovering, in the full bloom of beauty, more radiant, 
 indeed, than she had ever been. Mildred little knew the 
 nature of her disease consumption ; how it cheats hope 
 to the last, and often wears the mask of loveliness almost 
 to the moment of dissolution. 
 
 Here we must turn away to pursue our story. Let us 
 not dwell upon a scene of daily decay, but bid to Blanche 
 a long and sad farewell ; nor linger beside that form, 
 which, ere many weeks, must be laid down beneath the 
 sod 
 
 Notwithstanding the caution which Mildred had given 
 to Mr. Brandon, he was too impatient for the match 
 between his son and Blanche, to keep the matter to him- 
 self. He sought out Charles, and at once attacked him 
 upon the subject, in the usual style of coaxing, mingled 
 with threats. To his surprise and extreme displeasure, 
 he found his son less inclined to listeA to him patiently, 
 than at any previous period. He treated threats of disin- 
 heritance with indifference ; refused to prolong the discus- 
 sion, or give his father the slightest hope that he would 
 ever change ; he always closed the interview by saying, 
 that he would never marry Blanche against his own 
 will! 
 
 He further plainly told his astonished father (hat, tired
 
 CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. 207 
 
 with his course of harshness and tyranny, he had resolved 
 to break loose from him at once ; that he should immedi- 
 ately proceed to the north, and offer his hand again to 
 Lucy Tyrrell, to engage her for a future marriage. First, 
 however, he was resolved to win for himself a name in 
 the service of his king and country, and had made every 
 preparation to join the ai-my in the Canadas had already 
 secured a lieutenant's commission in the corps of " Royal 
 Americans;" these had joined the British forces, part 
 with Amherst, the commander-in-chief in the region of 
 Lake George, and part with Wolfe at Louisburg. 
 
 " Good God, sir ! " said Mr. Brandon, smiling incredu- 
 lously ; " and how soon do you intend to put this notable 
 project of yours into execution?" 
 
 " Day after to-morrow." 
 
 " You shall not go, sir." 
 
 " Listen to me, father," said Charles, respectfully, but 
 firmly. " I have my commission in His Majesty's army, 
 my services liave been accepted ; and, I know you would 
 not wish to see me shamefully resign a post in which I 
 may \vin distinguished honor." 
 
 The old man was touched instantly. 
 
 " No, my son," said he, softened, " I would not. You 
 will go, I see ; and you must ; you will do your duty, and I 
 only wish that His Majesty God bless his sainted person ! 
 could know that another scion of the house of Brandon 
 was devoted to the royal cause, as the line has been for 
 centuries. But you have not long to stay with us, my 
 son ; can you not delay a little while, 'tis a very sudden 
 parting;" and as the father spoke, a tear glistened in his 
 eye. 
 
 " True, father, but I must go." 
 
 "Who helped you to your commission, without my 
 knowledge ? "
 
 208 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " I obtained it, as almost any young man accustomed 
 to arms, as I have been, can obtain it now, when volun- 
 teers for the war are sought in all the colonies. The influ- 
 ence of Mr. Robinson, the Speaker of the House of Bur- 
 gesses, availed me in part, and also that of another, who 
 you would imagine had no influence, Mr. Henry. 
 
 " What ! the one who plead against the clergy ; the 
 seditious Patrick Henry ! Indeed, I begin to think better 
 of him ; but I had no idea that such a man could have 
 any weight at all." 
 
 " A good deal though, you find, my dear father." 
 
 " I am astonished. I will ride over to Williamsburg 
 very soon, and thank Speaker Robinson, and I will also 
 extend my compliments to Mr. Henry, for his zeal in 
 your behalf," said the proud aristocrat, in an unusually 
 condescending manner. 
 
 " Now, my son, tell me who is going with you ? Will 
 you join Wolfe or Amherst ?" 
 
 " I do not know yet, sir ; it will depend upon the 
 * Royal Americans,' whom we shall meet in Boston. We 
 may march through Massachusetts, by way of Worcester 
 and Springfield, to Albany, and from that town join Am- 
 herst, or go to Louisburg by sea. I am for Wolfe, glori- 
 ous Wolfe ! Two of our friends, Montcure and Selden, 
 go with me, and our faithful Bela Tilley insists on 
 accompanying me, as companion and servant." 
 
 " Heavens ! " said the old gentleman, " Bela going too ; 
 well, he will make a figure in the camp. And now, Charles, 
 dear boy, you are about to leave us, to fight for your king, 
 God bless him ! I forgive you for intending to leave thus 
 suddenly, without consulting me ; but I feel that I have 
 done you wrong lately, and made you unhappy." The 
 father said this in a faltering voice, but recovering, as if 
 ashamed of his weakness, burst out loudly, to conceal his
 
 CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. 209 
 
 emotion, " But, damn it, boy, I do love you, and did all 
 for your good ! " 
 
 The mother had known Charles' intention, but was not 
 aware that he was so soon to leave; in short, he had 
 determined to spare the bitterness of parting, and, stealing 
 away, to leave a note of farewell for his parents ; but now, 
 as she learned that in a few hours she should part with 
 him, she made haste to arrange the small wardrobe he 
 required, shedding many a tear, with a mother's anxiety. 
 Charles, scattering quite an amount of small coin among 
 the negroes, charged them to behave well during his 
 absence, and then went to Bela's quarters to say that they 
 must be astir betimes in the morning. 
 
 He received for answer, " Wal^ I never was be-lated 
 yet, 'cept in comin' into this world, and then 'twant no 
 concern o' mine. Jest yeou git ready right away as nigh 
 as I am, then I calculate there'll be a pair on us," and with 
 this notice of readiness for a long journey, Bela relapsed 
 into silence. 
 
 Mr. Brandon, beneath an affectation of unconcern, 
 felt deeply ; the truth was, he blamed himself for having 
 driven his son from home by his conduct ; but he was 
 secretly pleased with Charles' spirit, and proud that he 
 was to become a soldier. He rode hurriedly over to 
 Williamsburg and bought the most elegant sword he 
 could find in the city, and, always liberal with money, 
 forced on his son more than he really required, although 
 the long, heavy purse, filled to its brim with shining gold, 
 was very acceptable to a young officer. 
 
 To Charles' intense regret, Randolph and Matilda had 
 not returned from the north, whither they had been called 
 by the death of her father, and during all this period of 
 their absence, a space of some months, he had never heard
 
 210 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 from them ; " But it matters little now," he thought, " we 
 shall meet in Boston." 
 
 The morning came, and the watchful Bela knocked at 
 Charles' door at the dawn of day. Breakfast was soon 
 dispatched ; an agonized parting with his mother followed. 
 His father was to go with him as far as Williamslm !;., 
 and mounting their horses they emerged from under the 
 great tower just as its bells pealed forth seven. Charles 
 knew not that he never more should hear their sound, but 
 pursuing his journey, he parted with his father at the city, 
 with many a pressure of the hand. All the pompous 
 manner of Mr. Brandon for once was laid aside, as he 
 solemnly invoked God's blessing on his son ; and then he 
 retraced his way back to Kingwood, thoughtful and 
 melancholy. 
 
 Charles set off with his two companions and the faith- 
 full Bela Tilley, who, to Mr. Brandon's question, " Think 
 you you can take care of my son, Bela ?" had replied, 
 " Somewhat ! and bring him back sound as a Rud Island 
 greenin." 
 
 The whole party were in high spirits ; they travelled 
 as rapidly as possible, and reached Boston by the latter 
 part of April, 1759. There they at once found, on ap- 
 plication to the proper authorities, that a detachment of 
 "Royal Americans," some twenty in number, would 
 shortly join Wolfe at Louisburg, none going to Lake 
 George to meet Amherst. 
 
 The season was pleasant, and the vessel for Louisburg 
 not sailing for ten days, Charles at once resolved to go 
 by the regular packet to the island, burning with im- 
 patience to see Lucy once more. Before embarking, he 
 went to the Widow Tyrrell's house, hoping to see his 
 cousins, but in vain. He saw one of the workmen near
 
 CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. 211 
 
 the mansion, who told him that the family had moved 
 away to some other part of the town, but where he could 
 not inform him. The packet was upon the point of start- 
 ing for the island, and thinking he could easily find Mrs. 
 Tyrrell on his return, Charles gave little heed to the mat- 
 ter, his mind being too much occupied with a more im- 
 portant object. He reached the island, and learned to 
 his dismay, that the family had left it some months before. 
 Gone ! gone where ? To Boston, he was told. Dis- 
 tracted with this intelligence, he turned his face again 
 to the city. A light, baffling wind kept him off the coast 
 until the day before the bark was ready to sail for Cape 
 Breton. He rushed again to the mansion of the Tyrrells, 
 but with no better success than before. Perceiving at 
 length the broken garden wall, he entered the spot so 
 sacred to him, and its appearance made him sad indeed. 
 Near the mansion he finally espied one familiar face, it 
 was old Amy, one of the colored domestics of the 
 establishment in former days. 
 
 " The Lord gracious, Master Charles, how com'd you 
 to be here ?" 
 
 " Tell me, Amy, where are they all ? she, she, Lucy, 
 where is she ?" 
 
 " Oh ! dear master, and didn't you know old master 's 
 dead, and mistress is gone off to Virginny with Miss Ma- 
 tilda and Mr. Randolph ; and Miss Lucy, I does 'nt know, 
 indeed, where she be." 
 
 " Merciful Father !" said Charles, at length, almost be- 
 side himself. " Yes, I heard, Amy, of Mr. Tyrrell's death, 
 but Miss Lucy, do you not indeed know ? where do you 
 think she is ?" 
 
 " I does 'nt know," repeated Amy. " I was sick away 
 from here the time old mistress went off, and though I 
 see Miss Lucy once after she come here with her father
 
 212 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 and mother, I did 'nt hear her say nothing of where she 
 was going, and I aint never seed her since." 
 
 Charles did not speak for many minutes ; he was con- 
 vulsed with grief; at length recovering, he took some 
 gold pieces from his purse, and handed them to the old 
 servant, who was weeping to see him so distressed. 
 " Here, Amy, my good old friend, do not cry ; take these 
 and buy yourself something to remember me by. You 
 used to like white ; summer is coming, buy yourself a 
 handsome white gown." 
 
 " Thank you, master, I will," said Amy, " and I'll keep 
 it to be buried in." 
 
 Charles left the spot ; he went to his inn, wrote a long 
 but hurried letter of explanation to Randolph, detailing 
 his disappointments ; he implored him at once to write to 
 Lucy, and tell her all ; then, nearly frantic, he repaired 
 to the vessel, ignorant that she whom he loved was with- 
 in four short miles ; that she, sad and wretched, was 
 never free from thoughts of him, and what she considered 
 his wanton, heartless treachery. 
 
 The wind was fair, the vessel sailed fast ; the Massa- 
 chusetts' coast grew fainter to the sight- astern, it disap- 
 peared from view, and in a few days, just as the fleet was 
 about to sail for Quebec, Charles and his companions 
 joined the forces of General James Wolfe, in the harbor 
 of Louisburg.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A "HERO IN HISTORY." 
 
 THE war between England and France had now been 
 waged in the American colonies for several years. In the 
 Canadas and north western frontiers, the fortunes of 
 battle had frequently varied, sometimes in favor of the 
 French, but more generally of the English, who were 
 slowly gaining ground in the Gallic possessions. 
 
 But deep anxiety for the result of the war was felt in 
 England under Pitt's administration; a feeling shared by 
 that mighty statesman, and which cost him many an 
 hour of sleepless care ; a feeling which, extending as far 
 south as Maryland, elicited a martial spirit which was not 
 forgotten, when but a few years later the troubles with 
 the mother country assumed the shape of open revolt. 
 There was now just ground for apprehension, for a chiv- 
 alrous spirit of union pervaded all ranks of the French, 
 and in the Canadas a spectacle of almost unequalled gran- 
 deur was presented that of two powerful kingdoms ar- 
 rayed against each other, for the prize of a western em- 
 pire. 
 
 Well might the gallant Wolfe feel the vast weight of 
 the responsibility imposed upon him. With his little 
 army of eight thousand troops, he was about to sail a 
 distance of four hundred *miles into a hostile country, and 
 afterwards attack the stronghold of Quebec ; even then, 
 before a twentieth part of its stupendous fortifications 
 were reared, regarded as the Gibraltar of America, and 
 
 (213)
 
 214 BRANDON ; OR, A 1IUNDKED YEARS AGO. 
 
 well nigh impregnable. A magnificent enterprise lay 
 before the young general, which, successfully accom- 
 plished, would crown him with glory; but again, a single 
 false step might cover him with defeat and disgrace. 
 
 Just at this period the numerous victories of the Brit- 
 ish by sea and land had kindled in Wolfe the loftiest de- 
 sires of emulation, and it was the measure of his ambition 
 to render his own name great, and the campaign the 
 most illustrious in the annals of his country. 
 
 In the very prime of life, Wolfe was marked by his 
 person, his valor, his genius, as the very beau ideal of a 
 chivalrous hero. Owing nothing to nobility of blood, he 
 had already acquired a European reputation as a soldi ;T, 
 and won the favor of his superiors solely by merit. He 
 had fought with honor to himself on the fields of Fonte- 
 noy and Dettingen, and the humanity of his nature was 
 made memorable to the Highlanders, during the carnage 
 of Culloden. He was but twenty-two years of age, when 
 he was promoted to a Lieutenant-colonelcy, and scarce 
 ten years older when entrusted with the command of the 
 army in the St. Lawrence. 
 
 A strict disciplinarian, he exacted implicit obedience, 
 yet the severity of military rule was tempered by kind- 
 ness of disposition; his battalions were drilled to the 
 highest point of efficiency, while his enthusiasm and de- 
 voted bravery found a response in the breast of his mean- 
 est soldier. 
 
 Nor was he merely distinguished as a military chief- 
 tain ; a love of literature beguiled his leisure hours ; his 
 letters sparkle with animated descriptions of man and na- 
 ture; and his imagination pictured scenes of future do- 
 mestic bliss in England, where his widowed mother, with 
 all her earthly hopes centered in him, watched for his 
 triumphant return.
 
 A "IIEKO IN HISTORY." 215 
 
 There is a monument in Quebec bearing the name of 
 Wolfe, but nature's grand memorial, the Heights of 
 Abraham, stands ever consecrated to his fame. War 
 may shatter the bristling bastions of the citadel, or time 
 may eventually leave not one stone upon another; but, as 
 long as the St. Lawrence sweeps by the adamantine base 
 of Cape Diamond, the memory of the hero will not be 
 forgotten by mankind. 
 
 When Charles Brandon presented his credentials and 
 letters of introdxiction to Wolfe, he was struck with his 
 soldierly bearing, his keen look of command, and the 
 winning sweetness of his address ; he felt, in an instant, 
 that he could follow such a leader to the death. 
 
 " I am glad you have come among us, sir," said the 
 General, " we want men. In an hour I shall be at leisure. 
 I shall put you through the drill, to see what you are 
 made of, and what you know. We sail shortly. Jones," 
 here turning to an aid-de-camp, " will show you to your 
 quarters. Good morning, sir;" and with this Wolfe 
 bowed, and the interview ended. 
 
 " Come on, sir," said Jones to Charles. " I am glad to 
 hear we are to sail soon; it's cursed dull here, and I 
 long for a little life. You are accustomed to arms, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have commanded a company in Virginia, and 
 hope to .please your general." 
 
 " You Avill easily do so, if you only try to deserve 
 his favor. Wolfe is strict, but he has an eagle eye for 
 merit ; he will pardon faults, but has no patience with 
 carelessness." 
 
 Wolfe, as good as his word, sent for Charles at the 
 proper time, and placing a musket in his hands exercised 
 him for half an hour closely and critically. 
 
 " Very good, sir," he said, at length, " that will do ; I
 
 216 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 see I was not wrong in my first impression of you. A 
 little gunpowder will soon make you a soldier. You are 
 at liberty now, sir, until four o'clock; at that hour I dine, 
 and you will join me," he added, kindly. 
 
 Charles, greatly relieved, strolled about the camp until 
 it was time to make his toilet, joining his general and one 
 or two other officers at the hour named. 
 
 " You are punctual, Mr. Brandon, I see. Right, right 
 sir, always mind the minutes." 
 
 They sat down to dinner, and little was said about war 
 or the expedition before them. On the contrary Wolfe 
 banished these from the gayety of the feast ; he led the 
 conversation to topics of literature, society, and the fine 
 arts, enlivened it with piquant anecdotes, recollections of 
 European celebrities, and with happy tact saw that each 
 guest was drawn out in turn, and made to contribute to the 
 entertainment of the rest. One very old colonel, a veteran 
 in the service dry as a chip who knew nothing but his 
 profession, was indulged for the thousandth time with his 
 recital of Marlborough's victory at Malplaquet, at which 
 the colonel had fought fifty years before, and had bored 
 the mess table with it ever since. And another, a younger 
 major, who never having read a book in his life, had been 
 forced to look, during a literary disquisition, as if he un- 
 derstood it all, though he was in terror lest he should be 
 mischievously questioned by Wolfe, now had a chance of 
 displaying also ; when he told of the sport he had the day 
 before with his gun, and being a capital shot had brought 
 down with one barrel the brace of wild fowl smoking on 
 the table before him. Charles Brandon's finished educa- 
 tion and good manners, soon won a place for him in the 
 regards of those present, even with the old colonel, who 
 at first had looked upon him with the most profound in- 
 difference. Wolfe was perfectly familiar with the state
 
 A "HERO IN HISTORY." 217 
 
 of the country and its history ; and the subject of Brad- 
 dock's defeat, being mentioned, he asked Charles if he 
 had ever seen Colonel Washington. Charles replied, 
 that he knew Washington well. 
 
 u Ah ! " said Wolfe, " he is a great and rising soldier. 
 I should like to meet him and fight by his side. It 
 is shameful that merit, such as his, should now be neg- 
 lected by those in authority, especially since his brilliant 
 triumphs at Fort Duquesne, now called Pittsburgh, in 
 honor of our prime minister. I hope to meet him some 
 day, and that too before we. conquer all the Canadas. 
 He was, I understand, in the thickest of the fight under 
 Braddock, and yet marvellously escaped unhurt." 
 
 " Yes sir, he was," said Charles ; " and one old Indian, 
 who seldom missed his aim, reports having had seventeen 
 direct fires at him with his rifle, without being able to hit 
 him." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed the old colonel, "that is aston- 
 ishing ; if he had been at Malplaquet, he would have been 
 killed. Did I ever tell you, General Wolfe, how Marl- 
 borough and Prince Eugene, just as the Pretender made 
 his last charge at the head of the French cavalry, he 
 said" 
 
 "Now, colonel," Wolfe gaily interrupted, anxious to 
 avoid an endless story, for he caught the despairing look 
 of the sporting major; "don't let us fight Malplaquet 
 over again. You beat the French there, roundly ; this 
 time reserve your forces for them until we reach Quebec, 
 then give it to them. Now, fill your glass, and you too, 
 major, and Mr. Brandon ; let us drink to the health of 
 the gallant Colonel Washington." 
 
 10
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 QUEBEC. 
 
 IT was June, 1759, and the British army, consisting of 
 about eight thousand men, including two battalions of 
 "Royal Americans," set sail from Louisburg; the fleet 
 which bore them, comprising twenty-two ships of the 
 line, and about as many smaller vessels, being commanded 
 by Admiral Saunders. 
 
 Many distinguished naval and military officers, besides 
 Wolfe, made part of the force. In command of one of 
 the frigates was John Jervis, then but twenty-five years 
 of age, celebrated afterwards as Earl of St. Vincent, one 
 of the greatest of England's naval heroes, second proba- 
 bly only to Lord Nelson. There was Cook, of daring 
 genius, thirsting now for renown which he was destined 
 subsequently to gain as the persevering navigator ; like 
 another Columbus, to sail unknown oceans, and tell of ro- 
 mantic islands never before visited by the pale faced stran- 
 ger. Among the army officers was the gallant Richard 
 Montgomery, whose glory is inseparably linked with 
 Quebec, for whining his early laurels at its capture ; he 
 fell before its walls sixteen years later, when having 
 joined the American cause, he attacked the fortress in 
 connection with the traitor Benedict Arnold. The three 
 distinguished brigadiers, the immediate seconds of Wolfe, 
 were Murray, Townshend, and Monckton, severally sons 
 of nobles; the last named, in after years, the noble 
 hearted and beloved Governor of New York. Here 
 (218)
 
 QUEBEC. 219 
 
 figured also Lieutenant Colonel Howe, celebrated in 
 revolutionary annals, and chief in command of the British 
 forces at the evacuation of Boston. 
 
 As the fleet sailed up the magnificent St. Lawrence, its 
 waters reflecting the snowy sails of fifty ships of war, 
 never could its banks have beheld a spectacle of more 
 imposing grandeur. The mighty annament moved on ; 
 the towering bulwark swarming with warriors, their faces 
 lighted with stern joy at the coming strife, and the cannon 
 ready to hurl their iron showers on the foe. On the 26th 
 of June, the great fleet came to anchor at the Island of 
 Orleans, before the devoted Quebec. 
 
 The sun shone brilliantly on the dark giant forms of the 
 men-of-war ; boats were plying between them, and strains 
 of martial music rose from bands upon their decks ; the 
 light, flashed back from the sentry's muskets, and the 
 rich uniforms of the officers; tinged by the clouds, it 
 spread varied glories on the broad bosom of the river ; it 
 bathed the wooded heights with colors like those of the 
 autumnal foliage ; it filled the streets of the city, lying in 
 fancied security beneath the inaccessible cliff; it rested on 
 the bastions of Cape Diamond, crested by the citadel and 
 the royal ensign of France, which over that grand theatre 
 of battle waved defiance to the invader. 
 
 Quebec, now rendered almost impregnable by the 
 science of engineers, is formidable by nature, as surely 
 marked for the site of a great fortress as Gibraltar or the 
 Moro Castle. 
 
 The river which runs before it forms a wide basin, 
 which, four hundred miles from the Atlantic, might float 
 the combined navies of the world. At the north and east 
 sides of the rock on which the batteries are mounted, the 
 River St. Charles mingles with the St. Lawrence, and thus 
 the Heights assume the shape of a peninsula. The British
 
 220 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 army at once disembarked, and encamped on the Island 
 of Orleans, opposite to the city. The greater part of the 
 French forces under command of Montcalm, were posted 
 on the Heights on the north bank of the stream, their en- 
 campment stretching along the shores of Beauport to the 
 River Montmorenci, which, nine miles below the city, 
 "after fretting itself a whirlpool route, and leaping for miles 
 down the steps of a rocky bed, rushes with velocity to- 
 ward the ledge, over which, falling two hundred and fifty 
 feet, it pours its fleecy cataract into the chasm."* 
 
 In a short time, Point de Levi, opposite to the city, was 
 seized by Monckton, and a battery erected there opened 
 fire upon the city ; many of its houses in the lower town 
 were injured and set in flames, but the lofty bastions sus- 
 tained no damage. Meanwhile, the fleet was twice 
 menaced with destruction ; fireships were floated down 
 the river by the French, but with cool hardihood, the 
 sailors, grappling with them, towed them out of the reach 
 of the men-of-war, then left them to bum and illumine, 
 with fearful sublimity, the camps, the shipping, and the 
 fortress. On the 9th of July, Wolfe changed his camp 
 to a position near Montcalm's, on the same heights, and 
 only separated from him by the River Montmorenci. 
 
 But it seemed to be impossible to approach the French 
 general ; the torrent between the two armies forbade boats 
 to cross, nor could it be forded ; ceaseless reconnoitering 
 availed nothing, for every point along the river was de- 
 fended by cannon, and watched by the devoted soldiers 
 of France. Prepared at all points, Montcalm was con- 
 tent to act on the defensive ; he knew that if the sum- 
 mer went by, the ships could not remain late into the 
 autumn, the early rigors of the climate would compel 
 
 * Bancroft.
 
 QUEBEC. 221 
 
 them to return to Louisburg, and the expedition result 
 in utter failure. 
 
 The British commander knew this too, and it made him 
 doubly anxious to win the day by some sudden and des- 
 perate conflict. His anxiety was shared by the whole 
 army, burning to redeem their long repose ; it was felt by 
 Charles himself to the last degree, for his mind was ill at 
 ease, and he looked forward impatiently to action. His 
 thoughts were gloomy, for he was far from all his friends, 
 uncertain of the fate of his beloved Lucy, and uncheered 
 by a word of intelligence from home. The scene which 
 otherwise could not have failed to please him, was now 
 unheeded ; the martial appearance of the camp, the deep 
 recesses of the wood which bounded it, the brawling 
 river, the cataract which foamed down the abyss, in the 
 bright moonlight nights, arrayed with a beauty far beyond 
 the painter's art, ceased to charm. 
 
 At length, Wolfe, longing for an opportunity of convert- 
 ing the dullness of inaction into open battle, had submit- 
 ted to his faithful brigadiers three plans of attack, too 
 desperate to receive their approbation, and they had been 
 abandoned. But before these were projected, another 
 blow had been attempted without success. 
 
 According to the plan of attack, the bed of the Mont- 
 morenci was to be crossed at that part of it which lies 
 between the St. Lawrence and the foot of the water-fall, 
 where a ledge of rocks, about a thousand feet in extent, 
 permits a passage when the tide is low. Monckton's forces 
 were to cross from Point de Levi, and join the regiments 
 on the north bank of the river, and thus combined, scale 
 the Heights and attack the French. The signal was given, 
 and the troops came over in boats, but before these 
 touched the shore, they struck upon some hidden rocks 
 in the stream, and were at once thrown into confusion.
 
 222 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 While endeavoring to clear their boats, Wolfe's impetu- 
 osity could brook no delay, and with thirteen companies 
 of the British Grenadiers, and about two hundred men 
 from the second battalion of "Royal Americans," he 
 judged he could successfully combat the enemy. But 
 observing some stir in the French camp, he ordered his 
 troops to form upon the beach, and wait until joined 
 by the other regiments, as he was resolved, if possible, 
 to bring the foe to a general engagement. But the sol- 
 diers who had longed so impatiently for action, now, re- 
 gardless of danger, could not be restrained, and dashing 
 forward with wild huzzas, instantly rushed upon the 
 French entrenchments. Brandon, at the head of his com- 
 pany, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment, 
 stayed not for orders, but cheering on his men, cried, 
 " Forward, my brave boys." But the assault was met by 
 such a steady and murderous fire, that in a moment he 
 saw his men dropping around him like autumn leaves ; it 
 was vain to withstand such an iron shower from an enemy 
 taking cool, deliberate aim in safety behind their defence, 
 and the word was reluctantly given to retreat to a redoubt 
 which had been abandoned by the enemy at the com- 
 mencement of the attack. Here the troops were still 
 exposed to a raking fire ; and while the cannon pealed 
 forth their thunders, a terrific storm, which had been 
 gathering for some hours, burst in fury, and the roar of 
 ordnance was answered by the artillery of heaven. Wolfe 
 now made haste to withdraw his troops, sending those of 
 Monckton's again over the river, and retired to his camp 
 after this desperate enterprise, with the loss of five hun- 
 dred men. The impetuosity of the troops was censured 
 in general orders, and Charles Brandon, with other offi- 
 cers, received a sharp private reprimand for rash conduct. 
 General Murray was now sent with a detachment of
 
 QUEBEC. 223 
 
 twelve hundred men far above the city, to endeavor, if 
 possible, to open a communication with Amherst, the 
 commander-in-chief in the region of Lake Champlain ; 
 and though he did not succeed in doing so, the army was 
 cheered by the intelligence learnt from a party of French 
 prisoners, that Crown Point, and Ticonderoga, had been 
 abandoned by the enemy, and that Fort Niagara had 
 surrendered. These triumphs amply redeemed the dis- 
 grace of the previous year, caused by the pusillanimous 
 Abercrombie. 
 
 Amherst was now daily looked for to combine with 
 the army before Quebec ; but he came not, and Wolfe 
 fell sick in body and soul. Wasted with fever, feeling his 
 strength leaving him ; the prospect of dying without ac- 
 complishing the grand object of his hopes, preyed upon 
 his spirit, and tortured him with the gloomiest fore- 
 bodings. 
 
 " It is not death that I fear," he said to Charles Bran- 
 don, on one occasion, when he had called to pay his re- 
 spects to his general; "I have often braved it before. 
 Several times have I felt that I should not survive this 
 campaign ; but the misery of dying unsuccessful, or aban- 
 doning the expedition, is more than I can bear ; knowing 
 the mighty responsibility that devolves upon me, and 
 how anxiously the ministry and people ' of England look 
 for glad tidings." 
 
 But determined that neither disappointment nor delay, 
 nor obstacles of the most formidable nature, should over- 
 come his dauntless spirit ; once more Wolfe arose, and 
 once again chose to decide upon desperate measures ; 
 which his genius taught _him would alone serve in his 
 emergency. He broke up his camp on the Heights of 
 Montmorenci ; and leaving only a sufficiency of troops 
 to hold the posts on the Island of Orleans, and on the
 
 224 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 southern bank of the St. Lawrence, he marched "his army 
 from Point Levi on the 6th of September ; and then, 
 placing his troops in transports, landed them at a spot 
 some miles above the city. The fleet following in a day 
 or two, manoeuvered with a view to deceive the enemy. 
 But Montcalm was a thorough adept in every stratagem 
 of war, and he despatched fifteen hundred men from the 
 main camp, to a point several miles higher up the river, 
 to watch the motions of the English, and prevent any at- 
 tempt upon the north bank. Cook and other officers 
 were also employed in the work of feints ; and were oc- 
 cupied with sounding along the shores of Beauport, and 
 anchoring buoys in the stream. 
 
 Meanwhile Wolfe, by indefatigable reconnoitering, dis- 
 covered, about three miles above Quebec, a spot which 
 he deemed available for landing. The river at this point 
 curving, sweeps a narrow ledge or beach, between it and 
 the cliff; and the general's eagle vision soon descried a 
 narrow path winding up a precipitous height. There he 
 determined that his army should land, and scale the bank 
 in the night. 
 
 It was a bold plan, such as he alone could have the 
 hardihood to persist in, and which would never have re- 
 ceived the sanction of the more cautious- Amherst, had 
 he been present. Every thing depended on secrecy, 
 concert in action, and the suddenness of the blow. 
 
 The French were ever on the alert, the magic power 
 of union held them all ; a devoted spirit of patriotism 
 was kindled alike in the noble, and the peasant ; like the 
 old chivalrous tire that burned in every heart, and lighted 
 every face, when in ancient days the call to battle rang, 
 and " the great and holy standard of France," the " ori- 
 flamme," was unfurled, and borne before its warrior
 
 QUEBEC. 225 
 
 Thus the two armies rested; both watching for the 
 slightest chance of success. The French, full of hope, of 
 joy, masters of a powerful stronghold ; well posted, well 
 supplied ; confident in their leader, whose abilities were 
 a fair match for his great antagonist ; and the English, 
 at every disadvantage ; at a late season ; but thoroughly 
 disciplined, calm, brave, and patient; waiting but the 
 word from the general they adored, to rush to battle and 
 to victory 
 
 Our friend, Bela Tilley, with his large share of curios- 
 ity, took a keen interest in every thing, as may be readily 
 imagined. His tall, lank figure, and prying, inquisitive 
 face, made him a conspicuous mark, and it was impossible 
 to give him the slightest military look. He was a jack- 
 of-all-trades, and from his obliging disposition, he became 
 a favorite with the troops ; ready as he always was, to 
 lend a helping hand to any work or sport. 
 
 " Well, Bela," said Charles to him one day, " how do 
 you like this life ?" 
 
 " Wai, puty much, puty much ; it's a tolerable pattern, 
 only wish though they'd git to work ; I'd like to shoot 
 an Ingin." r*> : 
 
 "Why so, Bela?" 
 
 " Wai, I was a thinking tother night I mought like to 
 make some money by it. Yer see, arter I'd fout him, I'd 
 kinder like to take him captive ; an guess ef I showed 
 him up reound abeout, folks 'ud be glad to pay a shillin' 
 a piece to see him in his Ingin dress. I'd make him dance, 
 an sing, an yell out onexpected with his warwhoop ; an 
 then, likely, they'd pay another shillin' to hear him over 
 again, in case they war'nt skeered right dead the fust 
 time by his hollerin'. What du yer think on't ?" 
 
 " An ingenious plan, truly, and one that will be sure 
 10*
 
 226 BRANDON : OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 to succeed, if you can only take him alive. But Indians 
 are very slippery fellows, and hard to catch, Bela." 
 
 " Know they be. Guess I'll doze him with several shot 
 fust, an then nooze him. Calculate neow, ef I got him 
 deown to Rud Island, he'd make my fortin right eout. 
 Show him up a spell, an then trade him off for a small 
 farm, I will. Dun know how 'tis," pursued Bela, medi- 
 tatively, " never took a likin' to Ingins, no how ; fust 
 time I ever see 'em. Can't go 'em. Some things I du 
 a-bom-i-nate ; an among 'em is snakes, skeeters, niggers, 
 an Ingins." Changing the subject of his remarks sud- 
 denly : " Gineral Wolfe aint to be caught nappin' ; tell 
 yer what, he's a kind er snorter. 'Twant long back when 
 I heered he was sick, and could'nt more nor look at his 
 vittles ; when the fust thing I knowed on, I seed hisself 
 a canterin aleong like mad, in all sorts er places. 
 
 "Tall horse, that o' yourn, gineral," ses I. 
 
 " Who the devil are you ?' ses he." 
 
 " ' Bela Tilley,' ses I, ' friend of a friend o' yourn, Mr. 
 Brandon.' " 
 
 " ' What are you doin' here ?' ses he." 
 
 " ' Jest a practisn with my rifle,' ses I. ' I'll shoot 
 Gineral Mountcalam Tor you, gineral,' ses I, * ef you'll 
 only pint him out.' With that he did'nt say nothin', 
 only kinder snickered, and chucked me this yer gould 
 piece," said Bela, producing the coin. " Calculate tho' 
 he feels kinder ris about Mountcalam." 
 
 " Montcalm ! Montcalm ! how often have I told you 
 how to pronounce the French general's name." 
 
 " Wall, neow, Mister Charles, faint no use in yer 
 tellin' me over agin, seein' I never could speak my own 
 Rud Island extra-ordinary correct nohow, 'and it doos 
 actooally make me ex-pec-to-rate every time I try to 
 say the name ev one ev them ere French mounseers."
 
 QUEBEC. 227 
 
 " No matter, then, we attack the French to-night ; 
 take care of yourself, and keep out of harm's way. If I 
 am killed, you must find your way back to Virginia, and 
 tell them how I fell." 
 
 Bela promised, and -as he walked off, revolving the 
 chances of his master's fate, he wiped away a few honest 
 tears from his lank cheeks, with the cuff of his coat sleeve. 
 
 The night of the 12th of September, 1759, was fixed 
 for the attack. The day and evening were actively spent 
 in making ready for the important move, and every pre- 
 caution was taken to keep from the enemy the slightest 
 intimation of the design. The night was still and clear ; 
 the stars studded the heavens in unclouded glory, and 
 were reflected on the bosom of the tranquil river. Wolfe 
 went from ship to ship, animating and cheering the troops 
 for the last time, and found them to a man longing for 
 distinction, and imbued with the same spirit which swayed 
 the whole being of their general. It was an hour past 
 midnight when the troops embarked in flat-bottomed 
 boats, floated down with the current of the river. Abso- 
 lute silence, under pain of death, was imposed upon the 
 men. They were to keep near the north shore, for fear 
 of passing the little cove in the darkness, but there was 
 imminent danger of being descried by the enemy's 
 sentinels ; in truth one boat was challenged, but a Scotch 
 oificer, in command of it, with admirable presence of 
 mind, at once answered, in French, that they were friends 
 on the watch for the movements of the English, and the 
 sentry's suspicions were disarmed. 
 
 As Wolfe floated down in his boat, Charles Brandon, 
 who had been so honored as to be chosen of his party, 
 was cheered, for the last time, with some of that delight- 
 ful conversation which made his commander so charming, 
 as with whispered voice, he spoke of Europe, its pleasures,
 
 228 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 and the honors awaiting their success. The serene beauty 
 of the night appeared to draw his thoughts towards 
 poetry, when, asking if they had read the " Elegy in a 
 Country Churchyard," which the genius of Gray had 
 just given to the world, he repeated, with melting 
 pathos, the greater part of it, reciting more than once, 
 with emphasis, the stanza 
 
 " Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre." 
 
 and again 
 
 "For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
 
 This pleasing, anxious being we resigned, 
 Left the warm precincts of the oheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? " 
 
 He closed with a short panegyric on the Elegy, saying, 
 " Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that 
 poem than take Quebec." 
 
 The profound silence which followed, proved how com- 
 pletely his officers were penetrated by the exquisite 
 verse, what recollections of home it called up to some who 
 should know earthly homes no more, and who were now 
 taking their " longing, lingering look," with eyes which 
 to-morrow's sun should see struck blind in death on the 
 battle field ; and the stillness was unbroken until the 
 barge grated upon the destined beach. 
 
 Wolfe and his troops left the boats, and at once began 
 to climb the heights by the narrow pass. Some parties had 
 drifted in the darkness a little below the proper landing- 
 place, and these, without a footpath to mark their way, rose 
 from crag to crag, and, clinging to the buflhes which grew
 
 QUEBEC. 229 
 
 thick upon the steep, dragged their comrades below them 
 to their own position, and thus, aiding each other, gained 
 the summit without the loss of a man. The pickets 
 posted upon the heights were driven in, and, after a slight 
 skirmish, a four gun battery, to the left of the English 
 army, was taken possession of by Lieutenant-colonel 
 Howe. Flushed with their success, the troops emerged 
 from their forests ; the roads to Quebec were already 
 their own, and when the morning dawned, in front of the 
 devoted city stood Wolfe and his irresistible battalions, 
 drawn out in array of war on the Plains of Abraham. 
 
 The surprise of the French was great indeed when they 
 first learnt of this extraordinary achievement. " Impos- 
 sible ! " said Montcalm, " it cannot be the English army, 
 'tis but some party of marauders, come to burn houses 
 and run away." But a second message came with evil 
 tidings and more authentic information. " Then we must 
 at once give battle," said the intrepid general, " and de- 
 stroy them at a blow." 
 
 Never had the inhabitants of any city been more com- 
 pletely betrayed by a confidence in safety than those of 
 Quebec ; they had looked upon the expedition as well 
 nigh abandoned. The night before there had been joy 
 in the city ; the feast was spread, and the wine-cup 
 sparkled ; the dance was enjoyed by lovely women, and 
 the wearied lay down to happy slumbers. Then stealthi- 
 ly the foe came on, and the dreamers started from 
 their pillows in terror, as the bugle call rang harsh on 
 their ears, followed by the dread summons, " To arms ! 
 to arms ! " 
 
 The sun arose to illume with splendor a scene always 
 grand by nature, and now rendered still more imposing 
 by the circumstances of the hour. Far below the Heights, 
 wound the majestic St. Lawrence, bearing upon its sur-
 
 230 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 face the enormous fleet which more than two months 
 before had cast anchor in its waters, and which now lay 
 silent, but prepared to cover the troops in case of a retreat. 
 To the east, beyond the plain appeared the heavy ram- 
 parts of the citadel, the prize at last in sight, and not now 
 inaccessible ; while to the far horizon, the hills and 
 waters, checkered by the French hamlets and by distant 
 sail, glistened in the morning light. No thought of re- 
 treat, no sense of danger, was apprehended by that gal- 
 lant little army, which had toiled at night, while others 
 slept ; they felt a deep thrill of joy, and a wild burst of 
 ardor pealed from their ranks as the rays of the sun rose 
 on their front, and here fell on the scarlet uniforms of the 
 grenadiers, and again on the tossing plumes and rich 
 tartans of the Scotch Highlanders, while the inspiring 
 martial music of the bands sounded triumphant, as though 
 victory was already won. 
 
 The English army, about five thousand strong, was 
 thus drawn out in battle array : On the left, Brigadier 
 General Townshend, with Amherst's regiment, to counter- 
 act a movement of M outcalm's, who endeavored to flank 
 the British, and drive them to the river. These light 
 infantry troops were shortly joined by the "Royal 
 Americans," among whom Charles Brandon found him- 
 self, well pleased with the spirit of his men, anticipating 
 a glorious contest. The fiery Murray occupied the 
 centre, where stood the Highlanders. Monckton rested 
 on the right, with the Louisburg grenadiers, and immedi- 
 ately in his rear was a reserve of Webb's. Wolfe, at the 
 commencement of the action, occupied a position near the 
 centre. 
 
 Opposed to this force, the French army stretched in a 
 long line, and on its right were assembled the citizens 
 of Quebec, ready to shed their blood in defence of th<-ir
 
 QUEBEC. 231 
 
 beloved city, and these were joined by a small force of 
 Indian allies. 
 
 A cannonade was opened, and kept up for some time 
 on both sides with little effect, when Montcalm decided 
 on closer action. His troops, though equal in numbers to 
 the enemy, were vastly inferior in point of discipline. 
 About eleven o'clock, the French rushed to the combat ; 
 their fire was scattering and ineffective ; they had diffi- 
 culties of ground to contend with, and the solid English 
 columns waiting by Wolfe's order until their antagonists 
 were within forty yards, poured in a deadly fire which 
 instantly threw them into confusion. In vain their heroic 
 leader flew from rank to rank, animating his soldiers ; 
 they began to give way, when Wolfe, seizing the fortu- 
 nate moment, placed himself at the head of the Louis- 
 burg Grenadiers, charged with terrible fury, and in a 
 moment the enemy broke, they retreated. Wolfe, twice 
 wounded, still pressed on ; a third bullet struck him in 
 the chest ; he felt that his wound was mortal. 
 
 " Let not my gallant fellows see me fall," he said to an 
 officer by him ; " support me." 
 
 He was carried to the rear ; his life-blood oozed away, 
 his brain reeled, he was roused for an instant from his 
 stupor by the exclamation, " They run !" " Who run ?" 
 he feebly asked. " The French !" was the answer. 
 " Then, thank God, I die happy," murmured the hero, 
 and all that was mortal of James Wolfe lay stretched 
 upon the plain. 
 
 The victorious troops rushed on ; Charles Brandon 
 sword in hand ignorant of the death of his general, was 
 charging at the head of his company, when he was seen 
 to stagger and fall ; he was shot down dreadfully wound- 
 ed, the tide of battle rolled over him, the day was won. 
 On the 17th of September, four days after the engage-
 
 232 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 ment, the brilliant Montcalm meanwhile dying of his 
 wounds, and spared the misery of beholding the surren- 
 der of Quebec, the proud standard of France floated for 
 the last time from the citadel, and the morrow's sun rose 
 on a western empire, whose ensign was the banner of St. 
 George.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTUBE. 
 
 EVER since the " Paper Tiger " had so unwillingly paid 
 out five hundred and fifty pounds, he had been a most 
 miserable annual. He likened himself unto that man who 
 went down to Jericho and fell among thieves, and he 
 sighed in vain for some good Samaritan. He was disap- 
 pointed in all his calculations. He had determined not 
 to give Mildred the will, unless she repaid him, but now 
 he was not allowed to approach her. As for the smug- 
 gler, he had thought five minutes of scuffle would suffice 
 to settle him for this world, and the fifty pounds would 
 be restored and quadrupled by the reward offered for 
 him ; but he had escaped, and Elisha was sick at heart. 
 It was evident that the world had not gone " all right " 
 with Mr. Barlow ; that pleasant smirk of self-satisfaction, 
 and slick tip-toe tread which bore him around so softly 
 were gone ; his forehead was wrinkled with anxiety ; his 
 snuffing of the air was more frequent ; and the snapping 
 of his nails between his teeth more violent than ever be- 
 fore. The sense of large pecuniary loss preyed upon his 
 avaricious nature, and to add to his distress several small 
 traders who owed him sums of money and goods gave 
 him the slip, and disappeared at the very moment when 
 he was about to pounce upon them and congratulate him- 
 self for his vigilant foresight. 
 
 Turn where he would, trouble seemed to menace him ; 
 there was Mildred with his five hundred pounds, and 
 to regain them he could have murdered her with 
 
 (233)
 
 234 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 good will ; but at that thought the stern figure of Mr. 
 Castlemain came up in his imagination, rope in hand, 
 either to belabor him soundly, or put a noose around his 
 neck, he could scarce tell which. Conversations with 
 Castlemain had made him quake ; indeed that gentleman 
 had informed him that he was more than suspected of 
 dealing with smugglers, and that any proof of his hav- 
 ing done so would be followed by summary punishment. 
 Elisha only wriggled out of the lawyer's cross-examina- 
 tion by numberless lies, so adroit that they almost de- 
 ceived even the questioner himself. If the trader thought 
 of Ralph and his gang, he shuddered at the idea of fulling 
 into their hands. Even in his dreams, his money bags 
 appeared to be capering for joy at having escaped the 
 clutches of such a mean rascal ; large cargoes of rum and 
 sugar melted away and left him nothing but empty hogs- 
 heads ; while even his niggers seemed to have broken the 
 bondage of the slave-ship, and were careering about in 
 mid ocean, bound on pleasure voyages and not for the 
 Brazils. His relations at home, too, with Mrs. Barlow, 
 were no longer pleasant ; she dropped hints that made 
 his hair stand on end, and his meal times were hours of 
 torture. "Drat that are lawyer, and Janey, and Missis 
 Estcourt ; drat everythink and everybody," soliloqui/ed 
 Elisha ; " to think now of losing my character in this 
 'ere way, it's been worth at least two hundred pound to 
 me since I've been here. Reckon, next think, they'll 
 take away the collection plate from me on Sundays!" 
 At last the trader smiled again, his brow relaxed, a 
 plan had struck him, and he was as cheerful as ever. 
 His neighbor Tilley saw and spoke of the change. " AVal.' : 
 said Elishn, "at first I did feel rather bothered at them men 
 runnin off and not payin' me, but after all I've made up my 
 mind not to worry at it for myself, but only for them, it'b
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 235 
 
 their loss, the loss of their souls, for if there is any think I 
 do find comfortin', its honesty. Honesty, neighbor Tilley, 
 always bear that in mind." "Sound doctrine," said 
 neighbor Tilley. But very shortly after this conversation, 
 neighbor Tilley himself had reason to experience the 
 worth of Elisha's honesty, and the exposure his fraud met 
 with was precipitated by the redoubtable Mrs. Morpus. 
 
 We have already spoken of the wholesome terror 
 with which that lady had inspired Elisha ; if he beheld 
 afar off the corpulent umbrella, or the breezes ever so 
 lightly stirred the plumes of the Hectorian helmet, and 
 he thought he should meet her, the valiant trader pre- 
 pared for a scamper. Why ? He had once cheated her 
 out of a sixpence, and in consequence her wrath against 
 him burned unceasing. 
 
 But to the business transaction in which Barlow bun- 
 gled. A man named Cranston owed him some money, 
 and was rather pressed for means. Cranston had often 
 had dealings with neighbor Tilley and held notes of his, 
 all of which Tilley had paid, excepting only a small 
 balance ; but he had neglected to take away these notes 
 as he cashed them. 
 
 The " Paper Tiger," always prowling about, found out 
 that Cranston still held these notes, and as he was not 
 very likely to pay what he owed him shortly, he deter- 
 mined to make his money in another way, if he could. 
 He accordingly called upon neighbor Tilley, with all his 
 plans arranged for action. His smile was more bland 
 than usual. 
 
 " Neighbor Tilley, I jest called to ask if you would'nt 
 as lief pay them are notes you owes Cranston, to me as 
 to him." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Barlow, but I do not owe the money for 
 the notes."
 
 236 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 " Oh yes, you docs, sir. Come now, honesty, neighbor 
 Tilley ; and the notes is all in my hands ; and if you 
 does'nt pay 'em, I shall have to sell your house, onpleas- 
 ant as that would be to me." 
 
 Tilley was alarmed. He knew that he had paid nearly 
 all that was due on the notes, but he did not hold them 
 to show that he had ; and he was confounded that Cran- 
 ston should have passed them over to Barlow. 
 
 The Tiger, seeing that Tilley was frightened, said to 
 him, " I will come day after tomorrow, and we will talk 
 thinks over with your wife. Lem, me see, day after to- 
 morrow's Sunday; we can fix it all right afore church 
 time. I allers likes to git these ere little matters off my 
 mind, and go clean-handed into the sanctyerry." 
 
 Neighbor Tilley went home very desponding ; but for- 
 tunately, his wife possessed that common sense which he 
 wanted ; and was, moreover, a sister of Mrs. Morpus. 
 
 " Have you taxed Cranston with his conduct, husband?" 
 
 " No, houey, he's gone out of town." 
 
 " He is an honest man, I know ; and we will learn the 
 truth when he conies back to-morrow. Leave matters 
 to me and my sister." 
 
 Mrs. Morpus and Mrs. Tilley accordingly waited on 
 Cranston, when he returned. He was astounded at Eli- 
 sha's villainy. He showed the notes, and handed them 
 to Mrs. Morpus. 
 
 " I will go this moment, and expose him," he said. 
 
 "Stop," said Mrs. Morpus, thumping the floor vio- 
 lently, with the fat umbrella ; " come to my sister's house 
 on Sunday morning. We will then expose him thor- 
 oughly." 
 
 Sunday morning came; and Elisha, in high spirits, 
 tripped along with the vivacity of a young kitten, to the 
 appointed meeting. That pleasant smile mantled his fea-
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 237 
 
 tures, as he thought that hi an hour's time, this little 
 business matter would be " all right," and he would be 
 entering the church to give thanks. He had even re- 
 solved to contribute a double portion to the collection 
 that day ; he would give five shillings. 
 
 He entered the house, and Mrs. Tilley received him. 
 In a few amiable words he informed her that he had the 
 notes of her husband, and had "jest called to have that 
 little matter fixed up." Mrs. Tilley steadily regarded 
 him: 
 
 " And you say you have those notes in your posses- 
 sion ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I has them are notes." 
 
 At this moment a shadow darkened the threshold, and 
 Elislia, to his terror, beheld Mrs. Morpus. The plumed 
 crest waved fiercely, and the green umbrella was wielded 
 like the baton of a field marshal. 
 
 " Elisha Barlow," said she, bringing the weapon clown 
 with a tremendous thump near his toes, "do not you 
 dare go to the house of God to-day. I have been sitting 
 on mybel-cony, to watch for your coming here, knowing 
 for what your errand was des-tined. See these notes in 
 my possession, you wretched hypocrite." 
 
 The Paper Tiger looked, and turned pale ; he trembled. 
 At this moment there was a loud knock at the front door. 
 
 " Mother," called out a little girl, " here's father come, 
 and neighbor Cranston." 
 
 " Show them up," thundered Mrs. Morpus. 
 
 " Don't, ah don't let them come up here," cried Elisha, 
 in wild distress. 
 
 "They shall come, sir, and you shall confront them 
 with a lie in your mouth." 
 
 Elisha darted for the back window ; it overlooked the 
 garden, and was but a few feet from the ground. The
 
 238 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 hooked beak of the green umbrella was stretched out to 
 catch him by the coat collar ; but Mrs. Morpus' alacrity 
 could not equal his ; he threw himself out, kicked up a 
 dust as he alighted, ran over the pumpkin patch, dashed 
 across the inclosure, scaled the fence, and was out of sight 
 in a twinkling ; his appearance as he scampered off, being 
 very much like that of a felonious tomcat, hurriedly 
 chased from neighbor Tilley's premises. 
 
 Elisha did not go to church that day, and saved five 
 shillings. Mrs. Morpus strode up the middle aisle of 
 Trinity with the air of a conqueror. And after service, 
 Mr. Castlemain enjoyed a hearty laugh as she narrated 
 the adventure. 
 
 Barlow now soon decided that he must quit Newport. 
 He could play the hypocrite no longer. Having matured 
 his plan, therefore, " studied over it," as he would ex- 
 press it, he thought fit to disclose it to Mrs. Barlow. 
 She listened with delight, as she anticipated another story 
 to relate to Cnstlemain ; who, considering her now regu- 
 larly in'the service of the government, paid her for infor- 
 mation. He did not as yet deem Elisha's guilt so thor- 
 oughly established, as to warrant his taking him into cus- 
 tody ; and not having full confidence in Jane, accepted 
 her revelations respecting his doings with some grains of 
 allowance. 
 
 Assuming his most benevolent smile, the Paper Tiger 
 drew his chair close to Mrs. Barlow, and said, " Janey 
 dear, I is a goin' to tell you of somethink now for your 
 and my good; for you know how much I loves you, jest 
 as much as you does me." 
 
 " Janey dear," listened ; but if the love she had for 
 Elisha was expressed by her eyes, one might read murder 
 in them. 
 
 " Well," said she, abruptly, " what do you want now ?
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 239 
 
 speak the truth for once, and don't tell me any more 
 falsehoods." 
 
 " Now, Janey dear, what makes you talk that are way 
 to me ; you knows every think I've done has only been 
 for our good; and besides, no one's ever knowed that 
 you aint married to me ; I've only delayed for the best ; 
 but as soon as I gits this ere matter off my mind, I'll 
 make it all right, marry you at wunst, and private like, 
 so that nobody will wonder at it. Nobody knows it now, 
 no how." 
 
 " Nobody but Mr. Castlemain," said Jane quietly. 
 
 " Good God, Mr. Castlemain ! I wisht that are man 
 was down to the bottom of the harbor off long wharf, 
 with a millstone tied round his neck. He is the plague 
 of my life. What in hell did you tell him for ?" 
 
 " Don't swear, saint, the vestry might hear of it," said 
 Jane, tauntingly. 
 
 " Why Janey, what's got into you ? you is so different 
 from what you used to be ; now, when I'm in trouble, it 
 seems kind er hard I can't find peace and quiet even in 
 the bosom of my own family." 
 
 " Your family ! don't imagine that I belong to it." 
 
 "Well, Janey, never mind then, dear, you needn't 
 if you does'nt wish to ; but as I was a sayin', this 'ere 
 Castlemain, drat him, what made you tell him you wasn't 
 my wife?" 
 
 "That you will find out, by and by, go on and tell 
 your story, quick, and don't bother me with your whin- 
 ing hypocrisy; I'm sick of it." 
 
 " I doesn't mean to deceive you." 
 
 " You had better not. Proceed." 
 
 "Well, just the whole of the matter is, we must be off 
 this ere island, it's a gittin too hot to hold us. The fact 
 is, I is, as you know, too much tied to that ere Ralph, to
 
 240 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 morc'n hold my head up above water. Every hour I'm 
 afraid Castlemain will find out something more, and be 
 down on us. And oh, Lord ! what horrid dreams I has 
 now, nights ; if I'm hung wunst I'm hung twenty times 
 afore moi-nin'. Last night I dreamed" 
 
 " Never mind your dream ; be quick and tell me what 
 your plan is." 
 
 " For you and me to run away and go back to Eng- 
 land, and then old Castlemain may hang Ralph and all 
 his crew, for what I care, on Goat Island, where all them 
 are pirates was hung thirty years ago. Yes, Janey dear, 
 we'll jest git ready; we can pack up the most valuable 
 goods to take with us ; I can make a sale to a man I 
 know, for hard money, of all the rest he's to keep dark 
 about it till we gits off. We leave word, last think, or 
 I'll write a line and contrive to send it to the boys in the 
 shop, sayin' we's a goin' to New York, for a few days 
 only, when, reelly, we'll go to Boston ; ships is constantly 
 cleerin' from there for the old country, and we'll sail 
 under false names. Won't that be fine, now?" said 
 Elisha, chuckling with joy. 
 
 " Yes," said Jane ; " but are you not afraid that Castle- 
 main will find it out?" 
 
 " Why, Lord ! " said Elisha, turning pale ; " how can 
 he, who is to tell him?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Jane. " I shan't, of course ; all 
 I ever told him, was about myself, and you not marrying 
 me, as you promised. I thought it was hard treatment, 
 and went to see if the law couldn't make you ; but Mr. 
 Castlemain said, though it was a hard case, he could not 
 oblige you to." 
 
 "Did he, now?" said Elisha, kissing Jane in a burst 
 of rapture ; " well, I declare, but I will marry you, and 
 we can live in England like a lady and gentleman should ; 

 
 A DOUBLE CAPTUEE. 241 
 
 give up this dingy old shop and ride in our carriage all 
 day." 
 
 " And how soon do you intend to do all this ? " 
 
 " In a few days. Jest you git ready, and I'll make all 
 sure. The money's goin' to be paid at wunst for the 
 stock of goods, groceries, etc., and I told the man I 
 would lend him one hundred pounds or so, if he would 
 only keep still ; he thinks I am a goin' to set up a larger 
 shop in Boston, and don't want nothin' said about it afore 
 I leave here. Guess he'll feel rather queer when he 
 comes to examine his stock of goods, and wonder where 
 his hundred pounds is. Now we must be smart, and 
 then we'll see who's to be caught in the net ; Castlemain 
 or me." 
 
 "That, in truth you will," thought Jane; "your hour 
 has come now, and you shall swing for this." 
 
 Fool-like for such knaves as Elisha Barlow, are always 
 fools he had trusted Jane with his plan, even after he 
 had begun to suspect her as a spy, from her confession 
 that she had informed Castlemain of her own wrongs. 
 
 Elisha's eyes were now opened, and he easily accounted 
 for all the lawyer had found out about him ; but he de- 
 tailed his plan with all kinds of fair promises to her, which 
 he meant to break, fearing that, if he appeared to suspect 
 her, she would at once denounce him. The rogue's true 
 idea was, indeed, to get every thing into ready money^ 
 that he could secure, and that accomplished, bid farewell 
 to Newport, leave Jane and escape to England. Jane 
 lulled his suspicions, but was prepared to lodge informa- 
 tion with Castlemain at a moment's notice. 
 
 Before the day arrived on which he intended to leave, 
 
 Elisha had again changed his plans. He despaired of 
 
 ever getting his money from Ralph ; for he knew that, 
 
 even if he was caught, any attempt at tampering with 
 
 11
 
 242 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 him, could only result in his own seizure. But the loss of 
 his five hundred pounds so preyed on his avaricious nature, 
 that he now determined to go first to Virginia ; and, bear- 
 ing the will with him, only deli ver it into Mildred's hands 
 on the payment of much more than she had taken from 
 him. He little knew that Mr. Castlemain, anticipating 
 many of his tricks, had written a full description of him 
 to Redtape, with orders to arrest him, if he appeared in 
 the neighborhood of Williamsburg, on any pretext what- 
 evei*. 
 
 Barlow imagined that he would not only secure a round 
 sum from Mildred, but completely baffle pursuit some 
 supposing that he had gone to Boston, others to New 
 York ; and after he had effected his purpose in Virginia, 
 he would either have a chance of going to England direct, 
 or if that failed him, he could go by sea to Boston, and 
 there lie hid until the vessel was ready to sail for London. 
 
 On the day of his departure, he lavished the tenderest 
 caresses on Janey, and tried to cheat her for the last time, 
 by saying that he was only going out to the cavern, 
 where he had been accustomed to meet the smugglers ; 
 he should bring back with him some of the valuables from 
 the cave, and that on the next day they would leave the 
 island forever. He intended to go to the cave, secure his 
 booty, and get the will. It w r as placed there for safe 
 keeping, which Jane did not know, for she had searched 
 for it in vain ; but he had no intention of rejoining his 
 faithful partner. He would sell his horse and wagon at 
 the upper end of the island, and make his way to Provi- 
 dence, and thence go to Virginia, leaving Janey and 
 every one else in Newport to whistle for his return. 
 
 With a smile so cheering that it was almost enough to 
 disperse the thick fog spreading over the landscape one 
 of those autumnal sea-fogs which every body who has ever
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 243 
 
 been in Rhode Island, will remember our Paper Tiger 
 gathered up his reins and began his journey. Telling Jane 
 to have something hot for his supper, he grinned with de- 
 light as he thought she would wait a long time at that meal ; 
 and, with hypocrisy to the last, decided before driving out 
 of town, to pay a short visit to the Reverend Thomas 
 Pollen, and having a talk with him about vestry duties 
 and the spread of Gospel truth, leave a good impression 
 on his mind, at least. This took him nearly an hour, for 
 he did not wish to appear in a hurry, and thus excite any 
 suspicion ; he was as bland as a morning in May. 
 
 Let us leave him for a little while and return to Jane. 
 No sooner had honest Elisha left the shop, than she made 
 haste to put on her head gear and shawl, and repair to Mr. 
 Castlemain. The lawyer was at home, but he was closeted 
 with a very important personage, no other than our old 
 acquaintance, Captain, now Admiral Brooke. He could 
 not be disturbed for half an hour. Jane in a frenzy of impa- 
 tience, waited double that time. She knew that Elisha 
 was about to give them the slip, and she was anxious to 
 see him brought-back in disgrace. At length Castlemain 
 entered, and she told him all ; told him that she feared 
 he was already too late, but that if he set off instantly 
 with a strong posse to scour the roads in all directions, 
 he might succeed in capturing Barlow. 
 
 Blaming himself for not having seen her before, Cas- 
 tlemain instantly assembled a party ; by her advice he 
 resolved to go with one or two able-bodied men to the 
 cavern himself, she denoting its situation on the west 
 side of Easton's pond. The other horsemen were to 
 divide, and endeavor to stop him on one road or another. 
 "This fog is unfortunate," thought Castlemain; "one 
 can scarce see ten feet, but we will try what is to be 
 done." He at once informed Admiral Brooke, who
 
 244 BRANDON ; OH, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 offered to accompany him ; but, by the lawyer's advice, 
 was prevented. 
 
 " You had better return on board your frigate, and be 
 ready to weigh anchor as soon as the fog lifts. If the re- 
 port from your tender which came in this morning is cor- 
 rect, that a suspicious sail is off the coast, 'tis very likely 
 that Ralph is watching his opportunity to run in, though 
 I do not see how he can do it in this dense fog. Thank 
 God, I have discovered at last the smuggler's rendez- 
 vous ; I have been baffled in my search for it for years, 
 and yet this sneak, Elisha Barlow, knew of it all the 
 time. You had no idea what a devil you had for a valet. 
 I agree with you, that now is your time to capture Ralph, 
 if possible ; if you can take him alive, I think the many 
 generous acts he has performed might go far with the 
 government in obtaining a pardon for him. That done, 
 and a chance of honorable service open to him under 
 your care, may help in some measure to soothe the bitter 
 remorse which you tell me your own past conduct in re- 
 gard to his mother, Miriam, and his aunt Mildred more 
 especially, has entailed upon you. Go now, and God 
 speed you." 
 
 It will be seen that Elisha's delay at the minister's had 
 given him but little start ahead of Castlemain and his myr- 
 midons, and they were now hard upon his track. As he 
 drove out of town upon the West road, never did a fel- 
 low chuckle more than he. "This ere fog is jest what I 
 want, it's better than midnight," he thought. At that 
 instant he saw close by him some fearful looking thing 
 in motion, loom suddenly out of the fog ; it uttered a dis- 
 mal groaning sound, and the superstitious wretch felt for 
 a moment that a monster stood in his path ready to seize 
 him ; it was only one of those windmills which just north of 
 the town formerly stood on the road side, and for a hun- 

 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 245 
 
 dred years frightened horses. " Drat that are windmill," 
 said Barlow, " to think I should have been frightened at 
 it when the horse wasn't." He tried to revive his spirits 
 by whistling, but that fog, and the dim objects seen 
 through it, made him feel gloomy, and he whipped his 
 horse into a faster pace. He left the " West " road for 
 that leading to Honniman's hill, and entered the lane on 
 the west side of Easton's pond. This lane runs nearly 
 north and south through the fields, and from it in clear 
 weather a full view of the ocean, the pond, and the beach 
 between them is presented, as well as an extensive pros- 
 pect over the island. But now, nothing could be seen a 
 few feet distant ; and nothing was heard but the roar of 
 the ocean as it dashed upon the beach. 
 
 Elisha left his wagon, tied his horse, and then made 
 his way through the long grass down to the cave.* In 
 the fog he had gone a little distance out of his path ; it 
 
 Cave, the scene of this part of the story, is worthy of a 
 visit from the stranger in Rhode Island. It lies on the west side of 
 Easton's pond, about a mile and a half from Newport. The writer has 
 visited it several times. It is situated close to the water, and is or was 
 marked by two small trees growing on the bank above it. It is not 
 very extensive, but bears within it the marks of tools, showing that its 
 original proportions have been enlarged by art. It is quite dark, re- 
 quiring the aid of a lantern to explore it. There is little doubt in the 
 mind of the author, that this cave was at one period the depository of 
 smugglers or pirates with whom the coast formerly abounded. A more 
 secret hiding place can scarcely be imagined, and it could easily be ap- 
 proached from the sea through the creek at the east end of the town 
 beach. In the author's early boyhood this creek was open, and deep 
 enough to float small boats. It is now choked with sand, yet the wa- 
 ters work through every winter. In the summer of 1851, an arched 
 stone passage way, leading directly from the cave to the pond, was dis- 
 covered by Mr. J. B. Weaver and other gentlemen. This has now 
 fallen in, and is difficult to trace. By whom it was built, or at what 
 period, is quite unknown.
 
 246 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 took a short time to regain it ; at length he reached the 
 entrance to the cave on the water's edge ; he pressed 
 through the bushes which effectually concealed it ; he 
 looked around, and saw only the dense mist. He enter- 
 ed, creeping up the dark narrow passage drew his flint 
 and steel from his pocket, struck a light and went into 
 the body of the cave. " Ugh," said Elisha, shuddering, 
 " smells kinder mouldish here as if some one was dead. 
 I don't like it, and mean to be off at wunst. I wonders 
 now where I left this ere will ; ah ! here it is," he added, 
 placing his hand upon a small box in one of the clefts of 
 the rock. " Lem'me see, yes, this is it, all right, now I'll 
 be off;" but, as he was groping about, he espied another 
 bundle wrapped around with tarred canvass, to preserve 
 its contents from the dampness. 
 
 " Here 's some of these ere very silks and laces been 
 here since Ralph was in last time, and I never dared take 
 'em in and sell 'em, for fear of that are Castlemain, blast 
 him ! The silks will be too heavy for me, and I leave 
 'em for the next comer, but I will have the laces ; they is 
 worth a good deal more than their weight in gold." 
 Untying the bundle which, knotted hard, detained him 
 a few moments, he pulled out the laces, secured them 
 about his person, and groped his way out of the cave, 
 much relieved to find himself once more in the open air. 
 The fog was more dense than ever, the sun had almost 
 set, and night was coming on. 
 
 At this instant, Elisha thought he heard a noise in the 
 direction of the road ; he stood listening intently with 
 his back turned toward the pond, and of course observ- 
 ing nothing in that direction. "'T'aint nothink, no 
 how," he said ; " I've been scared all the afternoon, what 
 a fool I is. Well, reelly now, I is sorry to leave this 'ere 
 pleasant island ; but I've got to, and quick, too, or Janey,
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 247 
 
 drat her ! will be wonderin' what s become of me. All 
 right, off now, for, by the time I gits up to the ferry, it 
 will be dark as " .... 
 
 " Dark as hell, Elisha Barlow," said a rough voice be- 
 hind him, as he felt an iron grip upon his arm, and, turn- 
 ing his terror-stricken face around, saw Ralph Estcourt, 
 followed by half a dozen of his gang. " Yes, very dark, 
 but no matter ; it will be light enough on board my ves- 
 sel. Come !" 
 
 "Oh! mercy, Ralph dear; Ralph, only let me go, 
 take everythink I 've got, only let me go." 
 
 " I have no time to talk here," said Ralph, seizing him 
 by the throat, and dragging him as easily as a kitten 
 down to the pond, and into a boat lying there ; " we will 
 discuss matters on board, shove off quick men, and don't 
 keep us in this damned fog all night. We will land our 
 goods another time; but we have a prize here worth 
 them all." 
 
 The boat was pushed off, when Elisha, seeing his help- 
 less situation, gave a wild yell of despair. " Just try that 
 again," said Ralph, " and its the last sound you ever 
 make ;" while as he spoke he forced the muzzle of a pis- 
 tol into Barlow's mouth so fiercely that It nearly choked 
 him. At this instant the boat's crew, and Elisha, saw 
 running down to the edge of the pond, Mr. Castlemain 
 and two or three others. A call from him to put back 
 was unheeded ; another stroke of the oars and they were 
 shut in by the fog, while the wretched captive, fainting 
 away, was flung into the bottom of the boat unnoticed. 
 The rowers pulled to the creek, where, getting out, they 
 dragged the boat through it into the breakers, then bend- 
 ing to their oars again, made for their vessel, Ralph steer- 
 ing by a compass in the stern-sheets on account of the 
 fog. A mile from the shore a musket was fired, it was 
 answered to starboard, and in a few moments the hull of
 
 248 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 the " Walk to Windward " was descried in the gloom, 
 and the smugglers, with their prize, stood again upon her 
 decks. 
 
 When Elisha was roused from his stupor by having 
 water dashed in his face, and brandy poured down his 
 throat, he found himself stretched on the floor of the 
 cabin, and Ralph sitting by coolly regarding him. 
 
 So sudden was his seizure, so overwhelming to him the 
 catastrophe, a prisoner in the hands of one who might 
 murder him with little compunction, instead of being on 
 the high road to fortune and to liberty, it was more than 
 he could well endure, and again he sank back in a swoon. 
 " A damned good thing you would have made of it, run- 
 ning away with all this money," said Ralph, when Bar- 
 low was at length able to sit up and listen. " What in the 
 devil's name were you doing at the cave ? there was noth- 
 ing there, that I know of, that you could smuggle into 
 Newport." 
 
 " No indeed, dear Ralph ; I'd made up my mind, in- 
 deed I had, to quit that are trade, 'cause I began to think 
 it was'nt honest. I was agoin' to leave Newport forever, 
 and find out some spot where I could be secure from the 
 temptations of this wicked world of ourn, and try to live 
 peaceable like with every one." 
 
 " Indeed ! " sneered Ralph, " and leave Janey behind, I 
 suppose ! I have some good news to tell you, and you 
 can inform her of it when you get back. Your damned 
 sharp-nosed brig has gone to the bottom, niggers and all j 
 caught in a hurricane off Barbadoes." 
 
 " Them are poor Africans ! " shrieked Elisha, " who 
 uow'll take care of their souls ? " 
 
 " Never do you mind their souls, they're whiter than 
 yours. You must play the pious man to the last, eh ! 
 If you had pocketed the price of their skins, devil a
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTUEE. 249 
 
 whit would their souls concern you. Well, you made a 
 good haul, with all this gold, and government bank bills 
 too, and this lace, and what's this you have here ! " said 
 he, snatching the will from Elisha's breast, opening and 
 glancing over its contents ; " here, you bloodless hound, 
 is positive proof of the story I have heard so often from 
 Brooke and Castlemain of my being heir to a large estate ; 
 and I would have had it years ago, but for you and a 
 strumpet relative keeping me from it. And what did 
 you with the will all this time ? why am I an outlaw, 
 a price set on my head ? Now, by all that's holy, this is 
 too much," said the smuggler, ferociously; "down on your 
 knees, and tell me all, and if I detect you in one lie, I'll 
 stave your brains out and hurl you through that port." 
 The terrified Tiger did as he was told, making a confes- 
 sion at which Ralph at intervals ground his teeth with fury. 
 "I don't know," he said, Avhen Elisha had ended, 
 "whether I ought not to knock your head in at once, and 
 send such a villain out of the world. But I'll work you 
 now ; I'll torment you ; you'll never get away from me 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, only let me go Ralph, and you shall have every 
 think I have." 
 
 " I've got it already," said the ruffian coolly ; " and 
 now," he added, opening the door of the cabin, " get out 
 of here and go forward among the men ;" at the same 
 time administering such a kick to the wretched culprit 
 that he spun forwards, howling with agony. " Now I've 
 kicked him out of my sight," added Ralph, musingly, 
 " I'll see what is best to be done about this matter." 
 
 It may be imagined that Elisha's treatment that night 
 by the crew was not of the tenderest kind, nor his dreams 
 the most peaceful. 
 
 Castlemain and his party stood on the edge of the pond 
 11*
 
 250 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 for half an hour, shouting until they were hoarse. How 
 bitterly the lawyer regretted the delay which caused him 
 to lose his prize, when he could almost put his hand on 
 him, but he was beyond pursuit now. He had heard the 
 wretch's desponding cry, knew his figure, and was sure 
 that the burly form beside him was that of Ralph ; an 
 instant more and the boat was lost in the mist. The dis- 
 appointed party remounted their steeds, and taking 
 Elisha's horse and wagon with them, rode back to New- 
 port. Castlemain went direct to Mrs. Barlow, and was 
 not surprised to find that she expressed no pity for the 
 Tiger's fate. He next sent a dispatch out to the frigate, 
 having great trouble to induce any boatman to venture 
 out into the harbor; and then revenged himself the re- 
 mainder of the evening by cursing the fog for all manner 
 of misfortunes. 
 
 He knew that the vigilant Brooke would weigh anchor 
 and spread all sail in pursuit of the smuggler, the moment 
 the mist lifted from the waters ; and at the dawn of day 
 he ran to the window to look for the tall masts of the 
 man-of-war, but the atmosphere was perfectly clear, and 
 his Majesty's ship Avenger, had already left her moor- 
 ings. 
 
 " Now, may heaven help us to catch the ' Walk to 
 Windward ' this time," said Admiral Brooke to Captain 
 Benson, as they sat at breakfast ; " if we do not, Ralph 
 is the devil himself, I believe." 
 
 "He has given you the slip pretty often, I think, 
 admiral. Why are you so anxious to see him taken 
 under your own eye ? Have you any particular reason for 
 feeling such an interest in him ?" asked Benson. 
 
 " Yes," said the admiral, in a tone intended to stop 
 further questioning. " Have you a sharp watch set ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, a double watch, and a man has gone aloft to
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 251 
 
 each masthead, in hopes of winning the five guineas you 
 have promised to the one who first sights the brig ;" and 
 so Captain Benson, perceiving that his superior was 
 averse to answering questions, finished his meal and went 
 on deck, without asking more ; acting like a discreet man, 
 as he was. 
 
 " Sail, ho !" bawled the look out at the mainmast head. 
 " Where away ?" shouted out the first lieutenant on 
 deck. 
 
 " Off the starboard bow, hull down to leeward." 
 The admiral at once came up out of the cabin, and 
 swept the horizon with his glass. He watched the head 
 sails of a vessel, just peering over the sea ; long and 
 keenly did he look to make out her rig. The trim neat- 
 ness and cut of her canvas, even at so great a distance, 
 could not escape his practised eye. " 'Tis she ! " he ex- 
 claimed, handing his glass to Benson ; " 'tis the ' Walk 
 to Windward,' and I will wager my life upon it. We 
 are to windward of her though this time, Benson, and if 
 we only manage to keep the weather gage, she's ours. 
 But a stern chase is a long chase, and she is almost dead 
 ahead of us. Clap on every inch of canvas the frigate 
 can carry, and put the best men at the wheel that ever 
 handed spoke." 
 
 The order was no sooner given than a swarm of sailors 
 sprung into the rigging. Sail after sail, aloft and below, 
 was given to the wind, until the ship was almost buried 
 beneath the towering pyramid of canvas ; when leaning 
 far over on her side, the waves were dashed in showers 
 of foam from her bows, as she rose and fell on the billows, 
 leaving a long, white, hissing wake on the blue and 
 glittering brine. 
 
 The sun shone down upon the sea in unclouded splen- 
 dor, lighting n scene which made the heart beat wild with
 
 252 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 emotion ; ahead lay the chase, every eye fixed upon it, 
 and fired with delight as it became evident, from its 
 greater distinctness in an hour's time, that the flying 
 " Avenger" was gradually coming up with it. 
 
 Every expedient that nautical science could suggest 
 to increase the speed of the frigate was adopted, and as 
 if instinct with the spirit of the chase, she bounded over 
 the waters. " Keep her just as near the wind's eye as 
 she will graze," said the admiral ; " nearer now, luff and 
 shake her." The order, instantly obeyed, caused the 
 frigate's topsails for a moment to shiver in the breeze, 
 with a sharp fluttering report, then as they filled again 
 and stretched to their utmost, she flew with accelerated 
 motion, as a steed rushes for the goal. Nor was there 
 less exertion on board the " Walk to Windward ;" she, 
 too, carried every sail she could spread, and was steered 
 in the most careful manner, Ralph himself standing by 
 the wheel ; but as she was a brig, it soon became evident 
 to him, swift as she was, that in a long chase the frigate 
 would overhaul her. 
 
 Ralph had come to no decision in regard to the will ; 
 he was afraid to leave his vessel and take one step for the 
 recovery of his property. Branded as he was, his first 
 move would be the signal for his arrest. His vessel was 
 under easy sail, and he was about to send for Elisha, to 
 confer with him again, when the appearance of the 
 "Avenger," the fastest ship in his Majesty's service, at 
 once put these thoughts to flight, and caused him to bend 
 his whole energies towards escape. He did not, of course, 
 know his pursuer at first, but the manner in which the 
 frigate was sailed, and had approached him, convinced 
 huii ere long that she was no other than Admiral Brooke's 
 celebrated man-of-war. As to Elisha, be was in a most 
 pitiable state, dreadfully sea-sick, and, coward as he was,
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTUKE. 253 
 
 looking forward to a combat and capture by the frigate 
 with the most abject terror. 
 
 The sun rose towards the meridian, and the frigate had 
 so gained upon the chase, that her black hull, bristling 
 with guns, now towered above the waters. The two 
 vessels, prepared for action, were about two miles apart, 
 yet running nearly parallel courses, when Ralph, deter- 
 mined on bold measures, resolved to give the first broad- 
 side, hoping to disable the " Avenger." He allowed her 
 to draw gradually close to him, when, suddenly putting 
 the brig about on the larboard tack, he drove her 
 directly across the bows of the frigate. As the "Aven- 
 ger's" bowsprit nearly grazed his sails, the smuggler 
 fired a broadside into her, but as his shot were intended 
 to injure her rigging, and thus deaden her speed, his 
 guns were aimed too high, and, save cutting away a few 
 stays and piercing the sails, did no damage. But the 
 frigate's broadside, which aimed in its turn at the " Walk 
 to Windward's" hull, poured a deadly discharge among 
 the crew, struck down many of the smugglers, and put 
 an end forever to the life and crimes of Ralph Estcourt, as 
 a chain shot cut him in two. He fell dead upon his deck, 
 and in the same instant a round shot took off the right 
 leg of Elisha Barlow. Ralph, heedless of his frantic 
 agony, had refused to let him go below, when the vessels 
 were about to engage, and lashed him to a stanchion, 
 telling him, with a sneer, that in his position he could see 
 the fight to the greatest advantage. The frigate grappled 
 with her adversary, and the contest was short, stern and 
 decisive. The smugglers fought desperately, but in vain ; 
 the boarders from the "Avenger" overpowered and cut 
 them down, until of the once powerful crew but a rem- 
 nant remained, who, perceiving that further resistance 
 was useless, surrendered. They were ironed and sent on
 
 254 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 board the frigate, and the " Walk to Windward," having 
 been taken formal possession of, the two vessels were 
 once again steered to the west, and before sunset came to 
 anchor side by side in the harbor of Newport. 
 
 Brooke regretted that he had not been able to take 
 Ralph alive, but it had been ordained otherwise ; and he 
 felt that even if a pardon could have been obtained from 
 the government, which was by no means certain, it 
 would have been a hard and thankless task to win him 
 from evil courses. 
 
 While in the cabin of the " Walk to Windward," he 
 found a small desk stored with money, valuables, and 
 manuscript papers. One of the first of these papers on 
 which he placed his hand, was the will, which for so many 
 years had been secreted, and of which he had heard so 
 much from Castlemain. He opened and read it, power- 
 fully affected, as he thought on the premature and mel- 
 ancholy fate of the unfortunate outlaw, so suddenly 
 struck down in his career of guilt ; and whom this very 
 document had been intended to benefit. How it came 
 into Ralph's possession, he was unable to imagine, until 
 Elisha Barlow, having undergone the amputation of his 
 shattered leg, sent for Brooke ; and in the close, dimly- 
 lighted cockpit, under the agony of mind produced by 
 the fear of his approaching death, which he had every 
 reason to expect, made a full confession of all his iniqui- 
 ties, and particularly those relating to the missing will. 
 Nor was this all, for subsequently discovering that the 
 loss of his limb would not be fatal to him, the abject 
 wretch, fearing for his own neck, hinted that he could 
 reveal much in regard to the smugglers ; and was per- 
 mitted by the government to testify against his former 
 associates. He proved the means of bringing most of 
 them to the gibbet ; for he was accepted as " king's evi-
 
 A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 255 
 
 dence ;" a character which some writer has described, as 
 " a villain, pardoned for being baser than his companions." 
 
 But his infamous course met its due reward ; he was 
 spared nothing but his life, and was stripped of every 
 particle of his ill-gotten wealth. 
 
 He found, on his return to the shore, that his affec- 
 tionate pai'tner, who never came near him in his illness, 
 had chosen a second husband ; or rather, a legal one, for 
 the first time ; and having induced some one to marry 
 her, had taken her departure from Newport, with many 
 choice pickings of the shop, and he never heard of her 
 afterwards. 
 
 Poor, unpitied, and shunned, he dragged out a miser- 
 able existence ; sometimes doing a little work for support, 
 until he finally came upon the parish ; and dying some 
 years after the period of our story, a pauper in the alms- 
 house, was stretched beneath the sod, without a stone to 
 indicate the spot. 
 
 Brooke and Castlemain agreed, that the will so 
 strangely recovered, must at once be placed on record 
 in the proper court in Virginia ; and that simple justice, 
 if not vengeance, should be the part performed against 
 Mildred. But both were desirous, since the heir to the 
 property was dead, and since Blanche Estcourt was in 
 the last stage of life, that justice should be tempered by 
 mercy ; so that, if possible, no public exposure should 
 be made of Mildred, unless she persisted in evil courses. 
 
 These preliminaries arranged, Castlemain and his 
 daughter Emily embarked with Admiral Brooke on 
 board the "Avenger ;" and with favoring winds, in a few 
 days she passed within the Capes of Virginia, and came 
 to anchor in Hampton Roads.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 CHANGE OF OPINION. 
 
 THE letters which Charles had written from the Cana- 
 das to his parents, had informed them of the progress of 
 events, and his own safety, after the attack on the French 
 entrenchments, of the 31st of July. 
 
 These papers were read with tearful interest by Mrs. 
 Brandon, mourning for the absence of her son. She had 
 scarce smiled since he left Kingwood; and continually 
 felt, that but for his father's harsh treatment of him, he 
 would still be with her in peace. What had been gained, 
 she thought, by Mr. Brandon's stern course? He had 
 been thwarted forever by a power mightier than his, for 
 Blanche Estcourt was now dead; she had been borne 
 away at the season when nature touches the leaves of 
 the forests with the chill blasts of autumn. She died, 
 and with her perished the hopes and plans of two proud 
 spirits, and the fell plots of one. To Mrs. Brandon this 
 blow was distressing, for she had learnt to love Blanche, 
 although her son could never feel towards her as a lover. 
 Mr. Brandon said little about her death, but it was plain 
 that the old gentleman was ill at ease ; he was observed 
 to walk about a great deal, shaking his head and mutter- 
 ing. He talked of his son, though, constantly, and was 
 never weary of praising him for his gallant part in behalf 
 of his sovereign, and predicting that he would acquire 
 distinguished honor in the campaign. Charles' father, 
 laying aside the passion and blind prejudice which had 
 (256)
 
 CHANGE OF OPINION. 257 
 
 hurried him on in his obstinate course, now began seri- 
 ously to reflect that he had been exceedingly unkind to 
 his son, and had driven him from his paternal roof; but 
 that all should be made up to him by redoubled kindness 
 on his return. 
 
 Furthermore, he wondered, now that poor Blanche 
 had gone, whether he had not acted very foolishly from 
 the beginning, in his desperate opposition to Charles' 
 love. True, Lucy was not rich, and Blanche would have 
 been, but he should have had a quarrel with her mother 
 in a week, in spite of all his pompous deference to her. 
 " And this island maiden, this Lucy Tyrrell," he thought, 
 "surely she is beautiful, she is well educated, she has 
 spirit that I can swear to, for on that day when she 
 came into the drawing-room and spoke so to me, I felt 
 her words in my very bones. 
 
 "And what if she is poor? She is proud. So am I. I 
 like pride, and plenty of it. What if she is poor ? I am 
 rich ; have more wealth than I know Avhat to do with. 
 Charles will have it after me. Why is she not fitted to 
 grace the halls of Kingwood ? Let me see if she is not 
 equal to any of the pictures of my fair ancestors." 
 
 Mr. Brandon examined the beauties that decked the 
 walls of the mansion, and decided at once, that she was 
 superior to them all ; and that no other person would or 
 should, by any possibility, be the wife of his son. Having 
 resolved this, with the usual impetuosity of his charac- 
 ter, he informed his wife how sorry he felt for his harsh 
 conduct ; how much he longed to repair it by kindness ; 
 and that he was determined to write at once to Mr. Tyr- 
 rell, and claim the hand of his lovely daughter for 
 Charles. 
 
 " Stay," said Mrs. Brandon, who, accustomed as she 
 was to her husband's peculiar nature, was in this instance
 
 258 BRANDON ; OB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 perfectly astounded, and quite unprepared to join her 
 consent to his, so suddenly : 
 
 " Stay, you have been too precipitate before, you may 
 be so now." 
 
 " Impossible ; do I not tell you that she is lovely, is 
 beautiful, elegant in manners, high spirited, just the very 
 woman for Charles. Love her I know you will, how can 
 you help it. I love her, yes, love her dearly." 
 
 " Since when, Mr. Brandon ?" 
 
 " Oh ! it matters not since when, if I love her now ; 
 she shall be your daughter, she shall be Charles' wife, 
 shall, I say ; and I will this instant write to her father." 
 
 " Let me do so," said Mrs. Brandon, not displeased at 
 the turn affairs had taken, for she had heard much of Lucy 
 from Randolph and Matilda ; " let me do so. I will act 
 more discreetly than you can ? Will you ? I repeat." 
 
 " Yes, I will. Write as you please, but write." 
 
 "Oh, that they were both here now!" he added; 
 " they might have been but for my folly." 
 
 As Mr. Brandon appeared determined to go at once 
 and see Randolph on the subject, Mrs. Brandon sat down 
 to write, not to Mr. Tyrrell, but to his daughter Lucy, 
 such a letter as a mother, and a mother like her, could 
 alone compose under the circumstances of the case. 
 
 The missive was despatched as usual to Williamsburg, 
 but Mr. Brandon did not go that day, nor the next, nor 
 for a week, to see his nephew. For once a Brandon felt 
 faint-hearted, and he put off from hour to hour a meet- 
 ing which he dreaded, knowing that his course towards 
 Randolph and his wife had not been kind. At last, sum- 
 moning resolution, he rode to his nephew's house, and 
 was told by the servant that he was at home. In a mo- 
 ment more the door opened, and a gentleman emerged ; 
 it was Patrick Henry, with whom, ever since Charles' de-
 
 CHANGE OP OPINION. 259 
 
 parture, Mr. Brandon had been on the most friendly 
 terms. 
 
 " I am happy to meet you, sir," said Henry. " I was 
 about to repair to your house to inform you that in a day 
 or two we might require your presence in Williarnsburg, 
 in connection with a matter touching Mistress Mildred 
 Estcourt. May I inquire if you have ever known a Cap- 
 tain, now Admiral Brooke, of his Majesty's service ? " 
 
 " Brooke," said Mr. Brandon ; " yes, I remember many 
 years ago a Greville Brooke ; we were both young then, 
 and he was an audacious libertine." 
 
 "The same person," said Henry; "he seems much 
 changed now, and I understand has become a religious 
 man. He inquired very kindly for you. That is all I 
 wished to ask now." 
 
 " But what is all this about, and what am I required 
 for in Williamsburg?" 
 
 " I have not now leisure to inform you, sir," replied 
 Patrick Henry ; " it is a long story, and will take some 
 tune to be told. Good morning to you, sir, my time is 
 valuable ; but I may depend upon you when required ?" 
 
 " You may, sir," replied Mr. Brandon ; when, as Henry 
 rode away, he entered the house. 
 
 " At last, uncle," said Randolph heartily, " we have 
 the pleasure of seeing you ; better late than never, and 
 more the welcome for being late. We shall not let you 
 off now, under a day or two to begin with. Here comes 
 Matilda," 
 
 This kind greeting made the old gentleman feel at 
 home ; he was pleased with Matilda and her little son, 
 stayed to dinner, talked much of the war and of the pro- 
 digies of valor Charles was performing, and after the 
 meal was over at once unbosomed himself to Randolph. 
 He told him how completely he had changed his views,
 
 260 BRANDON : OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 and how anxious he was for his son's happiness, which he 
 knew now could only be accomplished by his union with 
 Lucy Tyrrell. 
 
 As Mr. Brandon talked, a cloud gathered on Ran- 
 dolph's brow. " It is a pity, uncle, that I could not have 
 heard of this sooner, much as I am rejoiced to hear it 
 now. In truth, we have had bad news from Lucy, which 
 has made her cousin Matilda feel sad." 
 
 " Bad news ! unhappy ! oh, what a villain I have been !" 
 burst out Mr. Brandon. 
 
 " Well, dear uncle, you did every thing as you deemed 
 best, I know ; and, thank Heaven, it is not yet too late 
 to make all happy. Does Charles know of your change 
 of sentiments ?" 
 
 " No, I have not yet written to him about it ; I pre- 
 ferred to wait awhile until I heard from him again, as I 
 knew that his resolution would not be broken." 
 
 "You should write, though, at once ; Charles will fight 
 all the better for it. Now let me tell you as to Lucy 
 and her sad letter. When Charles was in Boston, he 
 took occasion before sailing to Louisburg, to run down to 
 the island to see her, thinking that she was still there ; for, 
 as I had not returned to Virginia at the time he left, he 
 was of course ignorant of the change in Mr. Tyrrell's 
 fortunes, or rather his situation, for he is still quite poor. 
 He was distracted to find that she had left the island, the 
 ignorant stupid people giving or able to give no informa- 
 tion as to her residence. They insisted, however, that 
 she lived in Boston, because they had written to her 
 there, and she had answered, dating from the same place ; 
 for she was frequently in the city, and wrote at such 
 times as the packet was about starting. Some of these 
 letters the people showed him ; but they could have told 
 nothing of Cambridge, which accounts to me for his
 
 CHANGE OP OPINION. 261 
 
 otherwise almost unaccountable ignorance of her home. 
 Poor Charles has been peculiarly unfortunate, not seeing 
 or hearing any thing of her in his distracted wanderings 
 about Boston. Even when he went to the former man- 
 sion of Matilda's father, and met old Amy, one of the 
 domestics of the family, she too was unable to tell him 
 one word of Lucy. Beyond all that, the letter which he 
 wrote me so long since, just prior to his leaving to join 
 General Wolfe, he confided to a companion who took 
 charge of it for the post, Charles not having time to mail 
 it ; and this friend, then utterly forgetting it, had it for 
 some months in his possession. At last, he sent it to me 
 a few days since, and for his carelessness makes a humble 
 apology, which does not mend the matter. It is now the 
 middle of October, and that letter was written on the 2d 
 of last May. Lucy writes in sad spirits ; she says that 
 some time since you wrote a letter to her father, in answer 
 to one of his, telling Mr. Tyrrell that Charles was very 
 soon to be married to Blanche Estcourt, heaven rest 
 her soul, poor girl ! Was this so ?" 
 
 " Yes," groaned Mr. Brandon, " I did write so, think- 
 ing at the time that it was only necessary for me to insist 
 on Charles marrying her, and that he would. Oh, how 
 bitterly I repent it now." 
 
 " It was indeed a serious wrong, and may do incalcul- 
 able mischief. Lucy, as you may readily imagine, was 
 dreadfully distressed at this news, this fatal treachery, as 
 she thought it, and moreover, after Charles had sailed for 
 Louisburg, she heard of his having been in Boston prior 
 to joining Wolfe's expedition. This only added poison 
 to the arrow's sting. She concluded that, even if the 
 marriage with Blanche was broken off, of her he thought 
 no longer. She is indeed unhappy. She writes of a suitor 
 for her hand who persecutes her with his attentions, whom
 
 262 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 she has already twice refused ; but Mr. Lnscelles, such is 
 his name, is agreeable to her parents, and the poor girl is 
 tormented in many ways. She does not love him, never 
 can love him, as she writes, and yet she may yield to the 
 importunities of her parents, and accept him in sheer des- 
 pair. Whatever we do must be done quickly. I shall 
 at once write to her, and to her father too, explaining 
 everything, and, sending Charles' letter, beg her not to 
 act precipitately. You had better, by all means, write at 
 once to Charles, and to Mr. Tyrrell also, if you are deter- 
 mined as you say." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I am determined ; never was more de- 
 termined in my life. I will write to Charles at once, and 
 gladden the dear boy's heart ; but Mrs. Brandon engaged 
 to write to Lucy herself. Oh, what a fool I have been !" 
 
 Randolph could not help thinking that his uncle had 
 appropriately styled himself, although he did not say so ; 
 but contenting himself with a pi-etty sharp reprimand, 
 considering that he was a nephew, which scolding Mr. 
 Brandon bore without any attempt at exculpation, he 
 now changed the subject to Mildred. He detailed what 
 Patrick Henry had said to him, which in substance am- 
 ounted to about the same as he had unfolded to Mr. 
 Brandon, concluding by saying that though in reality he 
 knew little more than his uncle, yet he doubted not that 
 some catastrophe awaited her, of which they had no pre- 
 sent conception. Then bidding the old gentleman fare- 
 well, as he was mounting his horse, he told him to be of 
 good cheer, and without delay inform Charles of his 
 coming happiness. This the changed old man promised 
 to do, and at once on his arrival at home was as good as 
 his word. His letter, as we shall see later, went direct to 
 its destination, and gave joy to the heart of his son. "We 
 must not, however, anticipate. 
 
 A day or two after this came the glorious news of the
 
 CHANGE OF OPINION. 263 
 
 battle before Quebec, and its subsequent surrender. 
 There was nothing from Charles, and his parents, with 
 agonized feelings, waited the receipt of the lists of killed and 
 wounded, fearing for the worst. The next post brought a 
 letter, not from him, but a queerly tucked, folded, and 
 directed missive, characteristic of no one but Bela Tilley. 
 It described, in plain terms, the state of Charles' case, 
 spoke of his wounds, and of his anxiety to write as soon 
 as the surgeon in attendance would permit him to. 
 
 The epistle, between tears and laughter, cost Charles' 
 worthy parents an hour's labor in deciphering. Rejoiced 
 as they were to hear such news of their son, whom they 
 had already mourned as dead, and much as they trusted 
 to the faithful Bela, Mrs. Brandon was too anxious for 
 Charles' recovery to think of remaining at home any 
 longer she would go at once to nurse him. The parents 
 determined to set off immediately, and on their way to 
 pause but for a day in Cambridge, to see Lucy and make 
 her happy before pursuing their journey to Canada. But 
 that night Mr. Brandon, who was highly excited with the 
 news, coupled with what he had heard from Randolph 
 and Patrick Henry, was taken ill, and the next morning, 
 being in a high fever, his physician forbade him to rise or 
 to think of leaving Kingwood until he recovered ; a few 
 days of rest, he said, Avould restore his patient to his usual 
 health, and the mother, meanwhile praying often and fer- 
 vently for her son's recovery, was obliged to remain with 
 her husband. She sent for Randolph, who promised to 
 go to Charles himself in a few days, as soon as the busi- 
 ness which Patrick Henry had informed him was of such 
 consequence, and in which Mildred was concerned, could 
 be settled. " It will make scarce the difference of a day, 
 dear Aunt Eleanor," he said, "because I will hurry 
 through my journey and spare neither steed nor money 
 in rapid travelling."
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE FATE OF MILDRED. 
 
 LET us, once more, return to Mildred. Blanche was 
 dead, and the mother wore the outward signs of mourn- 
 ing for her daughter. She doubtless felt as much as such 
 a heart could feel, and for such a child, whom she loved 
 next to herself; but, in place of the deep sorrow, the bit- 
 ter anguish, which mothers of more tenderness, would 
 experience, she struggled with feelings of contending 
 nature. She beheld the ruin of all her hopes and schemes, 
 every purpose forever blasted, and grief for Blanche was 
 almost lost in the agonies of disappointment, and of hu- 
 miliated pride. Death, itself, makes little impression on 
 such natures ; and the composure with which they bear 
 the loss of friends is to be traced not to devout resigna- 
 tion, but to the cold materialism of their marble hearts. 
 No frantic sorrow, no burst of passion, came from Mil- 
 dred ; but a sullen gloom, a loathing of all excitement, a 
 lethargic indifference to all outward things, took possession 
 of her. One day while she was in this mood, the stupid 
 negro, who had been frequently employed to convey the 
 letters from Kingwood to the post office, stopped at her 
 door and asked, as she had instructed him to, if she had 
 any thing of her own to send ? Rousing from her stupor, 
 she took Mrs. Brandon's letter to Lucy, from the hands of 
 the servant, telling him to wait a moment, and she would 
 give him something else to carry. Then, in the mere 
 wantonness of crime, she determined to withhold Mrs. 
 Brandon's letter, and see what its contents were. Then, 
 (264)
 
 THE FATE OF MILDRED. 265 
 
 merely folding a blank sheet of paper, she wrote upon it 
 a fictitious address, and gave it to the boy, whom she 
 knew would observe no difference, he not being able to 
 read. At the same time rewarding him with half a 
 crown ; she told him that she had altered her mind about 
 writing, and that he need say nothing about having 
 stopped at her house, as Mr. Brandon might not like it. 
 But the negro boy, thick-headed as he was, on this occa- 
 sion exercised his thinking faculties; it struck him, in 
 the first place, that Mildred's caution was singular, and 
 he feared he had done wrong in going to her house 
 instead of direct to the office. In the next place, though 
 he could not read, he imagined the letter looked differ- 
 ently from the one he gave to Mildred ; she returned him 
 one sealed with black wax, while he remembered that 
 the seal of the other was scarlet. On his way to the 
 office, he asked a gentleman to read the superscription, 
 which being told to him he recollected. He made up his 
 mind, after turning the matter over in his head several 
 days, to say something of it to his master ; but, Mr. Bran- 
 don being ill, he with great importance of manner, un- 
 folded it to Randolph, as he was at Kingwood. 
 
 Randolph, merely telling him not to go again to Mis- 
 tress Estcourt, put the boy off by saying, that it was a 
 matter of no consequence, and then informed Mr. Red- 
 tape, who was glad to hear any news about Lady Mil r 
 dred. 
 
 Mistress Estcourt, after the boy had gone, read the 
 letter to Lucy ; it filled her with bitter envy and jealousy, 
 while, at the same time, she felt a kind of a horrid joy 
 that her plots had succeeded so far as almost to extin- 
 guish hope in her victim, and create doubts of Charles' 
 sincerity. With nothing to gain but sheer revenge, she 
 determined that Lucy should never receive that letter ; 
 12
 
 266 BRANDON ; OE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 her wounds should be left to bleed ; doubtless she would 
 before long wed another the one hinted at, but not 
 named, in Mrs. Brandon's letter and feeling at last tri- 
 umphant in this one aim, if in nothing else, she pictured 
 to herself, Charles and his family, and Lucy prostrate at 
 her feet. "And they thought to scorn me and my 
 daughter! who has the power now?" said the fell 
 woman, with flashing eyes, and a lip curling with con- 
 tempt, and her form dilated Avith passion. 
 
 She threw the letter into a casket in which were the 
 two others which Charles had written long ago, and 
 which, the reader will remember, she sequestrated in the 
 same manner as she had this. She had been accustomed, 
 from time to time, to take them out and gloat over their 
 contents in wanton mockery; but now, with this one 
 added, her treasury would be much enriched. " I shall 
 be in no want of amusement now," sneered Mildred ; " it 
 will only be necessary to read these letters, from mother 
 and son ! " 
 
 It was but a week or two afterward that, wishing to 
 unlock her casket, she went to her own chamber to open 
 it. The box yielded to the touch of her fingers, without 
 the key ; and to her terror and surprise she found that 
 its contents were gone. She had evidently been robbed ; 
 but nothing else in her whole mansion had been touched. 
 Her servants could not have committed the theft, having 
 no use for letters which they could not read. In their 
 place was a folded paper, which she opened, and tremb- 
 ling, found it thus inscribed : " You have now, for many 
 years, pursued a triumphant career of guilt ; but the 
 days of your power have passed, and your punishment, is 
 nigh at hand. The stolen letters you will see again." This 
 enigmatical communication was written in a bold hand, 
 which she too well remembered ; and she looked forward
 
 THE FATE OF MILDRED. 267 
 
 with dread to some terrible ordeal ; she knew not what it 
 was to be. 
 
 No ordinary pilferer had taken those letters ; and ho\v 
 and where should she see them again ? Then arose in 
 her mind, her own words, uttered so haughtily but a few 
 . days before : " "Who has the power now ? " It was not 
 long before her fears took tangible shape; for, on the 
 very next day she received a note of counsel, which was 
 so professionally expressed, as to amount almost to a com- 
 mand, from the hated Mr. Redtape. 
 
 He wrote, that several letters, which properly belonged 
 to the Brandon family, had been found in her possession ; 
 that an explanation was necessary, which she could 
 doubtless give, of the means by which they came into her 
 keeping ; and, moreover, that as Mr. Brandon was ill, and 
 could not go to Williamsburg, she would greatly oblige 
 him by repairing to Kingwood, where she would be de- 
 tained but a few hours. She would, therefore, on the 
 afternoon of the next day proceed to the Hall, where he, 
 Mr. Redtape, would meet her. Mildred knew that it 
 would be useless to evade such a meeting, and at once 
 resolved to go, swear most positively, if interrogated, 
 that she knew nothing of the letters being found on her 
 premises ; and, that if such were discovered there, they 
 were so placed by designing persons, to injure her_ 
 With this purpose, which she now summoned her whole 
 resolution to perform without flinching, and anticipating 
 no other trouble, Mildred left her home, according to ap- 
 pointment, and drove over to Kingwood. 
 
 It was a gray, gloomy afternoon ; the wind was high, 
 and howled through the branches of the trees, scattering 
 their leaves in wild confusion. Mildred felt the influence 
 of the season, and a sense of coming doom seemed to 
 overhang her. She entered that mansion which she had
 
 268 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 so coveted, and sinfully sought to make her daughter's 
 own ; and was shoM T n into one of the parlors, where sat 
 Mr. Brandon, well enough to be down stairs, and in his 
 easy chair. But as he bid her good day, there was no 
 tone of welcome in his voice. He looked perplexed, and 
 was very grave. In a moment more the door opened, 
 and several persons came in ; Mrs. Brandon not among 
 them, however, as her husband had informed Lady Mil- 
 dred that she would not be visible that afternoon. 
 
 In those who entered the apartment, Mrs. Estcourt 
 recognized Patrick Henry, and the indefatigable Red- 
 tape ; on whose face was a expression of gratification, as 
 if he were pleased at having discovered something of 
 importance connected with his prophesy, made so many 
 years ago, in regard to the missing will. Just behind 
 him came a portly form, and Mildred turned as pale as 
 ashes, as she returned, with an affrighted stare, the bland 
 smile and bow of Mr. Castlemain. 
 
 " Good God ! " she thought, " how comes that man 
 here ; he bodes no good to me ! " 
 
 " We are all here now, I believe," said the impatient 
 Redtape. 
 
 " All, sir, I believe," answered Patrick Henry, who, on 
 this occasion, had laid aside the rusticity of his dress, 
 and appeared clothed in the elegant fashion of the time. 
 "All, sir, with the exception of my excellent friend, Mr. 
 Randolph Brandon. He, as you know, has been called 
 to the north within a day or two, in consequence of the 
 discovery of the important letter which we have found, 
 and which made it necessary for him at once to go to his 
 cousins, Miss Lucy Tyrrell, and Mr. Charles Brandon. 
 Ave we ready to begin, sir ?" he asked, turning to Mr. 
 Redtape. 
 
 "Quite, quite," said Redtape; "but you, Mr. Henry,
 
 THE FATE OF MILDRED. 269 
 
 might as well state the case, and we have but a few ques- 
 tions to ask." 
 
 " Very good," replied Henry. " Now, madam," said 
 he, turning to Mildred, " I wish you to understand, for 
 my own part, and these gentlemen also wish on theirs, 
 that we are not combined together to injure you. Briefly 
 and plainly, I beg leave to inform you, without putting 
 you to the trouble of denying knowledge of them, that 
 several letters, written by Mr. Charles Brandon and his 
 mother, were found on your premises under suspicious 
 circumstances ; they were in a casket of yours, under 
 your lock and key. How came you by them ?" 
 
 " I know nothing of them," said Mildred, haughtily. 
 
 " Think again, madam." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " returned Mildred, " do you bring me here 
 to tease me like a child ? If I do know anything of 
 them, what does it matter to you, or those surrounding 
 you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, madam," replied Henry, " except that I act 
 as a friend of Mr. Brandon's family." 
 
 " Indeed," replied the lady, Avith a sneer, " and how 
 long since have you gained admission to the aristocratic 
 Brandons ? You are of meaner clay ! " 
 
 " Madam," broke in old Mr. Brandon, " Mr. Henry is 
 my very good friend, and you will greatly oblige me 
 while in my house, by assuming a tone of greater cour- 
 tesy towards him." 
 
 Without noticing Mildred's rudeness, Henry continued; 
 " do you, or do you not, madam, confess any knowledge 
 of these letters ; " at the same time placing on the table 
 and pushing towards her the three before spoken of. 
 
 She paused for an instant to look around the circle, 
 and read her condemnation in the faces of the group, 
 conviction, in spite of her denial of guilt; then, a torrent
 
 270 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 of passion, sweeping away all prudence, she violently 
 exclaimed, " Yes, I do, I do know them, and their con- 
 tents well, and thank God, my plans have succeeded. 
 My child is dead ; she loved Charles Brandon, and she 
 died of fruitless love ; but I have well avenged her. I 
 withheld those letters which Mrs. Brandon hoped would 
 induce Lucy Tyrrell to become the wife of her son. But 
 many a day he will wait for her ; before this, I doubt not, 
 she has wedded another, or plighted a faith not to be 
 broken. Do your worst ; I defy you all. And as to you, 
 pilferer," addressing herself direct to Patrick Henry, 
 " have a care of yourself ; we shall see if you are to enter 
 houses, and open caskets with impunity. Who wrote 
 those lines I found in place of the letters ?" 
 
 " You will soon find out, madam," said Redtape, coolly, 
 " I am glad you have answered so promptly ; I antici- 
 pated much more trouble. You have confessed to the 
 letters, and now I will gratify you, in turn, with a piece 
 of intelligence. Mr. Randolph Brandon, who has been 
 the means of our finding these letters, through the story 
 of the poor, ignorant black, whom you deceived, is 
 already far on his way to Miss Lucy Tyrrell, with the 
 full sanction of Mr. Brandon, to propose for her hand for 
 his son Charles. We have every reason to believe that 
 he will be successful, and that your schemes will be de- 
 feated. Your threats against Mr. Henry are powerless; 
 here you may read it is our search warrant, obtained 
 from the proper authorities. We watched our opportu- 
 nity, and entered your house in your absence in order to 
 avoid a scene. We wished nothing but the letters, and 
 found them easily. Now, my friend Castlemain will in- 
 form you of another matter ; of that will," said Redtape, 
 slowly and gravely ; " you know the will I mean." 
 
 Mildred leaned back in her chair, and put her hand to
 
 THE FATE OF MILDRED. 271 
 
 her face, in agony. She felt as if on a raging sea, with 
 but a plank beneath her, and that soon to be dashed from 
 her grasp. Her evil days had come. Castlemain detailed 
 the whole story of Elisha Barlow's capture and punish- 
 ment, of her nephew Ralph's death, and of the discovery 
 of the will, which he read aloud. But in all his narration 
 he did not mention Brooke's name. 
 
 " You see your position, madam," he added; " you are 
 at the mercy of the rightful owner of the estate." 
 
 "Well," said Mildred, suddenly, "at whose mercy, 
 then ? Is he not beneath the sea, as you have said ? I 
 am the rightful owner, show me another." 
 
 She rose from her chair, and once more proudly gazed 
 on those around her. As she spoke, Castlemain left the 
 room ; and returning behind her, just as she pronounced 
 the sentence, "show me another;" said, "behold her!" 
 With a sudden start, Mildred turned her head, and saw 
 a female form, clothed in deep black, supported by an 
 officer; and at the same instant, recognizing her sister 
 Miriam, and Admiral Brooke, she shrieked, and sank 
 swooning into her chair. On reviving, she felt her sister 
 embracing her, and saying, soothingly, " do not fear, dear 
 Mildred, I know and forgive all. Do not dread poverty, 
 for of all I have, you shall share. We will leave this 
 land, and go back to that of our fathers. Think no more 
 of ills ; and let us live to make each other happy ; there 
 is yet time." 
 
 But Mildred heeded not ; she glared at Brooke, and 
 muttered incoherently. At length she said, wildly, 
 
 "Where is he my husband? You! you! Greville 
 Brooke speak ! " 
 
 She was removed from the apartment, and Admiral 
 Brooke then told his story, saying that it was due to Mr. 
 Brandon, as his family had been harmed by the machina-
 
 272 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 tions of Mildred. He said that remorse had preyed 
 upon him for his sins ; had given him no peace by night 
 or day ; he had heard many years before from Castle- 
 main of Miriam's wrongs, of the wicked course of Mil- 
 dred and her accomplices, Jane Hook and Elisha Bar- 
 low ; he determined to make the only reparation in his 
 power according to his sense of honor, and for the pur- 
 pose had gone to Mildred's husband to offer that satis- 
 faction which the spirit of the age countenanced, but had 
 found Estcourt too far gone with mortal disease to 
 accept his offer. He had felt intense regret at not hav- 
 ing at that period attempted to carry out his purpose of 
 providing handsomely for Ralph and taking him under 
 his charge, until he found by his delay the boy had been 
 suffered to become an outlaAv. He had then for years 
 sought him with the hope of reclaiming him ; and here 
 he detailed to his audience an account of Ralph's at- 
 tempted capture on the coast, and his own mishap, which 
 the reader is already acquainted with. He lastly added 
 a narration of the smuggler's fate ; of his having with 
 Castlemain persuaded Miriam to leave the island, after 
 learning of her son's death, to claim the estate left her 
 by a codicil to the will, in case of the demise of Ralph ; 
 of his having with Redtapc searched Mildred's house, 
 leaving the mysterious paper in place of the letters in 
 her casket the rest they knew. 
 
 Then, in a few words, Mr. Redtape corroborated the 
 story, and added that Estcourt had employed him and 
 Mr. Parchmount to draw the will as it now stood, being 
 the only way he could punish his guilty wife. The docu- 
 ment only required another codicil of slight importance 
 to make it complete, when it disappeared so myste- 
 riously. 
 
 All was now explained, all revealed. The party of
 
 THE FATE OP MILDRED. 273 
 
 gentlemen heartily congratulated Mr. Brandon on having 
 so narrowly escaped the schemes of Mildred Estcourt, 
 and wished his brave son all happiness with his destined 
 bride. They then departed for Williamsburg, promising 
 to meet again in the morning, and arrange all things 
 definitely between Mildred and her sister. 
 
 But it was ordained that that meeting was never to 
 take place within the Avails of Kingwood. The misera- 
 ble Mildred had been conveyed to a chamber, and was 
 attended by her sister and Mrs. Brandon, who used 
 every effort to alleviate her sufferings, but she was alter- 
 nately raving or moping like one in idiocy. At length 
 she was quieted, and lay in apparent slumber. In order 
 more effectually to secure her repose, they concluded to 
 retire to the drawing room, leaving a female servant to 
 guard her, and call them if she stirred. But no sooner 
 had they gone away than the domestic, negro-like, stole 
 off to the kitchen, thinking it much more pleasant to 
 doze there by the fire than to watch a woman whom she 
 feared to remain by. About an hour after this Mildred 
 arose, not in her right mind, but wandering and distress- 
 ed. In her sleep, all the scenes of her evil life had 
 passed in review, and her victims heaped reproaches on 
 her, like the ghosts who cursed the murderer Richard the 
 night before the battle of Bosworth Field. She started up 
 in agony, and to her heated fancy the apparitions of the 
 dead thronged around her, and menaced her with evil. 
 They made companionship with those she knew to be 
 living, those who but a few hours before had humbled 
 her to the dust. There stood her injured husband, by 
 the side of his daughter Blanche, who now looked stern- 
 ly upon her as she never had in life, while close beside 
 them was one dreadful to behold, with blood dropping 
 12*
 
 274 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 from his limbs, mingled with the water on his dripping 
 sailor's garb. 
 
 Here, too, were the vile faces of Elisha Barlow and 
 Jane Hook, turned upon her with triumphant leer. It 
 was too horrible ; she put her hands over her face and 
 closed her eyes, but still they were there ; only the crea- 
 tures of her delirium, yet to her absolute forms of living 
 death. Surrounding her bedside, they glared at her; 
 she rose in terror, she rushed towards the window, and 
 lifted the sash ; but the hellish faces stared in upon her 
 from outer darkness. Turn where she would they pur- 
 sued her. At length, in desperation, she rushed for the 
 door, bursting, as she imagined, through a legion of 
 fiends, and without perceiving what she had done in her 
 chamber, passed down the staircase, which was near by, 
 and, opening a door close to the foot of the steps, went 
 out into the night air, she knew not whither. In her 
 agony in the chamber, she had overthrown a little table 
 with two wax lights upon it; they fell at the foot of the 
 bed, and in an instant the flame was communicated to 
 the muslin drapery. The entire bed and curtains were 
 blazing in a moment, the fire spread from them to the 
 dry panel work, and, fanned by the blast which came 
 in through the window which Mildred had opened, it 
 rolled on, its fury increasing every moment, poured out 
 of the open door with volumes of smoke, and rapidly 
 finding food in the woodwork of the hall and staircase, 
 grew strong beyond the aid of the household to quell it. 
 An alarm was now sounded by the negroes, and the in- 
 mates of the house were aroused, but too late. Not- 
 withstanding the great thickness of the walls, the fire had 
 made too much headway to be subdued ; like a subtle 
 and agile enemy, cut off in one place it burst forth more 
 furiously in another, until perceiving the folly of attempt*-
 
 THE PATE OP MILDEED. 275 
 
 ing to check it, the efforts of the crowd Were employed 
 in securing such articles as were within reach. All the 
 plate, and many of the pictures and valuables, were re- 
 moved to a safe distance ; and then the family looked on 
 in anguish, and saw their proud home wrapped in ruin, 
 yet magnificent to the last. 
 
 Mildred had rushed from the house, and wandered 
 away, pursued by the demons of her imagination. At 
 length, she stopped on the bank of the river, some dis- 
 tance below the mansion. The very winds howled hi 
 vengeance around her; the bright stars glowed as in 
 wrath above her, and at that instant rang in her ears 
 the cry of fire. 
 
 She stood gazing upon the flame as it gathered 
 strength, and lighted up the country for miles around 
 with its awful light ; then the fiends once more shrieked 
 in her ears, " Behold thy work accomplished." 
 
 And, as they screamed and pointed, the dreadful glare 
 as of hell itself shining in their faces ; high above the 
 sound of the winds, the cries of the workers, and the 
 roaring of the fire-blast, rose the boom of the bell in 
 the great clock tower, as with sullen beat the iron ham- 
 mer smote the stroke of twelve. Midnight had come 
 her last ! None saw her, none heeded her, and as the 
 bell from its burnt fastenings, loosed, fell into the surging 
 fire below, Mildred, who heard to obey its deep knell, 
 turned her face from the scene, and with one desperate 
 leap plunging into the river, sunk beneath its lurid 
 waters.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 LUCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 
 
 OUR tale is nearly told. We left Charles Brandon 
 stretched upon the battle field ; he was at first thought 
 to be dead, and dreadfully wounded as he was found to 
 be, some days elapsed before he regained his conscious- 
 ness. When at length he did so, he discovered the 
 faithful Bela Tilley sitting beside his pallet, with his lank 
 countenance covered by his huge hands, moaning dismally 
 and keeping time to the noise by a see-saw motion of his 
 body. Charles gazed at him for some moments as in a 
 dream ; at length he feebly stirred, and Bela, hearing him 
 move, looked up, burst into tears of joy, and at last 
 found utterance: "Wai! blessed be the Lord's name, 
 ye've come tu again ; I guessed yeou was abeout gone when 
 I fust diskivered yer, all bloody and stuck full o' bag- 
 genet holes, as one o' them ere tarnation porcupines as 
 hed squirted all his quills eout. Gineral Wolfe's dead 
 an' Gineral Mountcalam tu, so I'll jist squat deown and rite 
 Mister Brandon this ere pleasant noos ; all yer've got tu 
 du is jist to lie still." So Bela squared his elbows, and, 
 after innumerable efforts to pen an elegant epistle, worthy 
 of reception at aristocratic Kingwood, gave it up in 
 despair, and wisely indited, in his own fashion, the letter 
 which we have already mentioned. 
 
 As soon as Charles was able to raise his body, his leg 
 
 having been carefully set by the military surgeon, he was 
 
 gladdened to his heart's core by the intelligence contained 
 
 in his father's letter, written in regard to Lucy. It told 
 
 (276)
 
 LUCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 277 
 
 him of her present home, that he might at once write to 
 her, making unreserved offer of his hand, and that he had 
 already, together with his mother, written in accordance 
 with this pel-mission to Mr. Tyrrell's family. Anticipat- 
 ing now nothing but happiness, he poured out his whole 
 soul in a letter to his beloved, and, rapt in reveries of 
 bliss, gave himself up with patience to the confinement 
 of his pallet and the orders of the surgeon, a man of few 
 words and great ability. Honest Bela scarce left him for 
 an instant, and continually amused him by his odd 
 remarks. 
 
 " Where is that Indian, Bela ?" said Charles, one morn- 
 ing, " is he secured ready for exhibition ? " 
 
 " Oh, consarn him, no," said Bela ; " them are pesky 
 red skins is more wrigglesome nor eels, they is. I shot 
 one on em, but could'nt keep him alive no how ; got his 
 tommy-hawk tho', an his beads, an his feathers, so calcu- 
 late I can jest paint up myself, and the performance '11 
 come puty nigh on to him." 
 
 Thanks to a good constitution and careful nursing, 
 Charles soon began to gain strength, and received honor- 
 able mention in the official despatches for his gallant con- 
 duct, though he had, in the first report, been enumerated 
 among the dead. Hoping now daily for intelligence from 
 Lucy, he was suddenly surprised and delighted by the 
 appearance of his cousin Randolph. He looked wearied 
 with his journey from Virginia, and the intense sympathy 
 and pity impressed upon his countenance was at first 
 attributed by Charles to anxious interest in his own 
 shattered and wounded frame. 
 
 The autumn leaves were fast, fast falling from the elms 
 and maples of old Cambridge, and filling its fields and 
 avenues with their rich yellow and scarlet tributes, as the
 
 278 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 hapless Lucy Tyrrell prepared, in brokenness of heart, to 
 give her hand to Mr. Lascelles. She yielded to the 
 solicitations of her parents, who now implored her in 
 language too earnest to be longer resisted. She could no 
 longer exercise the will to oppose them ; she was utterly 
 prostrated by the conduct of Charles, which, to her, was 
 without a parallel in baseness, and she attributed the long, 
 strange silence of Randolph and Matilda to their un- 
 willingness to write on a subject which must have caused 
 them intense sorrow. She had passed days, weeks 
 almost, in passionate grief; she had wept until her tears 
 refused longer to flow ; she had indulged in sorrow till 
 she had scarce further power even to sigh over her fate, 
 and when the news came of the surrender of Quebec, and 
 she read, with unutterable anguish, among the lists of 
 casualties, the name of her faithless lover, who had fallen 
 bravely fighting at the head of his company, abandoning 
 forever her dreams of the past, she sent for her father, 
 and summoning almost superhuman resolution, told him, 
 with fearful calmness, that she could no longer oppose his 
 desires, in regard to her union with Mr. Lascelles. She had 
 not a heart to give, but could bestow her hand, were it still 
 worth the asking. For her own choice she would prefer 
 to follow in death the one who had destroyed her happi- 
 ness, but as it pleased heaven to deny her wish, she would 
 now obey her parents. 
 
 Her father, rejoiced to see this change in Lucy, treated 
 her with the utmost tenderness, at the same time asking 
 that the marriage might soon take place. Lucy was 
 indifferent to the period of the ceremony, but she insisted, 
 and in that determination was inflexible, that the wedding 
 should be one of strictest privacy and simplicity. Mr. 
 Lascelles was forced to submit, and Lucy informing him 
 that in her he would find one who would endeavor to do
 
 LUCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 279 
 
 her duty by him as a wife, but that she did not and could 
 not love again, bid adieu forever to all hope and joy in 
 life, and became the Avife of his bosom, the inmate and 
 mistress of his stately home. 
 
 Her parents at once came to live with her ; Mr. Las- 
 celles was kind and bounteous in his hospitality, and en- 
 gaged in her household duties, surrounded by those who 
 loved her, she might finally have forgotten her sorrows. 
 But the cup of her misery was not yet full. She had been 
 scarce a month married, when one morning, during the 
 absence of Mr. Lascelles, as she was left alone with her 
 parents, the servant in attendance placed a letter in her 
 hands. She glanced at the superscription, and turned as 
 pale as marble. Could that be indeed the handwriting 
 once so loved and familiar, but not seen for long years ? 
 "Was it from beyond the tomb, from him she believed to 
 have died on the field of battle ? She summoned strength 
 to open it, and, motionless, read its entire contents ; 
 then listlessly handing it across the table to her father, 
 who had watched her with breathless interest, she placed 
 her hands for a moment to her temples, and one wild 
 shriek of agony burst from her lips, as she fell in convul- 
 sions to the floor. Removed to her chamber, it was many 
 hours before she regained her consciousness. At length, 
 arousing from her swoon she exclaimed, in tones of the 
 bitterest grief, "Oh, God! and have I lived for this; 
 have I suffered in silence so long, and endured patiently, 
 to be thus requited ? Write to him, write to him ; I 
 cannot, but say that I am dead ! " 
 
 The fatal letter explained all things ; it was the one 
 which Charles had written, in spite of the orders of his 
 surgeon to avoid exertion, and at the imminent risk of 
 bringing back his fever, as he yet lay upon his sick bed, 
 but written with high hope, with devoted spirit, detailing
 
 280 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 all the circumstances which the reader already knows. 
 Clearly establishing his own innocence, and relying on 
 Lucy's unaltered affection, he concluded with the convic- 
 tion that their mutual trials were now at an end, and joy- 
 fully anticipating the hour when in person he could renew 
 the offer of his hand and fortune to the only woman he 
 had ever loved, or ever could love. 
 
 The misery of the distracted parents maybe imagined, 
 as they perused this long epistle. To add to their 
 troubles, on the afternoon of that very same day, arrived 
 the letters from the Brandons; .which ought to have 
 reached their destination a month before, but which, 
 owing to some singular fatality, never accounted for, 
 came, alas, too late. 
 
 We have but little more to tell. Our story has been 
 a sad one to relate ; for though presented in the guise of 
 fiction, the incidents of Lucy's life were those of a real 
 personage, whose history was unfortunate, as we have 
 portrayed it. 
 
 Mr. Tyrrell briefly answered the letters, informing the 
 Brandons of Lucy's marriage. There was nothing else to 
 be spoken of; neither hopes for her happiness, nor regrets 
 for her fate. A day or two after despatching his letters, 
 he received a visit from a young officer. It was Mont- 
 cure, one of the companions of Charles in his expedition 
 to Quebec ; who, on being detached from service, and 
 on his return to Virginia, had promised Brandon to visit 
 Lucy, and bear the news of his convalescence. He heard 
 the sad truth from her father ; and hastening homeward, 
 met Randolph in New York ; to whom he imparted this 
 intelligence. His hearer was so powerfully affected, that 
 instead of pursuing his journey to Boston, he proceeded 
 at once up the Hudson river, and made his way to Que- 
 bec by the shortest route. In due time, he told his mel-
 
 LUCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 281 
 
 ancholy story ; and, as soon as Charles health would per- 
 mit, returned with his broken hearted charge to Virginia ; 
 where they beheld, in Charles' ruined home, too true an 
 image of the destruction of his earthly hopes. The 
 young soldier found his parents in altered health and 
 spirits ; greatly changed in the year of his absence. His 
 mother's lovely smile had faded ; and her locks were 
 streaked with gray ; while his father's portly form was 
 shrunk and bent ; and he wandered about, a changed 
 man, often shaking his head, and sadly muttering. The 
 old man took matters much to heart ; but Charles, for 
 the remainder of his life, did all he could to soothe him. 
 The proud Hall he so loved to contemplate, was never 
 rebuilt ; and ere many years, before the ordinary allot- 
 ment of nature's bound, the softened, chastened father, 
 and the beautiful mother were called from earth. It was 
 when the Revolutionary troubles had begun, that Mr. 
 Brandon, 011 his dying bed, called Charles to his side, 
 and said, " My son ! I have done you heavy wrong, and 
 I fear that I shall not be forgiven for it. I have seen 
 with pain, that for several years you have leaned towards 
 the cause of the colonies, against his sacred majesty, God 
 bless him ! but I have not said to you one word upon the 
 subject. I am old, and weak, and erring ; you are yet 
 young and strong ; do as seemeth to you best ; be faith- 
 ful to your country, as God may incline you. I can only 
 add my blessing, and leave you to act by the advice of 
 these two friends, (turning to Randolph, and to Patrick 
 Henry, who were now often by him,) Avhom I once also 
 wronged, but now ask of them pardon for my faults. 
 But for myself, bear ye witness for me, I die as I have 
 lived, a loyal subject of my king." 
 
 The staunch aristocrat was gathered to his fathers; 
 and when the dav of trial came, Charles joined the
 
 282 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 American army, and rose high in the favor of Washing- 
 ton. Had he lived, he might at last have been united to 
 Lucy, but at the battle of Eutaw Springs, in South Caro- 
 lina, just as that memorable bayonet charge was made 
 by the troops under the command of the good and brave 
 Otho Holland Williams, of Maryland, which decided the 
 fortunes of that day Charles Brandon was shot dead ; 
 bravely fighting against the royal cause ; as he had be- 
 fore fought in its favor on the Plains of Abraham. His 
 large estates devolved upon his cousins, Randolph and 
 Matilda ; who continued to dwell in peace in the land ; 
 and their descendants, at this day, hold rank Avith the 
 best and most affluent citizens of the Old Dominion. 
 
 Of the other characters of our history, we have to add 
 that Miriam did not long survive her sister Mildred ; of 
 whose suicide she continued ignorant ; imagining, as 
 others did, that her fate was accompanied by the dreadful 
 terrors of the fire. It was found that a good portion of 
 her property had been dissipated ; and Miriam bequeathed 
 the remainder, in equal shares, to Mr. Castlemain, and 
 to Lucy. 
 
 Jack Lawton lived to a good old age ; and to the last 
 his merry eye twinkled like a beacon, which weary travel- 
 lers hailed with delight. Peace to his ashes ! 
 
 The Reverend Thomas Pollen, having some difficulty 
 with his flock, left Rhode Island, and went back to Eng- 
 land, in 1760. But for thirty years, at least, after his 
 departure, did Mrs. Morpus, under the shadows of the 
 Trojan helmet, and the veteran umbrella, continue to 
 train the youthful mind of Newport. Seated on her 
 " bel-cony," she enjoyed the summer breezes, no longer 
 ruffled by the sight of Elisha Barlow. She formed a 
 strong attachment to the writings of a celebrated Swiss 
 author ; and it is related of her, that one of her canons
 
 LUCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 283 
 
 of " deportment," instructed young ladies, who would 
 study true elegance, to be found by their morning visi- 
 tors in a musing attitude, and with a finger inserted be- 
 tween the leaves of " Zimmerman on Solitude." 
 
 As for Bela Tilley, he continued all his life an un- 
 changed specimen of the universal Yankee. Whenever 
 he became disgusted with quahaugs and leather pies, he 
 would leave his family for weeks or months at a time to 
 themselves, in Xewport ; his absence causing them about 
 as much anxiety as if he had merely gone after a black 
 fish, off Seal Rock. lie often repaired to Kingwood, 
 where he always found warm welcome and plenty of but- 
 ternuts. He was in several of the Revolutionary bat- 
 tles; and though he had a high reverence for General 
 Washington, he always declared, as his opinion, that " he 
 waru't quite so com-plete, as Gineral Wolfe and Mount- 
 ca-lam ! " 
 
 And Lucy Lucy Lascelles. When time, the universal 
 comforter, had softened the memory of her sorrows, she 
 felt a sense of thankfulness that her lover, unfortunate as 
 he had been, had passed thrcfugh all trials unspotted with 
 dishonor. She heard indirectly from him, that he acquit' 
 ted her of all blame ; and that, although they could not 
 meet again, he must still love her to the last. As years 
 passed on, Lucy devoted herself to her family with a 
 serene spirit of resignation. She was not blessed with 
 children ; and her arts of pleasing were all bestowed upon 
 her husband and her parents. Mr. Lascelles generously 
 performed his part in life ; but his tastes were so utterly 
 different from Lucy's, that great sympathy between them 
 was impossible. She was destined to lose both her pa- 
 rents before many years of her married life, and was 
 finally left alone in the world, by the death of her hus- 
 band, some twelve months after she had once more shed
 
 284 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
 
 wild tears of sorrow, as she heard of the tragic end of 
 Charles, on the field of honor; but, "God be praised," 
 she said, " that good, and generous, and noble, as was his 
 life, it was yielded at last in a holy cause ! " 
 
 The reckless extravagance and speculations of Mr. 
 Lascelles, left her at his death but ill provided for, except- 
 ing by the bequest of Miriam ; but, by great prudence 
 and energy, she, in time, recovered sufficient from the 
 wreck of her husband's fortune, to maintain her in afflu- 
 ence for the remainder of her days. Still in the full bloom 
 of life and beauty, she naturally attracted attention ; but, 
 withdrawing entirely from society, she resumed and 
 steadily pursued her literary accomplishments. Those 
 who knew her but slightly, sometimes imputed her seclu- 
 sion to hauteur and pride in wealth ; but in that stately 
 home she thought not of riches, save as a means of com- 
 fort for the poor and worthy, who never sought her in 
 vain. With Randolph and Matilda she continued on 
 terms of the most affectionate intercourse ; and once, nt 
 their solicitation, made a journey to Virginia, after peace 
 was declared. She visited, 'at Kingwood, every spot hal- 
 lowed to her by the memory of Charles Brandon ; the 
 little brook, on whose banks he had for many an hour 
 mused of her; the hills he had loved ; the forest recesses ; 
 the bright flowing river, James. 
 
 Even the shattered, mouldering ruins of the Hall, 
 appeared no longer desolate ; for shrubs and vines now 
 waved in green luxuriance over them, hiding their black- 
 ened masses to her, emblematic of the new and tender 
 verdure, which the hand of God had sown again in her 
 once torn and wasted heart. She stood daily beside the 
 simple monument erected over the remains of her lover, 
 humbly thanking heaven that her pilgrim feet had been 
 permitted to press the ground which held his honored day.
 
 LUCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 285 
 
 As her life passed, every summer found her at the dear 
 old island a friend, as she ever had been, to the poor 
 cottagers. And when she visited the rocky shore, to 
 watch the setting sun, her gaze, as in her days of trial, 
 turned often to the south, where slept the one she loved. 
 
 But now, she felt only serene felicity ; the deep sea had 
 fulfilled its promises of tranquil joy, and as its choral 
 waves rang with notes of triumph, from her soul fled the 
 last memory of pain ; and she was filled with that " peace 
 of God, which passeth all understanding." 
 
 THE END.
 
 STANFORD AND DELISSER 
 
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 "LIFE-THOUGHTS" OF GREAT MEN. 
 
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 iMnii 
 
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