mmnnm UC-NRLF B 3 327 M3S Sjjkfi « i Tflfi » Um j—i ltfS« by W. OILMORE SIMMS. ta Um ClcA't Oflioo Of th» Dictfiot Coort for the Diitriot of Bonth-CafoUDA^ '■■* OHARtEfitONt •TIAIC POWEH-PRESS OP WALXIK AlfD iAMBS| 101. 103 and 106 Uut-fiar. >\ *■ •ih ' ■ . . 'a C-C H5 [ / . 4.TEE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. J' /■• CHAPTER I. ' V A DOUBTFUL CASE OF LOVE ON THE TAPI8. IT vfCA during that premature spell of cold weather which we so unseasonably had this year in October, — anticipating our usual winter Vy a full month or more, — cutting off the cotton crop a fourth, land forcing us into our winter garments long before they were ordered from the tailor,- — when, one morning, as I stood shiv- ering before the glass, and clumsily striving, with numbed fingers, to adjust my cravat d la ncBud Gordien^ — my friend, Ned Bul- mer, burst into my room, looking as perfect an exquisite as Beau Bruramell himself. He was in the gayest clothes and spirits, a thousand times more exhilarated than usual — and Ned is one of those fellows upon whom care sits uneasily, whom, indeed, care seldom sets upon at all! He laughed at my shiverings and awkwardness, seized the ends of my handkerchief, and, with the readiest fingers in the world, and in the most perfect taste, adjust- ed the folds of the cravat, and looped them up into a rose bene ath ^ i my chin, in the twinkling of an eye, and to my own perfect satis- 4:4 faction. jj " That done," said he, — " what have you now for breakfast ?" A bachelor's breakfast is not uncommonly an extempore per- formance. I, myself, really knew not what was in the larder, or what my cook was about to provide. But this ignorance occa- sioned no difficulty. I knew equally well my guest and cook. [ 116 4 . TEH OOLBEN OHRISTMASi " There is doubtless quite enougli for two moderate fellows 41kd ourselves. Let ua descend to the breakfast room and s^^^w^ " I warn you," said he, " I am no moderate fello^v artuist^o ment. I am hungry as a Cumanche. I was out late last night at i the house of that starched framework of moral buckram, the widow^ D > ; and got no supper. Her freezing ladyship seems to. fancy that she pro\'ide8 well enough when she surfeits every body V with her own dignity ; and, though there was a regular party, — a \ monstrous re-union of town and country coasins, — yet, would you ^ believe it, except the tea service at eight o'clock, cakes and crum- t pets, and such like unsubstantial stufis, we got not a mouthful all the evening ! Yet, in momentary expectation of i\ every body hung on till twelve o'clock. The case appearing then perfectly des- perate, and the stately hostess becoming more freezingly dignified than ever, people t :'gaii to disappear. The old ladies lingered to the last, and then woit off breathing curses, not loud but deep ! Old Mrs. F was terribly indignant. I helped her to the car- riage. * Did you,' said she* ■ * ever see such meanness ? I wonder if she thinks people come to her parties only to see her in her last Parisian dresses ? And that wo should stay till twelve o'clock and get notliing after all ! Let her invite me again, and she shall have an answer.' ' Why what will you say V said L * What will I say V said she. ' I'll tell her yes, I'll come, pronded she'll allow me to bring niy supper with me.' * And she'll be very sure to do it too,' said I : * she's just the woman for it.' " • " I shall not quarrel with her if she does, I calculated some- thing on the supper myself, took no tea, and was absolutely fam- ished. I waa so hungry that, but for the distance, and my weari- ness, I should have diiven down to Baker's, and surfeited myself upon Yankee oysters. You sea now why I am so soUcitous on the subject of the sort of breakfast you can provide." " Faith, Ned," said I, " one might reasonably ask, why, being I A DOtJBTrUL CASE OF LOVE ON THE TAPIS. 80 monstrous hiing^, you should yet sally forth on an empty stomach ! Why didn't you get breakfast at home ? Why come to sponge upon a needy bachelor, and without due warning given of the savage character of your appetite ?" " Oh ! you penurious monster ! You are as stingy as Madame D e. But, confound you ! Do you think it is your break- fiist, in particular, that I am in search of ? Let me quiet your sus- picions. Hungry as I am, I have a much more important quest in seeking you, and came as soon as I could, in order to catch you before you should go out this morning. I slept so late, that, when I sprang out of my bed and looked at my watch, I found I hadn't a moment to lose. So I took the chance of securing you and my breakfast by the same operation. Thus am I here and hungry. Are you satisfied ?" " Quite ! But what's in the wind now, that you must see me in such a hurry. No quarrel on hand, I trust." " No ! no ! Thank God I It is Venus not Mars, at this season of the year, to whom I address my prayers. It is an affair of the heart, not of pistols. But to the point. Have you any engage- ments to-day ? I am in need of you." \ " None !" with the natural sigh of a young lawyer, whose de- i sires are more numerous than his clients, and whose hopes are ] always more magnificent than his fees. " Good I Then you must serve me, as you can, efficiently, i % You alone can do it. You must know, then, that Paula Bonneau I is in town with her grandmother. They came yesterday, and may {^ leave to-morrow. They are hurried ; I don't know why. I heard '% of them last night at Dame D e*s. Thpy would have been . ,1 present, and were at first expected ; but sent an excuse on the plea |« of fatigue." i " And did not accordingly — we may suppose — go supperless to bed. But what have I to do in this matter ? * What's Hecuba to m 6 TBS QOlDEN OHRISTMAB. ^^ me, or I to Hecuba ?* You surely don't design that I should take Paula oflf your hands." ^ " Oflf my hands, indeed. No ! no ! mon ami / I wish you rather to assist in putting her into them." '^♦' " Humph ! not so easy a matter. But how did you hear of their movements and arrangements ?" " From Monimia Porcher ! The dear little creature gave me a world of news last night, and promises me every assistance. But she is not a favoui-it*^ with our grandmother, as you know, and con- sequently can render me, directly^ no great assistance. But you can." " Prithee, how ?" " I have sent word to Paula by Monimia that I will call upon her at ten. I know that she and the old lady are to go out shop- ping at eleven. Now, you will call ^vith me. You are a favourite with the grandmother, and you are to keep her off. I want to get every possible opportunity ; for I am now determined to p\mh the affair to extremities. I won't take it as I have done. I shall • bring all parties to terms this season, or keep no terms with them hereafter." " What I You persist, knowing all your father's anti-Gallican opinions — his prejudices, inherited for a hundred years !" " In spite of all ! His prejudices are only inherited. They must be overcorao ! They are surely nonsensical enough. He has no right to indulge them at the expense of my happiness." " To which you really think Paula necessary ?" " Can you doubt ! I am a rough dog, you know ; but I have a heart, Dick, as you also know ; and I doubt if I could ever feel such a passion for any other woman as I feel for Paula." " She is certainly a rare and lovely creature. I am half inclined to take her myself." *• " Don't think of it, you Turk ! Content yourself with dream- ing of Beatrice Mazyck. I'll help you in that quarter, mon ami^ ▲ DOUBTFUL CA8B OF LOVE ON THE TAPIS. and so will Paula. And she can 1 They are bosom friends, you know." " But, Ned, her grandmother is quite m hostile to the English Bulmer tribe, as your father is to the Uuguenot Bonneaus. You have a double prejudice to overcome." " Not so ! It is the old lady's pride only, that, piqued at the openly avowed prejudices of my family, asserts its dignity by op- position. Let my father once bo persuaded to relax, and we shall thaw the old lady. She is devotedly attached to Paula, and, I believe, she thinks well enough of me ; and would have no sort of objection, but for the old antipathy to my name." " You are so sanguine ! — Well 1 I'm ready to help as you re- quire. What is the programme." " You must secure me opportunities for a long talk with Paula alone. You must keep off the dragon. I am prepared to brave every thing — all my father's prejudices — and will do so, if I can only persuade her to make some corresponding sacrifice for me. I am now tolerably independent. In January, my mother's prop- erty comes into my hands ; and, though it does not make mo rich, it enables me to snap my fingers in the face of fate ! I am resolved to incur every risk, at all events. Paula, too, is a fear- less little creature ; and, though wonderfully submissive to the whims of her grandmother, I feel sure that she will not sacrifice herself and me to them in a matter so essential to our mutual happiness. Things are looking rather more favourable than usual. There have been occasional meetings of the two families. The old lady and my father even had a civil conversation at the last tournament ; and ho has resolved upon a sort of feudal entertain- ment, this Christmas, which shall bring together the whole neigh- bourhood, — at least for a day or two. You are to be there : so he requires me to say, and his guest, of course, while in the parish* You must do your endeavour for me while there. It will not be pf-" 8 * TH» OOLDEK OHBIBtMAS. my fault, if the season shall pass without being properly improved. Love has made me somewhat desperate." " Beware, lest your rashness should lose you all. Your father's prejudices are inveterate." " I think not. They begin to soften. He begins to feel that he is getting older, and he becomes more amiable accordingly. He talks old prejudices rather than feels chem. It is a habit with him now, rather than a feeling. He barks, like the old dog, but the teeth are no longer in capacity to bite. For that matter, his bark was always worse than his bite. What he says of the Hu- guenots is only what his grandfather said and thought. Without the same animosity, he deems it a sort of family duty, to maintain the old British bull-dog attitude, as if to show that his blood has undergone no deterioration. In respect to Paula, herself, he said, ' at the last tournament, that she was really a lovely little creature, and regretted that she was of that soup maujre French stock. There are sundry other httle favourable symptoms which seem to show me that he is growing reasonable and indulgent." Here, we were signalled to breakfast, and our dialogue, on this subject, was suspended for awhile. CHAPTER II. A bachelor's bueakfa&t. It is not often that our fair readers aie admitted to the myste- rious domain which eiitertain i a bachelor as its sovereign. They fancy, the dear conceited httle creatures, that such a province is a very desolate one. They delude themselves with the v>un notion that, without the presence of some one or more of their mischie- vously precious sex, a house, or garden, is scarcely habitable ; and that man, in such an abode, is perpetually sighing for some such A bachelor's breakfast. 9 change as the tender sex only can impart. They look upon, as , quite orthodox, the language of Mr. Thomas Campbell, who sings — j *• The fjardcn vtm a mild, I And man, the hermit, eigh'd, till woman ftmilcdP But this is all vanity and delusion. We no where have any testi- mony that the condition of Adam was thup disconsolate, before Eve was stolen from his side, in order that she should steal to his side. This is all a mistake. x\dam did very well as a gardener, and quite as well as a houseke(?per, long before Eve was assigned '■ him as a helpmate, and was very comfortable in his sovereignty alone. We know what evil consequences liapponed to his house- keeping after she came into it, and what sort of coimsellors she entertained. Let it not, therefore, be supposed that we bachelors can not contrive to get on, with our affairs exclusively under our ovm management. I grant that there is a difference ; but the question occurs, * Is this difference for the worse in our case V Hardly 1 There is, confessedly, no such constant putting to rights, as we always find going on in the households of married men. But that is because there is no such need of putting to rights. There is pre^^ously no such putting to wrongs, in such a house- hold. There, every thing goes on like clockwork. There is less parade, T grant you ; but there's no such fuss ! Less neatness ; but no jarrings with the servants. To the uninitiated eye, things appear in exemplary confusion; but the solitary head of the household caii extract order from this confusion at any moment. It is a maze, but not without a plan. You will chafe, because there is a want of neatness ; but then our bachelor has quiet. Ah I but you say, how lonesome it looks 1 But the answer is ready. The bachelor is' not, nevertheless, the inhabitant of a solitude. His domain is peopled with pleasant thoughts and sweet visitors, and, if he be a student, with sublime ones. He converses with great minds, unembarrassed by the voices of little ones. He communes with master spirits in antique books. These counsel ¥• 10 THE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS, -9 aud teach him, without ever disputing what he says and thinks. They fill, and instruct his soul, without vexing his self-esteem. They bring music to his chamber, without troubling his ears with noise. But, you say, he has none of the pleasures which spring from his communion with children. You say that the association with the young keeps the heart young ; and you say rightly. But the bachelor answers and says — if he has no children of his own, he sees enough of his neighbours. They climb his fences, pilfer his peaches, pelt liis dog, and, as Easter approaches, break into his fowl-yards and carry off his fresh eggs. Why should he seek for children of his own, when his neighbours* houses are so prolific ? He could give you a long discourse, in respect to the advantages of single blessedness, — that is, in the case of the man. In that of the woman, the affair is more difficult and doubtful. lie is not prepared to deny that she ought to get married whenever she can find the proper victim. To sum up, in brief, he goes and comes when he pleases, without drejiding a feminine authority. He takes his breakfast at his o^vn hours, and dines when in the hu- mour, and takes his ease at his inn. His sleep is undisturbed by unpleasant fancies. He is never required to rise at night, no mat- ter how cold the weather, to see that the children are covered, or to warm the baby^s posset. Never starts with horror, and a chil- ling shiver^ at every scream, lest Young Hopeful, the boy, or Young Beauty, the girl, has tumbled dov/n stairs, bruizing nose, or breaking leg or arm ; and, if he stays out late o'nights, never sneaks home, with immanly terrors, dreading to hear no good of himself when he gets there. At night, purring, in grateful reve- rie, by his fireside, he makes pictiu-es in his ignited coals, which exhilarate his fancy. His cat sleeps on the hearth rug, confident of her master, and never dreading the broomstick of the always officious chambermaid ; and the ancient woman who makes up his bed, and prepares his breakfiist, appears before him like one of A bachelor's breakfast. 11 ihose deeming^ old hags of the fairy tale who turn out to be princesses and good spirits in homely disguise." " See now," said I to Ned Bulraer, as Tabitha the cook brought in the breakfa.st things. " See now, the instance. Tabitha is not comely. Far from it. Tabitha never was comely, even in the dap of her youth. Her nose is decidedly African, prononc^ aflef the very worst models. Her mouth, a spacious aperture at first, has so constantly worked upon its hinges for fifty-six years, that the lips have lost their elasncity, and the valves remain apart, open in all weathers. Her entire face is of this fashion. She looks like one of the ugly men-women, black and bearded, such as they collect on the heath, amidst thunder and lightning, for the en- counter with Macbeth. Yet, at a word, Tabitha will imcover the dishes, and enable us, like the old lady in the fairy legend, to fill our mouths with good things. Such is the bachelor's fairy. Take my word for it, Ned, there's no life like that of a bachelor. Con- tinue one, if you are wise. Paula Bonneau is, no doubt, a de- hghtful little picture of mortality and mischief. But so was Pan* dora. She ha.s beauty, and sweetness, and many virtues, but she will fill the house with cares, every one of which has a fearful faculty of reduplication. Be a bachelor as long as you can, and when the inevitable fate wills it otherwise, provide yourself with all facihties for dying decently. Coffee, Tabitha." Such was the rambling exordium which I delivered to my friend, rather with the >iew of discouraging his anticipations than because I really entertained any such opinions. He answered me in a huff. " Pshaw ! what nonsense is all this 1 Don't I know that if you could get Beatrice Mazyck to-morrow, you'd change your blessed bachelorhood into the much abused wedlock." " Fate may do much worse things for me, Ned, I grant you.** I ** It is some grace in you to admit even so little. But don't I you speak again, even in sport, so disrespectfully of the marriage \i T^B dOLDEl^ OiiEtST^iil* condition. Don't I know the cheerleasneas of yoUrs. Talk at your books and ancient philosophers I don't I know that you are frequently in the mood to throw them into the fire; and,, even "while you sit over it, the reveries which you find so delicious, are those which picture to you another form, of the other gender, sit- ting opposite you, with eyes smiling in your own, and sweet lips responding at intervals to all the fondest protestations which you can utter. Tabitha, indeed ! I verily believe the old crea- ture, though faithful and devoted to you, grows sometimes hateful in your eyes, as reminding you of hor sex in the most disagreeable manner ; — -a manner quite in discord to such fancies as your own thoughts have conjured up. Isn't it so, Tabitha ? Isn't Ned sometimes monstrous cross, and sulky to you, only because you haven't some young mistress, Tabitha f ' " I 'spec so. Mass Ned : he sometime mos' sick 'cause he so lonesome y3r. I tell um so. I say, wha' for, Mass Dick, you no get you'se'f young wife for make your house comfortable, an i keep you company yer, in dis cold winter's a'coming. I 'spec its only 'cause he can't git de pusson he want." " True, every word of it, Tab 1 But never you mind. You'll be surprised some day with another sort of person overlooking your housekeeping. What do you think, Tabitha, of Miss Bea- trice Mazyck." "Hush, Ned!" " She's a mighty fine young pusson, and a purty one too. 1 don't tink I hab any 'jection to Miss Beatrice." " Very well ! You're an accommodating old lady. She'll be the one, be sure of it. So keep the house in order. You'll be taken by surprise. Then we shall see very ditlerent arrangementa in the housekeeping hero, Tabby. Do you 8iipix)se that she'd let Dick lie abed till nine o'clock in the morning, and sit up, smoking and drinking, till midnight ?" ^^j " Nebber, in dis world, Mass Ned." ?. i A*SACHELOR^S BREAKJ-ABT* 13 " And, if the power is with her, never in the next, Tabitha. Then, do yoii think she'd sufier a pack of fellows to be singing through the house at all hours — and such singinpr, and such ?ongs." " Nebter guine le' umcome, Mass Ned. Him no guine 'courage dis racket jer at all hours. I tell you for true, Mass Ned, dis house, sometime, aint 'spectable for people to lib in. You no know what de young gentlcmens do here at night, keeping me up or make coffee for urn, sometime mos' tell to-morrow morning." " It's perfectly shocking, Tabitha. She'll never suffer it." "Nebber, Mass Ned." "Then, Tabby, do you think she'd let these tables and chairs )^ so dusty, that a gentleman can't sit in them without cover- ing his garments with dust as from a meal bag." " Sure, Mass Ned, I brush off de tables and chairs ebbry morn- ing." And, saying this, the old woman began wiping off chairs rind tables with her apron. " But she'll see it done after a different fashion, Tabitha. She^ll have you up at cock crow, old lady, putting the house to rights." " Ilem ! I 'spec she will hab for git young sarbant den, for you ^^ see Mass Ned, dese old bones have de rheumatiz in dem." ) "Not a bit of it, old lady. A young wife has no pity on old l>ones. She'll make you stir your stumps, if you never did before. She will never part with you, Tabitha. She knows your value. She knows how Dick values you. She i^ill have no other 8e^^'ant than you. You'll have to do everything, Tabby, even to nursing the children. And, between you and her, the old house will grow young again. It will make you happy, I'm, sure, to see it full of young people, and plenty of company, looking quite smart always ; always full of bustle and pleasure ; every body busy ; none idle ; not a moment of time, so that, when you he down at midnight, to rouse up at daylight, you'll sleep as sound as if you were in heaven.*' > 14 tun GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. "I don't tink, Mas8 Ned, I kin stan' sich life as dat De fac' is, Mass Dick is berry comfortable jist now, as he stan*. He aiot got no trouble. He know me, and I knows him. I n*t se wha* for he want to get wife. I nebber yer him say he's oncom ortable." "Hal ha I hal The tune rather changes, Tabitha. But thi house, as it is, is quite too dull for both you and your master When Beatrice Mazyck comes home, you'll have music. She wil waken up the day with song, like a bird. She will put the day iq sleep with song. You'll have fine times. Tabby— music, and dancing, and Hfe and play." "Wha's people guine do for sleep^ Mass Ned, all dis time. People must hab sleep." The old woman spoke this sharply. Ned laughed gaily, beck- oned for another cup of coffee, and the ancient housekeeper wru for the moment dismissed. " You have effectually cured her of any desire for a mistress,^ said I. i " See how opinion changes," quoth Ned, — " yet Tabitha is no bad sample of the world at large, white and black. Our opinion'* shape themselves wonderfully to suit our selfishness. — Dick, pa'V' me those waffles." I suppose there is hardly any need to describe a bachelor'^ breakfast. Ours was not a bad one. Cofiee and waffles, sardine and boiled eggs, — to say nothing of a bottle of Sauterne, to which I confined myself, eschewing coffee in autumn — these were tlii chief commodities. The table, I must do Tabitha the justice to declare, was well spread, with a perfeatly white cloth, and the edibles served up, well cooked and with a clean and neat Arrange- ment. Edward Bulmer soon satisfied his wolfish ap})etite, and. when the things were removed, it was after nine o'clock. Hii buggy was already at the door. AVe adjusted ourselves, and hav- ing an hour to consume, went over all the afiiiirs c^ the parish, of KINQ-6TREET SHOPPING, AND SHARP SHOOTING. 15 •vhich he had recently informed himself. Now, as every body knows,. St. John's is one of the most polished, hospitable, and in- .^lligeuft of all the parishes in the low country of South-Carolina ; md the subject, to one like myself who knew it well, and who had not been thither for a long time, was a very attractive one. On Xed's account, also, I was desirous of being well informed in all particulars, that none of the proper clues might be wanting to my hands, while conversing with PauLa's granddame. The hour passed rapidly, conning these and other matters, and ten o'ck-ck found us punctually at the entrance of the Mansion House. Our cards were sent in, and, in a few moments, we were in the parlour of that establishment, and in the presence of the fair Paula, and her stately, but excellent granddame, Mrs. , or, considering the race, I should probably say, Madame Agnes-Theresa Girardin. 1 CHAPTER III. } KINO'STREET SHOPPING, AND SHARP SHOOTING. \ Paula Bonneau was as lovely a little brunette as the eye ever rested upon twth satisfaction. Her cheek glowed with the warm fires of Southc*^ youth ; her eye flashed like our joyous sunlight ; her mouth infj)ired just the sort of emotion wliich one feels at seeing a new and most delicioas fruit imploring one to feed and ' be happy ; while her brow, full and lofty, and contrasting with * voluminous masses of raven hair, indicated a noble and intellec- tual na?tu*e, which the general expression of her face did not con- \ tt^^ict.*' That was a perfect oval, and of the most perfect sym- , metiy. 'Tlie nose, by the way, was aquiline, a somewhat curious featurg ip such a development, but perfectly consistent with the ■ bright eagle-dfcting glances of her eye. Paula 'pras, indeed, a i ■ 16 - TBI GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. / beauty, but I frankly confess quite too petite for my taste. Stitl' could admire her, as a beautiful study, — nay, knowing the afr\ ble and superior traits of her heart'and character, I could fove'f little creature also. She was, in truth, a most loveable lii being, and, though she did not inspire me with any ardent attac. ment — perhaps, for the sufficient reason that I had fixed i^} glances on another object — still, I felt no surprise at the passioij with which she stirred the Wood in the bosom of my friend. The contrast between herself^ and her stately grand-dame, was prodigious. One could hardly suppose that the two owed their origin to a similar stock. Madame Girardin wa.s tall beyond tho orainary standards of woman, and very disproportionately slender for her height. She was one of those gaunt and ghostly-looking personages, who compel you to think of fierce birds of prey, such as haunt the shores of unknoNVTi rivers or oceans, with enormous long limbs, long beaks, red heads, and iK>ssibly yellow legs. Her nose was long like her limbs, and tapered down to a point like a spear head. Iler lips were thin and compressed. She could not ; well be said to show her teeth, whatever mijjht bo the fierceness ; of her looks in general. Her eyes were keen and black, her eye browH tliifU, fmv.y mul pn-tty wi'll grl/./Uul, wbilo lu«r lockn wcro long, thin, grizzled also, and permitted rather snakily to hang about her temples. The dear old grandmother was decidedly no beauty ; but she was noble of spirit, high-toned, and of that ster- ling virtue and stern chanicter, which constituted so large a por- ' tion of our fonialo capital in preceding gMicrations. She had lior faults, no doubt, but she was a brave-souled, and generous wo- man. Uer great weakness was her family pride — vanity, j^rhaps, ; we should call it — which made her overrate the claims of her own stock, and correspondingly disj)nrage those of most othe% hou^e- . holds. Like many other good jieojile, who have otherwise very ' good common bcuso, she really pei*Huaded herself that there wil>^ Bomo secret virtue in her blood that made her very unlike, and i ■W* [HO Kixb-STREET BHOPPINO, AND BHARP BHOOTINO, 17 i v«^ superior to other people. Like the Hidalgo?, she set a pi;T)- '^. ; digious value upon the genuine blue blood — perhaps, she even ' esteemed hers as of a supenor verdigris complexion, the result of . ^ continued strainings and siftings, through the sixty millions of generations from Adam. Had she been queried on this subject, ■ perhaps she might have admitted a belief that certain angels had l>een specially designated, at the general dispersion of the human family, at some early }>eriod, to tak^ charge of the Girardins, and to see, whenever the sons and daughters were to be wived and husband^h that none but a bond, fidt first cousin should be found - to meet the wants of the parties to be provided. Enough of this. ^It was her weakness — a little too frequent in our countr}^, where /^society is required of itself to est*ablish distinctions of casie^ such I ^ the laws do not recognize, and such as elsewliere depend upon I Uhe requisitions of a court. Tlie weaknesses of ^fadame Girardin, I (is I have already said, did not prevent her from being a very I worthy old lady, — i. e., so long as you forebore treading upon the toes of her genealogy. Knowing her weaknesses, and forbearing, if not respecting them, I was something of a favourite with the old lady, who re- ceived me very cordially. Such also was my reception at the \ hands pf the young one,— ^possibly, because she knew the part f *that I was Hkely to take in promoting the affaire de coeur between herself and my friend. But I should not impute this selfishness to her. Paula was a frank, gentle creature, who had no affecta- tions — no pretensions — and was just as sincere and generous as inopulsive and unaffected. We had been friends from childhood — \\x childhood at least — had played a thousand times together in thie parish, and I had no reason to doubt the feehng of cordiaUty ich she exhibited when we met. ^fy social position wa«^not \^ as to outrage the self-esteem of either. The Coopers pf tho lalfch — an EngUsh cross upon a Huguenot stock, — seem not to inherited any prejudices of race from either the English or 2* ■•♦ » THI OOLD^If OHnilTMAl. ^ .v.-^^^ * . rencli side of the house. We had consequently provoked none • of the enmities of either. In the ca^e of our family, the amalgam of the two had been complete, and we occupied a sort of neutral place between them, sharing the fnendnhip, in equal degree, of -<.iW>* ^Q descendants of both. Hence, I waw, perhaps, an equal favour- ite of old Major Bulmer, Ned's father, and of Madame Agnes- Theresa, Paula's grandmother. [ But, to our progress. Of course, I took special care of the r grandmother during our morning call. By the most watchful and — hIuiU I say — judicious solicitudo— I kept her busily ongnged on such parish topics as I knew to be most grateful to her pride and prejudices. I got her so deeply immersed in these matters that she entirely forget her duenna watchfulness over the two other persons in the apartment. Of course, I took care not to look t»uine(l - nearly an hour, when the old lady suddenly looked at her watch, and exclaimed — " Why, Paula, child, it is almost eleven. What have you been talking about all this time ?" / Tlio good grandmother, liko most other old ladies, never dreamt ] that she herself had been doing any talking at all. Paula im- j mediately stai-ted, like a guilty little thing, and exclaimed art-' / lessly — / " Dear me, mamma, can it bo possible." 'j " Possible, indeed 1" responded the grandmother rather sharply. *' You young people seem never to think how time flies. But get your bonnet, child. Mine is here." 4 ; The maiden disappeared for a few moments, glad to do so, for. * r. a f i ) KING-STREET SHOPPING, AND SHARP SHOOTING. 19 her cheeks betrayed a decided incrctose of the rich sufTusion which owes its fountains to the excited heart. While she was gone, Ned was most profoundly coiirteous to the ancient lady, and she most courteously cold. "When Paula came back, I asked of Madame Agnes-Theresa — ^\^. " Do you walk, ^ladame Girardin." " Yes ; we have not far to go, only into King-street, where we have some shopping to do." " If you will suffer me," said I, " I shall be happy to accom- * pany you. I have quite a taste and a knack at shopping." '.t A most deliberate lie, for which the saints plead, and the hea- vens pardon me. I know no occupation that more chafes and fetigues me ; but Ned's affiiirs had rendered my tastes flexible and my conscience obtuse. " But it will be taking you from your business. You young lawyers, Mr. Cooper, are said to be very ambitious and very close students." I did not laugh at the old lady's simplicity, though I might have done so ; but answered with corresponding graNity — " Very true, ma'am, but that is just the reason why we relish a Httle respite, such as a morning's ramble in King-street promises. ; Besides, I have really nothing just now to occupy me." f And this said, too, while the Court of Common Pleas was in session. Of course, I did not tell the good lady that I had not a single case on the docket. I suppressed that fact for the honour of the profession, and the credit of the community. The old lady was fond of deference and attention, and, as old ladies are not often so fortunate as to secure the chaperonage of handsome young gcntlemei?, she was not displeased that I should urge upon her my duteous attendance. My services were accepted, and, taking my arm, only looking round to see that Paula did not take that of Ned Bulmer, she led the way out of the parlour and into the m 30 THE OOLDSK CHRISTMAS. ( street From Meeting to King, through Queen-street, was but a ^ step, and we were soon in our fashionable ladies* thoroughfare. The day was a bright and mild one, just sach as we commonly , ' experieace in November, — cooler and more pleasant than usually ^ characterizes the present month of October. The street was | crowded with carriages, and the trottoir with fair and happy ^ groups all agog with the always grateful excitement — to the ?^. ladies — of seeing one another, and — fancy dresses. Our country I cousins were encountered at every turning, and, between town and ^ countiy, we had to run the gauntlet of old acquaintance, and often repeated recognition. It was quite delightful to see how my dignified and venerable companion met and acknowledged the salutations of those she knew. Her demeanour varied with strict discrimination of the casle and quality of each acquaintance. She was a sort of social barometer, exactly telling by her manner, what sort of blood flowed in the veins of each to whom she bowed or spoke. To some few she unbent readily, with a sponta- neous and unreserved and placid sweetness ; to others she was starch and buckram personified, and, to not a few, her look was vinegai* and vitriolic acid. Even where I myself did not know the parties, personally, I had only to notice her manner as they ap- proached, to find the'r proper place, high or low, in the social cir- cles of town or country. Good, old, aristocratic Dame Girardin f was an admirable graduating scale, for detemiining the qualities % of the stock, and the colour of the blood, in the several candidates | foi her notice, as we perambulated our Maiden Lane. See her in contact with a person of full flesh — a ^^arywiM, not yet denuded of vigour by the successive intermarriages o^cousins for an hundred years — and tlie muscles of her face became corrugated like those of an Egyptian mummy, who had been laid up in lavender leaves and balsams, since the time of the Ptolomies ; — but, the next moment, you were confounded to see her melt into sunshine and zephyr, as she encountered some dried-up, saffron-skinned atomy, KINGhSTREET SHOPPING, AND 8HARP SHOOTING. 21 having legibly written on her cheeks, a parchment title to have sate at the board of Methuselah. It was absolutely dselightful. Her comments uj>on the parties were equally rich and instruc- tive. A fine-looking, cheery lady, the well known and very attractive Mrs. , looked out from her carriage window, and smiled and chirrupped to her as she drove slowly by. " A vulgar creature !" exclaimed my ancient companion — " what a coarse voice, — what a fat vulgar face she has. No deli- cacy. But how should she have any ? She pretends to be some- body now, because she has a little money ; but if I. were to say what she was — or rather what her grandfather was — I knew him very well, and have bought my negro shoes from him a hundred times. Tlie upstart. Ah l" — with a deep sigh — " every thing degenerates. Lord knows what we will come to at last. It is a hard thing to find any body of pure blood in the city now 1 Such a mingling of puddles ! This trade 1 This commerce ! I de- clare it's the ruin of the country !" Here I ventured to interpose a word for the fair woman thus hardly dealt with — one of my own acquaintance, whom I had every reason to esteem ; — and I said — " It's unfortunate, to be sure, that Mrs. 's grandfather dealt in negro shoes ; but she seems to have got over the misfor- tune pretty well. She is now every where acknowledged in the best society." " The more's the pity. Best society, indeed. Tliere are half a dozen circles, calling themselves the best society in Charleston, and don't I know that, in each, they are crowded with parvenus — people of yesterday — without any claims to blood or family — de- scendants of Scotch and Yankee pedlars, — mechanics — shopkeep- ers^ — adventurers of all sorts, who have nothing but their impu- dence and their money — made, heaven knows how — to help them forward." ** But," continued I, " Mrs. ■ ' ', is really a very charming 22 THE OPLDBN CHRISTMAS. ( woman — she is very clever, very pretty, and is considered very amiable." " It's impossible. As for pretty, that, I suppose, is a matter of taste ; and I can hardly allow even that. Mere health, and 8mth cheeks, and youth, are very far from constituting beauty. Beauty depends upon delicacy, and symmetry, and — blood. As for clever — I suppose you mean she's smart" « Yes !♦» "Smartness is vulgar. Rank and family don't need to be smart. Talent is necessary to poverty, or to inferiority of social position, since it is, perhaps, necessary that there should be some- thing, by way of compensation, given to persons who are poor and without family rank. But wealth, talent and beauty, even — if all combined — can never supply those graces of manner and character, which are the distinguishing qualities of high birth." " But successive generations in the possession of wealth and talent, my dear madam," I suggested, " must surely result in those excellencies of manner, ta.ste and character, which you pro- perly insist upon as so imjx)rtant." | " Impossible ! Let mo warn you against any such conclusions," responded the old lady, with a parental shake of the head and { finger. ^ " But," said I, " of course, even the most select stocks in the I world, must have had a beginning once, in some of the ordinary ? necessities of life." f " No, sir ; no, Mr. Richard" — almost with severity — " certain ( families have been always superior, from the beginning ! Here now, here comes Colonel . He is one of those, whose families were always, beyond dispute, in the highest circles. Ah I the poor gentleman, how feeble he is — see how he walks, as if about fciUing to pieces." " Yet he is scarcely more than fifty." \ x: f kiKO-STREEt BHOPPIKO, AND SETARP aHOOTlKO. ^3 "At! he is so wretched. He has no children, and ho so loUgS for a son, and his name will probably die out.** . "Yet, he has been thrice mamed.'* ■ "'Yes ! yes ! he first marrieverty and feebleness might have inspired, was all swallowed up in the scorn which I felt for such equal impotence and vanity. " Ah I it's melancholy," said the old lady, as he left us ; " such a name, such a family, so reduced — ^reduced to one, and he, yott may say, akeady half in the grave " '} ^ %i tfiS OOLDSN OUBISTklAS. f I had half a mind to ask the old lady, if she didn't think it \ Would have been preferable had his father married some vigorous ^ young woman of no family at all, and brought up his son to some Inanly occupation; so that he himself might be now vigorous, with / sense enough to marry, in turn, some vigorous young woman, of / no family at all ; having health all round, numerous children to v,^ perpetuate the name, and energies sufficient to p^eser^'e the for* V tune ; — but I felt the danger to the cause of Ned Bulmer, of touch* ing upon ground so delicate ; and, at this moment, the worthy granddame looked about her for Paula and hor companion. In her disquisitions upon the new and vulgur people, and her long talk ^vith the dying Ca^tilian of rare blue blood, she had quite for- go' ten the young couple. They had enjoyed the field to them- selves, and were now not to be seen. The old lady took the alarm. 1 told her they had probably popt into Kerrison's, and we went back to look for them. There they were, sure enough, Paula looking over silks and velvets — a wilderness of beauty, in the am* pie world and variety of the accommodating house in question- but with Ned Bulmer close to her side, whispering those oily de- lights into her ear, with which young lovers are apt to solace themselves and their companions, in this otherwise very cheerless existence. It was evident to me, from the grave fj\ce of the dam- sel, and the conscious one of Ned, that ho had done a large amount of haymaking that morning. Whether the old lady sus- pected the progress which he had made or not, it was not easy to determine. She did not show it, and was soon as much interest- ed in the examination of the various and gorgeous fabrics around her, as any younger person in the establishment, — which, as usual, } * was crowded Uke a ball-room. Kerrison's, indeed, is quite a lounge, \ for the ladies ; — a place where, if you wish to find your friends ' t and acquiiintance, without the trouble of looking them up, •* i you have only to go thither. The deiu" old grandmother soon \ found sundry of hers, of town and country, and was again in httle 1 KING-STREET SHOPPING, AND SHARP SHOOTING. 25 while under full sail over the sea of social conversation — one of those admirable seas, by the way, in which no one gets out of his depth. Of course, when Madame Girardin got as deeply as she could amidst the waters, Ned Buhner resumed his toil upon the meadows at the more sunny and profitable occupation. I loitered at a convenient dister8uade her to a secorid look at them. ", Such shows," said she, " would not have been permitted in my day. Powers, indeed ! He must be a very bad person. But, I have said already, I see what we're coming to. The good old stocks die out, and every thing degenerates. Loose morals, vul- gar fashions, bad manners, and gross, coarse, nameless people, of whom nobody even heai-d ten years ago." A large pictm-e in front arrested her eye. Certain chubby an- gels, suspended in air, were w aiting for the escaping soul of a dyibg martyr. The old lady seemed quite distressed about the angels. Iler criticism would, no doubt, have greatly afflicted the artist. " Why," said she, " they look as if they were going to tumble upon the heads of the people. And well they may ; for the paint- er has made them so fat and vulgar that no wings in the world can keep them up. As if an angel should have fatness. They look as if they fed upon pork and sausages. It's very shocking — , very vulgar. Why, Paula, those angels look for all the world like the great-cheeked, troublesome fat boys of old Oargus, — only he don't let em go quite so bare in cold weather." • Kussoll nearly fainted at this criticism, but he did not despair of tlie old lady, and modestly suggested that he c<;)uld show her something which he fancied would please her better. " Only step back here, ma'am," said he in his most courteous manner. But the dear old Castilian grandmama was not to be inveigled even by the profound bow and gi'aceful smile of our covrtly Bibllopolist. " No ! sir !" quoth she with stately courtesy — " I thank you ; I have seen enough — quite enough. Such things are not grateful to my eyes. I am only sorry that they should please any eyes." I i THE PARISH THE DULMER BARONY. 27 And she looked as if she were about to add — " I have lived only too long." And she nodded her head slowly several times, as if over the wickedness of the modem Nineveh, — by which, of course, you must understand, our poor little city of Charlej^ton. Paula was less sensitive, and of coui-se more sinful. She looked with eajrer eyes at the beautiful busts, hung upon the Psyche, much to the disquiet of grandmama, even contemplated the picture of the hide- ous looking saint, and the vulgarly fat little angels, and, following Russell into the back room was startled into admiration by the ex- quisite ideal of the Escaping Soul. I can't say that she was much impressed by the Transfiguration — certainly not with the tributary scene at the foot of the mountain. But we must stop. It was three o'clock before we had finished the shopping ramble through King-street "When we left the ladies again at tlie Mansion House, Ned Bulmer was quite in high spirits, and full of commen- dations. " You did the thing handsomely, Dick, and I flatter myself I have done the thing handsomely too. Paula does not promise me positively to nm up the flag of independence ; but she has suffered me to see that she will never compel me to commit matrimony "with any body else, or suicide for the want of her. And now for dinner. You take your soup with me to-day, of course. CHAPTER IV. THE PARISH. THE BULMER BARONY. Our scene now changes from town to country — from St Phihp's and St Michael's to St John's, sumamed of Berkeley. Dame Ag- nes-Theresa and Paula Bonneau had taken their departure from Charleston, the second day after our shopping expedition through -0 28 , " T9B GOLDEN 0UBISTMA8. ■t\ King-street I had seen them that night and the next, on both occasions accompanied by Ned Bulmer. I am happy to inform my pleasant public that nothing transpired during those two visits to imdo the favourable results which have been already reported. By dint of the utmost vigilance and solicitude, I contrived to steer wide of the morbid sensibilities of our grandmother, or so to han- dle them as to leave her as amiably soothed as vmder the passes of a scientific magnetizer. Miss Martiueau could not have opera- ted more admirably for the recovery of her favourite dun cow, which all the doctors had given up. The auspices thus favourable, | we beheld their departure for the country with confident anticipa- if* tions, and after the lapne of a week Ned Bulmer followed them. ^' ^ Not, be it remembered, that he proceeded to visit them at Rouge- mont, the plantation seat of the 13onneau family for a hundred { years — so called, because the house was erected on a red clay ^ bank, — but that he went into the same parish, and somewhat in ^ the immediate neighbourhood, trusting to the chapter of accidents, J' — being always in the way — for an occasional meeting with the ^ lovely Paula. As for going straight to Rougemont, even for a morning call, that was a thing impossible. The good old grand- mother, hospitable and courtly as she was, had never honoured him with the slighest intimation that his presence there would bo agreeable. She wiis somewhat justified in this treatment, accord- ing to parish opinion, by the long feud which had existed between the Bulmer and Bonneau families. Ned was unfortunate in his operations, and baffled in all his plans and hopes. It so happened that he never met with Paula, nor could he contrive any mode of communicating with her. The consequence was, that after fruit- less experiments for ten days, he wrote to urge my early coming up. As a strong inducement to me to anticipate the period which 1 had tissigned for my visit, he advised me of the return of Bea- trice Mazyck from the mountains, llo knew my weakness with regard to this young lady, and, though he knew my doubts of /i THE PARISH THE BULMER BARONY. 29 success, and could himself hold out no oncouragcmcnts, his selfish desires prompted him to counsel me to hurry up and look also to the chapter of chances for those prospects which lie could not base upon reasonable probal)ilities. Was it friendship, or my own passion, that moved me to an instant compliance with his request? The reader is j>ermitted to suppose just which he pleases. I push- ed for the parish in three days after receiving his letter, leaving my law office in the hands of my young friend A T ; who so happily divides himself Ix'tween Law and Poesy, without having the slightest misgivings of the jealousy of either mistress. The legal control of my bachelor household was jielded to Tabi- tha, my cook, — who, since the awkward hints of Ned Bulmer, had taken frequent occasions to assure me that the peace of my house was secure only so long as it was that of a bachelor. The Bulmer Barony — for old Bulmer, great-great-grandfather to Ned, had lx»en one of the Barons of Carolina, when, under the fundamental constitutions ascribed to Locke, the province had a nobility of its own — was still a splendid estate, though considera- bly cut down from its old dimensions of twenty-thousand acres. I suppose the " Barony," now, includes little more than four thou- sand. Still, it was a property for a prince, and the present in- cumbent. Major Marmaduko Bulmer, was accounted one of the wealthiest of our landholders. Ho owned some three hundred slaves, of whom half the number, perhaps, were workers. Ned's own property, in right of his mother, was a decent beginning for a pnident man, and ho was looking About for the purchase of a small plantation in the neighbourhood on which to settle, as soon aa his negroes came under his own control. At the " Barony " I was received with such a welcome, as none knows better how to accord than the Carolina gentleman of the old school. Major Bul- mer had been trained in this school, which, by the way, in the low country parishes, was of two classes. There was an English and a French class. The one was distinguished by frankness, the 3* so THE GOLDEN OHRISTMAJb. ♦ other by propriety ; — the former was rough ana impulsive, the latter scrupulous and delicate ; the former was apt to storm, occa- sionally, the latter to sneer and indulge in sarcasm ; the former was loud and eager ; the latter was tinctured witli propriety which sometimes became formality. In process of time, the two schools modified each other ; at all times, they were equally hospitable and generous : fond of display, scorning meanness, and, accord- ingly, too frequently sacrificing, the substantial securities of life, for the more attractive enjoyments of society. This will suffice to give an idea of the general characteristics of the two classes. Ma- jor Buhner was not an unfair spocimen of the former. He did not belong to the modern mincing school of the EngUsh, which has somewhat impaired its manners by graftings from the Continent which sit but awkwardly on the sturdy old Anglo-Norman stock. He was not a nice, staid, marvelloitsly measured old gentleman, who said "how nice!" when ho was delighted with any thing, and hemmed and hawed over a sentence, measuring every word a? if he dreaded lest he should commit a lapse in grammar. On the contrary he was apt to blurt out the words just iis they came uppermost, as if perfectly assured that he could say nothing amiss. So again, instead of the low, subdued, almost whispered tones whicb the modern fine gentleman of England aflTocts, he was apt to be somewhat loud and voluminous — boisterous, perhaps — when a httle excited, and at all times sending out his utterances with a sort of mountain torrent impulse. In a passion, his voice was a sort of cross between the roar of a young lion, and the scream of an eagle darting after its prey. But, the reader must not suppose that Major Bulmer was a sort of American Squir<^ Western. He was no rough, ungainly, sput- tering, swaggering, untrained, untrimmed north country squire, bull-headedly bolting into the circle, and storming and splurging through it, wig streaming and cudgel flourishing on every hand. The Major was a man of force and impulse, but he was a man of THE PARISH — THE BULMER BARONY. SI dignity also. His character was bold and salient — his nature doniandod it — but it had been trained, and in not a bad school. It had the sort of polish which was at once natural to, and suffi- cient for it, and his impulse was not without its grace, and his vehemence was not wanting in the necessary forbearance. No doubt, he sometimes shocked very weak nerves ; and, knowing that, he was not apt to force his way into sick chambers. If the invalid sensibility came in his way, it was at its own peril. vSo much for the Major's morale. Ilis personnel was like his moral. He was large, well made, erect at sixty, with full rosy cheeks, hve- ly blue eyes, a frosty ]X)w, but a lofty one, and ho carried himself like a mountain hunter. On horseback, ho looked like a natural captain of cavalry, and, I have no doubt he would have led a charge such as would have made Marshal Ney clap hands in approbation. The Major met me at the porch of " The Barony." and took A me by the shoulders, instead of by the hands. *' What, Dick, "said he, " what, the dovil ! You are letting hard study and the law kill you up. You are as thin as a cypress pole, and look quite as melancholy. You are pale, wan, and quite unlike what you were two years ago. Then, you could have stood a wrestle with any of us, — now, — deuce take me Dick, if I can't throw you myself." And he seemed half disposed to try the experiment. " But this Christmas in the parish will bring you up again. You must recruit. You must throw those law books to the de\-il. No man has a right to pursue any study or profession which impairs manhood. Manhood, Dick, is the first of virtues. It includes, it implies them all. Strength, health and courage, — these are the first necessities — without these I would'nt give a tig for any >'irtue. It could'nt be useful without it, and a stagnant virtue might as well ^^ be a vice for all the benefit it does society." I report the Major literally. His speech will show the reader i «. 32 THC GQLDSN OnRIfiTMAS. the sort of character with whom ho has to deal. I need not say that I woi* rocoivod at " The Barony," as if I had been one of the household. Miss Janet Buhner, the maiden sister of the Major, a calm, quiet, sensible, and rather pretty anticiue— she certainly had been pretty, and, by the way, had been crossed in love — welcomed me as affectionately as if I had. been her own son. She was the f Major's liouaokeepcr, shared some of his characteristics, if not his prejudices, but was subdued evon to nuH'kiiess in her domeunour. Not that she hud lont '\or spirit ; but its oxcrcsMu hcMoui »»uHi'r<'d provocation. She rescued :ne from the clutches of her brother, and conducted me to my chamber, in what was called the garden wing of the establishment. It was near sunset when I ai-rived, and Ned Buhner was absent ; no one knew whither. He had gone out on hoi*Hub»ick ; I sUMpoct4Hl in what direction. 1 wjui busy at the toilet, adjusting myself for presentiition at supper, when he burst into the room, with a cr}' of joy and welcome. He had a great deal to say, but the report was not favourable. He had not yet been able to meet with Paula. •» But now that you uro egme, my duar frllow, you will call upon the old lady, and convey the necessary message to the young one." All of which I promised. We were yet busy in det^iils when Zack, the most courtly negro that ever wore gentleman's livery, made his aj)pearancc. " Ifuppy to s('ration of an English shooting jacket." ^ "Nonsense ! You arc speaking of the modem English, ^vho are nothing but continental apes and asses. Tlie real old English, lK>foro they became corrupted with iheir paltry aftectations, would i liave scorned such a popinjay fashion. At all event.-*, if you will I wear such a moa^trosity, and disfigure an otherwise good person, \ vo\i are at hberty to do so, but by no French diseases shall l>e employed as a substitute for wholesome human food, at the Barony, while I am the master of it." Accordingly, the supper table of >rajor Bulmer exhibited no im- ]X)rted meats, unless we include in this category a delicious Buft'alo tongue, of which I devoured more than a reasonable man's pro- }K)rtion. Some excellent stuffed beef, part of a round from din- 4 ner, a ham into which the first incisions were that day made, some i cold mutton, which I contend to be a specially good thing in ^ spite of Goldsmith's sneering reference, (in Retaliation,) and a variety besides, made the table hterally to groan under its bur- den ; and the reader will suppose a corresix)nding variety of bread stutfe and cakes, jellies and other matters. Ask Major Bulmer, on the subject, and he would readily admit the doubtful taste of such arrangement and display. " But," says he, " it is the old custom. 1 inherited it — it is sacred as the practice of my ancestors, — and in these days of democracy, whicli threaten to tiUTi the world upside down, in which old tilings are to become new, I do not feel myself at liberty to question the propriety of the few antique fashions which I am permitted to retain. I prefer to incur the reproach of a deficient taste to that of a failing veneration." We did ample justice to the provisions — our api>etito suffering no censure from taste in respect to the arrangements of the tabic. -Jen 80 TBB QOLDKK OilRISTMAS. *''^J^ After supper we adjourned to the Hbrary, — Major Bulmer impro- ving, by the way, upon hw grandfather, having contrived to make a Iiandsome collection of some three thousand volumes, all in solid English bindings (done in New- York) and in massive cases, manufactured out of our native forest growth. These, I am happy to say, issued from the workshops of Charleston. Ilero, with floor finely cari>etcd, books around us for every temper, a rousing fire of oak and hickory in the ample fireplace, and each et us disposed in great rocking chairs, wo meditated through the media of the best Rio Hondos — the Major excepted — who pre- ferred to send up the smokes of Indian sacrifice, from a native clay pipe, which he had bought thirty years before from a Gatawba. *' Life !" quoth the Major, — " Life !" — that was all. The smoke did the rest, and each of us instinctively thought of vapour. " Yes, life is not such a bad thing !" continued the Major. " Nay ! give a man enough to go upon, and life is rather a good thing in its way. Indeed, I am not sure but I would rather hve than not. Somehow, I get on very well. I make good crops, and I have a good appetite. I can back a hoi-se against a regi- ment, and I have a, taste for Madeira. Yet I have had troubles, and cares, and anxieties. That son, Dick, is one of my anxieties. I want to see the fellow married." " I suspect," said I, " that he would hke to see himself married.** " No, indeed !" quoth the Major quickly. " Why, the d 1, should he wish to be married ! What will marriage do for such a fellow. lie is quite too young, yet, to understand its importance. He is too unsettled ! Ho must sow his wild oats first." " He wants tc^ settle ; — and, as for sowing his wild oats. Major, I see no reason why he should not sow them in his own grounds." "Every chap, now-a-days," responded the Major, " before he fairly chips the shell, wants to settle himself as his own master. Ned has the same foolish hankerings. He talks of buying and planting. Why not plant with me ?" «!»> BUPPER AND PHILOSOPHY. 37 " But you, sir, did not plant with your own father. You set up for yourself, if I remember rightly, before you came of age ;'* said Ned, with a chuckle, thinking he had caught the old man between the ribs. " So I did," said he, " and lost by it. I lost, God knows how, eleven thousand dollars in three years." " Tliat was because you were so extravagant," quoth Ned irrev- erently. " Were you to follow my example now." " Get out, you young rascal I Follow your example 1 You are looking at that place' of old Gendron : but you could never wake anything there. It was worn out forty years ago." " I don't tliink it was ever worn at all," answered Ned — " I doubt if it was ever ploughed fairly in its life. The surface was only scratched in those days. ITie good soil yet hes below, and can bring first rate cotton under goo4 cultivation." " And who made you a planter ? What sort of cultivation would you give it, do you think ? Do you suppose I would trust you with a crop of mine ? Don't I know what ^vill come of your , setting up for yourself? In six months you'll be coming to me for money. In a year I shall have to step forward and assume your responsibilities to the tune of two or three thousand dollars, as I did only a year ago." "Well, father, you'll do it?" " Will I, then ? Perhaps — for I'm too indulgent to you by a long shot, and have been ever since I broke your head with that hickory — " " Certainly, a decided proof of your indiilgence I" cried Ned, "with a laugh. " So it was, for you deserved to have not only your head but every bone in your body broken ; but when, in my passion I knocked you down and your blood flooded my best carpet, I thought I had killed you, — as if it were possible to kill such a fel- low by any hurt done to the head — and since then a proper con- 4 :> J^^ '»■»» > 88 THl GOLDEN 0HBI8TMA8. %^. ^*j sideration of my own weight of arm and anger, have made me for- bear Utterly, until now drubbing would do you no Venice. You are ruined, I am afraid, for any future use." "A wife will cure him, Major;" said L ** And perhaps punish him more effectually than anything I can do ; and I shouldn't object provided he could get the righ^ one. But there, again, he is not disjx)scd to do as I want him. He has a hankering after that pretty little Frenchitied huzzy, Paula Bonneau, and thinks I don't see — and don't suspect. An- swer honestly now, Ned Buhner, is it not true what I say ?" " I owTi the soft impeachment, sir ;" was the quiet response of Ned, lightiiig a fresh cigar, apd reversing the position of his ;j,^ crossed legs. ^-<^\ " You own — and what a d d mincing phrase is that. Do you 8U})poso it proper because it is taken from Shaksj)eare. You own it ! AVell, sir, and why do you suffer yourself to hanker after such a woman as that ? Not a woman in fact — a mere child — a , doll — a pretty plaything — more like a breast pin than a woman — a very pretty cut Italian cameo, sir ; but not tit for a wife. What sort of children, sir, do you suppose such a woman can bring you ? Such as will do credit to the name of your family — to the State — able to wield a broad-sword — able to command respect and pro- side with state and dignity in a parlour, or at a dinner table ! Be- sides, Ned, she's French, and we are English, and for a hundred yeai-s there has been an antipathy between our two families !" "High time to heal it, father;" said Ned, tlushed and firing up. "Don't speak unkindly, sir, of Paula l^)nneau. You know, sir, it is wrong — you wrong her jls a lady, young, innocent, intelligent, of good family, and very beautiful. You wrong youi-self as a gen- tleman, l)oastful of family, so to speak ; — and you know it — and feel it, sir. If Paula is petite, as I allow, she is not the less worthy to be the wife of any man, nor will she fail to command respect any where. There's no lady in the parish of better manners, more SUPPER AKD PniLOSOPIlT. 39 di"-nified and amiable, polished and unaffected. As for these old familv antipathies and grudges, I do think, sir, that it's a disgrace to common sense that you should entertain them. "What if she lias French blood in her veins ? So have half the English, and the best half too. Your Normans >vho .conquered England infused into it all the vitality that made the race great. All that their descendants have of the noble and the conquering camo from the Norman side of the hoase. The Saxon was a sullen boor, whose sole virtue Avas his dogged bull-roud of your French tongue at an English court. The fact is, sir, you too much underrate our family, its antiquity no less than its character, in dating only from the prejudices of your great-great-grandsirc in America. It was in his ignorance of his own origin that he imbibed those prejudi- ces, and from his personal rivalries with old Philip Bonneau. It happened unfortunately that his son had a French rival in Paul Banneau, the son of Philip ; and his son again, in your father found an antagonist in the younger Philip. But you, sir, have no such rival, and why you should, discrediting all gallantry, make a woman, a girl, the object of your antipathy, simply to perpetuate the silly personal prejudices of your ancestors, neither justice, nor generosity, nor common sense, can well see I I protest, sir, it is positively a reproach to your manhood that you should thus reli- giously maintain an antipathy, when its object is a sweet, young, artless, and unoffending woman I" ^ Tlie Major was taken all aback. *' Take breath, Ned, take breath, — or let me breathe a little. Well, sir, have you done ?" "Doner ^ 40 THE GOLDEN CHKISTMAS. %>^ . ^ \ — ^^.:» ** By the powers, Dick Cooper, did you ever hear a father so be-rated by a son !" " Really, sir, he proves his legitimacy by the close resemblance of his style to your own." " Good ! — and now Master Edward Bulmer do you suppose that I would not gladly welcome any man-antagonist of the Bonneau family?" "Nobody suspects you of fear, sir; but courage in the encoun- ter with an armed man, and an equal, is not the sole proof of manliness. The courage, sir, which is just and magnanimous, and which shrinks from the idea of wrong-doing, as from death and shame, is the best proof that one can give of a true nobility. How, sir, with your general sense of what is right — >vith your pride and sense of honour, — can you reconcile it to yourself to speak sneeringly aud scornfully of such a pure, sweet, gentle crea- ture as Paula Bonneau — one who has never wronged you— one, too, whom you know to be the object of the most earnest attach- * ment of your son." The Major was disquieted. Ned had caught him tripping. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe — put fresh tobacco in — knocked that out also — then stuck the empty pipe into his mouth, and be- gan drawing and puffing vigorously. Ned, meanwhile, had risen, and was taking long strides across the floor. The old man, at length, recovered his tone. He felt the home trutlis which he had heard, and was manly enough to acknowledge them. He sprang to his feet, with the elasticity of a boy of eighteen. " Ned's right," said he to me, " after all. He's rough, but he's right. Ned, my son, forgive me. I have wounded you more sorely than I meant." His arms were extended, and the son rushed into them. For a moment the Major clasped him closely to his bosom. He was proud of his boy — his only — he knew his real nobleness of charao- flstf- OUR AFFAmS BECOME MUCH COMPLICATED. 41 ter, and he felt how much he had outraged it I felt my eyes suffused at the picture. " You are right, Ned ; but do me not the injustice to suppose that I meant any wrong to Paula Bonneau. She is a good girl, I Tcrily believe, and a pretty one, I am willing to admit — but, Ned, for all that, look you, — you shall never marry her with my con- sent. There — enough 1 Good night, boys." Thus sajing, the Major hurried off, evidently anxious to avoid any more words. " Something gained," said I. " You think so ?" "Decidedly." ** Yet, you heard his last words ?" " It doesn't matter 1 With a magnanimous nature, the convic- tion that it has wantonly done a wrong to another, and the desire to repair it, lead always one or more steps beyond. I should not be surprised if Paula Bonneau grows into favour after a while." " Heaven grant it ; but you are tired. Let us to bed." CHAPTER VI.. OUR AFFAIRS BECOME MUCH COMPLICATED. Ned Bulmer was too eager and anxious about his affaire du cceur to give me much respite. His buggy was at the door soon after breakfast the next morning. " Whither** — asked the Major of his son, — " whither are you going to carry Richard to-day ? Certainly, there is nothing so important as to deny him one day's rest when he gets here." ** I want him to go with me and see this pla-ce of Gendron's I am wilhng to take his opinion of the lands." 4* 42 THIS OOIDEN ORRISTMAfl. ^.'^i *'^* ^^1^ ** Why, what the deuce can a lawj er know of lands P " I shall want him, possibly, to look into the titles and draw up the papers. And as he is something of a surveyor, he can help me to find the lines." Aunt Janet smiled quietly and whispered to me — ** see that you do not trespass upon the lauds of Madame Girardin.'' I saw that our proceedings were no mystery to her, and guessed that she was not unfriendly to Ned's passion. The Major growled meanwhile, and, at length, said — " Don't be persuaded any where at present, boys, for we must get up a hunt to-morrow. Bryce tells mo that there w a fine old buck that haunts the wood down by the Andrew's bottom field ; he saw fresh tracks only this morning. If we turn out early to- morrow, we can start him, and, perha|)s, others. At all events, I am for tr}'ing. We will sec if you youngsters can draw as fine a sight, and pull as quick a trigger, as the old man of sixty." We promised, and the impatient Ned scored, with a flourish, the brown sides of his bay, sending him forward at a fist city trot, which took us to Gendron's — about five miles — in half an hour. Here we drew up and went into the hoiLse wliich was in charge of the overseer. But here we did not linger. After we had got a draught of cold water and had a little chat with the overseer, Ned thrust into my hands a moi-sel of a billet which he had prepared before we left " the Barony," wliich had no address, but was meant for Paula. " Take the buggy and boy, old follow, and >'isit your finend Madame Agnes-Theresa. It is a mile round to the entrance, but the est'ites join, and — do you see yonder pine woods ? They are about eight hundred yards from this spot, but only two hundred from the house at Rougemout. My note says only that I shall be there, and if you can entertain the old lady, so that the young one can make her escape unseen, I am in hopes that she will sufl'er OtJR AFFAITIS TIECOME MUCH COMPLICATED. 43 me to entortain her there for a Reason. Only keep the grand- mother quiet for a good half hour." I was successful ; being so fortunate as to find Paula alone in the drawing-room. I gave her the note, which she was able to read and conceal from the grandmother. I found the old lady in the best of humours, quite satisfied with her own purchases in the city, and particularly pleased with those which I had selected for her. U]>on the raisins, crushed sugar, and almonds, she was espe- cially eloquent, and was graciously pleased to assure me — to my horror — that hereafter she should employ mo to make all her pur- chases of this nature. My judgment was so highly extolled in this matter, that I trembled lest she should conclude by proposing to invest a fmv thousands, and to 'go into the grocery business with me. While she talked, Paula disappeared. Of course, I encouraged the eloquence of the grandmother. I knew the topics to provoke it ; but the reader has already liad a sufficient sample of them, and I will not require him to partake of my annoyances. I was patient, and held on for nearly an hour, until the sweet face of pretty Paula once more lightened the parlour. Of course, I had something to say to her, interrupted, however, by the grand- mother, who shaq^ly rebuked her for leaving me during the whole time of my visit. Paula looked to me with the sweetest gravity in the world, and made the most gracefully evasive apology, which I perfectly understood, though it was by no means satisfactory to Madame Girardin. Invitations from both of them, to renew my %isit, dine, and spend the day, were gratefully jicknowledged, and, shaking affectionate hands, I took my departure. I found Ned Bulmer rather under a cloud. The interview be- tween himself and Paula, under those famous and friendly pines, had not been quite satisfactory to his ardent and impetuous nature. Paula entertained some natural feminine scruples at an intercourse not only secretly carried on, but notoriously against the desires of •^ ^li^" ■H; 44 THE GOLDEN OHRISTMAfi, ' Ji * '. .fee- both tlieir parents. The little creature had shown lierself quite chary and somewhat sad. " I urged upon her " said Ned, " all that I could in the way of argument to convince her that there was a natural limit to parental rights — that parents had no right to oppose their own mere anti- pathies to the sympathies of others — that, to indulge these anti- pathies at the expense of our affections, was a gross and unfeeling injustice — that the right of the parent simply consisted in being assured of the morals and the character of the parties concerned — perhaps, to see, farther, that the means of life were at their com- mand. Beyond thia, I contended, that any attempt at authority was usurpation. I urged upon her, in the event of our parents continuing to refuse, that we sKould marry without regard to their objections. To this, the dear girl positively objected, lliis roused me a little, and I showed some temper. Then she wei)t bitterly and called me unkind, — and I — would you believe it, Dick, I wept too, — I suppose for sympathy, and then she was more distressed than ever. The tears of a man, to a woman, are certainly very awful, or very ridiculous. They either show great ^weakness, or great suffering. Certainly, when Paula saw the drops on my cheek she was positively tenified. But, she was firm still. She would consent to nothing. Dick, — I half doubt if she loves me." " Pooh ! pooh ! you are unreasonable. I don't see what more you could require. She gives you the highest proof of love she can, — and you expect her to tear herself away, in defiance, from her only kinswoman — she who has trained her, protected her, been to her a mother. Nonsense ! you are too fivst ! Patience, we must work upon the rock with vfater. Time ! time, man ! That is all that you want. The game is more than half won when the laay herself Is willing." " But, I see no progress." " That is because you only see through the medium of your Impatient desires. Time, I say ! That is what you require." OUR AFFAIRS BECOME MUCH COMPLICATED. 45 We looked about tho Gendron plantation of course, which Ned "was really disposed to buy, and I gave my opinion in concurrence "with his. This task done, we drove to tho " Barony," and got in in good time for dinner. There were several guests, several old friends, parishioners, and a couple of strangers. The dining-saloon was a large one, and a noble board was spread. The supplies of such a board in the South need no recital. But I may mention that Major Bulmer was famous for his muttons, and he had a choice specimen on table. The ^f adeira of rare old vintage circu- lated freely, and there was no deficiency in the dessert. When the ladies had retired, and we had finished a bumper or two, we adjourned to the libraiy, where we rather drowsed and dawdled away the remnant of the afternoon than conversed. We did not return to the supper table, but coffee was brought in to us where we sate, and after a while the guests departed, leaNing me pledged to several houses in the neighbourhood, for dinner in some, and lodging and a long visit in others. When they were all gone, tho Major brought up the subject of the Gendron estate. " Well, what think you of the tract ?" — this to me. " There is a good deal of uncleared land, pretty heavily tim- bered." " Only five or six hundred acres, I think." " But oak and hickory." " Yes ; but not remarkable. Light, Dick, very light, and sandy." " Better than you think for. There is also some good pine land too." " Not much I fancy. You, perhaps, confounded with it that of the old French woman, Girardin, alongside of it. By the way, did you think to go and see her. She is an old friend of your family, at least, and very exacting. If you did not call upon her, and she hears of you in the neighbourhood, you are out of her books forever." ^ I did call* I left Ned at G^ndron^s, and went over and saw 46 THE GOLDEN ^iJ^RISTMAS. ^ ^ - -t ^' *^ the ladies. Madame Girardin and myself confabulated for an tour. I «aw her in the city, and have fortunately found favour in her sight by a successful selection of groceries, I so pleased her, that, to my horror, she assures me I shall always be permitted to choose her groceries, — the sugars, raisius, citron, almonds, &c., in parti- cular." " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Wliat a creature ! Yet she has some good points. She is a ftist friend, and hates like the devil ! And I call these the inevitable companion-virtues, as clearly indispensable to each other as good and evil in the world. AVhat a bunch of pre- judices she is, tied up like a bundle of vipers in a hole throughout the winter. I l>elieve she hates every thing English." I smiled in my sleeve, and was about to add, — " as you hate every thing French," — but in truth, Major 13ulnier's prejudices did not amount to hates. There wius really no passion in them at all. He had simply imbibed certain habits of speeeli, — perhaj»s certmn prescriptive thoughts — nay, notions would l»e the better word — and simply stuck to them as persons of insulated life will naturally do, wanting that attrition of intellectual society which rubs otT sali- ent angles, and deforming protuberances. It struck me, however, while thinking thus indulgently of the Major's prejudices, that it might l>e no bad j)olicy to show up those of Madame CJirardin in their true coloui-s. His dislike of her would perhaps enable him to see how equally loathsome and ridiculous Is the indulgence of a blind, insane hostility to things and persons of whom, and which, we really know no evil. Accordingly, I was at })ains to report the conversation which was liad between the old lady and myself in our shopping expedition, in which she emptied so freely her bag of gall upon trade and tradesmen, parvenus and clever peoi)le. I did not spare her, you may be sure, an[ajor and myself were lingering over our cigars, and a hot vessel of whiskey punch. Ned had disaj>pcarcd purjxwely, in order that I might have every -op- portunity of subduing, if that were jx)ssible, the asperities and ob- jections of the old man. " You are mistaken, Mnjor," said I, in reply, " in your opinion of Paula Bonneau. She shares in none of the prejudices of her grandmotlier, which she properly regards as most unhappy weak- nesses. She is, herself, as liberal and intelligent a young woman as you will find in the country, noways arrogant or presumptuous, noways conceited or bigoted, and I believe quite as much an admi- rer of the English as of the Iluguenot stock. Nay, the very favour with which she regards Ned seems to me quite conclusive on this point" " Favour with which she regards Ned r exclaimed the ^lajor. " "Why you don't mean to saj it has got to that ? You don't mean r f n' 46 THE OOLDEK 0BBI8TlLi8. • to tell me that they have already come to an understanding — that Ned has been so d d precipitate as to propose, knowing my objections, and — " Here he started to his feet, clapt his doubled fists into his ribe, and stood, arms akimbo, confronting me as if prepared for a regular engagement. 1 saw that I had been guilty of a lapse — had gone a step too far — and must recover. " By no means," I answered with laborious coolness and delibe- ration, stirring my whiskey punch and blowing oflf the smoke. "That Paula favoured Ned is only a natural conclusion from her demeanour when they meet, and from tlie manner in which she speaks of him and of yourself. She looki as if she might love him, and speaks very kindly to and of him." " Oh that is all, is it ! and well she may love him, and perfectly natural that she should dosire him for a husband, for a better fel- low and a better looking fellow — though his own father I make bold to say it, — is nowhere to be found between the Santee and the Savannah. And she, too, is a clever girl enough, in her way, I do not doubt. I don't deny that she is pretty, and people every where say tliat she is amiable and intelligent ; but neverthe- less she is not the girl for Ned. She is too small, Dick ; thf t is one objection." " Kuther a recommendation, I should suppose, if, according to the proverb, a wife is, at best, a necessary evil." "What! of evils choose the leiist. But the smartness of the saying don't prove the philosophy to be good. Still, the objection of size might be overcome, if there were others not also insupera- blu. Tlierti'ii cmr fmully prejudieo, Diek, nj^uinnttho rnrc." " Certainly — that objection could not be more impressively urged than by Madame Girardin, speaking of the English !" " Confound her impudence. But there's no sense, Dick, in that. Iler prejudices against the English, indeed ! What an old fool. Prejudices against the noblent people that God ever crea- 4 OCR AFFAIRS BECOME MUCH COMPLICATED. 49 ^, ted, and whom he created to be the toasters of the world, — the true successors to the Romans." " That's just what she thinks of the French." " Pshaw ! the stubborn old dolt Dont bring her up to toe, Dick Cooper. The antipathy of the English to the French is based upon reason and experience. That of the French to the English is the natural result of fear and hatred, as the whipt dog dreads the scourge that has made him writhe and tremble. But, putting all this matter aside, Dick, there is still a better reason for my opposition to this passion of my son. The truth is, — and, for the present, this must be a secret between us, — I have already chosen a wife for Ned — " " The d 1 you have 1" I exclaimed, starting up in my tunii " No I But an angel I have ; one of the most lovely creatures in the world — the very ideal of feminine beauty — a noble person, an exquisite skin, the sweetest and most brilliant eyes, lips that would make the mouth of a saint to water, and persuade an an- chorite perpetually to sip, — and, — but enough, llie woman upon whom I have set my eyes for Ned is, I hold, the perfection of woman !" " And pray who is she ?" I demanded, somewhat curious to know who could have inspired the Major with such raptures. " Who ! Can you doubt Why, man, Beatrice Mazyck, to be sure !" It was my turn to be confounded. Beatrice Mazyck ! I tvae staggered. You could have felled me with a feather. Beatrice Maz}'ck I My heart whirled about like the wheels of a locomo- tive. Beatrice Mazyck ! What, the d 1, thought I, can the Fates be about ? What do they design ? What should put this notion into Major Bulmer^s head, for my particular disquiet — per- haps defeat and disappointment His wealth, his rank in the parish, his son's personal claims, — all rushed through my brain in 50 THE OCLDKN CBRI8T1IA8. a moment, filling me with terror, and seeming conduaive of my own fate. I showed my consternation in my face. " What's the matter with you, Dick, — you seem flurried ?** " Notliing, I thank you. Major ; only I fancy this whiskey punch U a triflw iuo nirou^ for my brain." " Too strong ! Too weak rather 1 Why, man, when I was of your age, we made no mouths at a pint of such Hquor as that A liquor which would laugh to shame all the nectar that the Greek gods stored away in their Olympian cellars. But the young men of this day are more milksops. They ha^e no heads — I may add no hearts also — such as thoy had when I was a boy. But what say you to Beatrice Mazyck ? Don't you approve of my choice ?" The speech of the Major on the days of his youth, the strong heads and better hearts which they tlien enjoyed, afforded me time to recover from my conwt<.'rnatioii.. I folt that it Has necessary for me to clothe myself in all my stoicism and meet the danger with becoming fortitude. I succeeded in the etfort, and said — *' But, Major, how do you reconcile ii to your EnffUsh prejudices to think of Bt'jitnce. ' Sho's aw much French a« Puulu 1" "Hem- 1 — yon! — not exactly. She has French blood in her veins, I grant you. But she is decidedly nut French. The Fug- lish predominates. Look at her figure. How thoroughly Eng- lish. What a noble stature — what a fine bust — how well devel- oped everywhere — then her face is Saxon — her skin fair, her eyes blue, her hair auburn — English all over 1" 1 laughed, in spite of my disquiet, ut the ease with which preju- dices may be overcome, when there's a will for it. *" You have reasoned yourself very happily into a new convic- tion, Major." " Well, sir, and how should a man acquire new convictions, but through his reason. I claim to be a reasoniiig animal. Now, what objection liave you to Beatrice Mazyck T' ^■ OUR AFFAIRS BECOME MUCH COMPLICATED. 61 " For myself, none ; but for Ned — " " Well, sir, for Ned ? What objections do you make to her as a wife for Ned ?" " First, then, I fancy ho does not desire her." " He's a fool, then, for his pains — but he will desire her, if his eyes can be reasonably opened. And you, my dear Dick, must assist me in becoming his occulist." " Me, sir !-^me, Major 1" " Yes, you 1 Why not ! Why do you look so amazed at the suggestion ? You are the very man to do it ! You are Ned's friend — his confidant, his counsellor, — I may say his oracle. Give me your assistance, and we shall soon contrive to persuade him that Beatrice is worth a hundred of his little French Paula." " But, Major, suppose Beatrice should not altogether favour the arrangement. What docs she say about it ?" " She will favour it, I'm sure. Ned's not the fellow to sue for a lady's smiles in vain." " Do you build solely on this. Has Beatrice been sounded on the subject ?" " Not yet, but she will be. Her mother favours it" " Ah ! — well, sir ; — I am not sure that I can, for two reasons at least." " Indeed ! — well I — wrhat are they." ' " Firstly, m I said before, I'm pretty certain that Ned will never consent to sul)atituto Paula for Beatrice. Ho will never love Bea- trice. Secondly, my dear Major, I want Ikatrice for myself." " The devil you do 1" exclaimed the Major aghast, starting to his feet, and seizing me by the shoulder. " Richard Cooper,— do you really mean it ? — are you ii> earn- est" " As a prophet, sir." ** You love Beatrice Mazyck ?" 52 THE GOLDEN 0HKISTMA8. " From the bottom of iny heart I have loved her for two years." " And she ?"— " I have never approached her on the subject, sir." " Then you are both uncomnaitted ?" . . " Entirely — ^to each other." ** But has any thing served to encourage you, Dick ?" " Nothing, sir, which a merely reasonable man would construe into a hope. I have sometimes fancied that she was not indiffer- ent to me, and I have perhaps estimated her looks and words as significant of more than I could define or assert. But, beyond this, which may be wholly in my imagination, I have nothing upon which to found a hope." " But, Dick, even did she favour you, are you in a condition to marry ? She is not rich, you know, and you — ^" " Less 60 ! But that. Major, is a sufficient reason why we should both assert our independence. Poverty must not always stand upon ceremony. But, I frankly tell you, Major, were Bea- trice willing, I should fearlessly venture upon matrimony with all its perils and expense I" The old man strode the room with cloudy forehead and irregu- lar motion. I, meanwhile, lighted a fresh cigar, and suffered my head to subside heavily between my shoulders, while I gazed into the fire sullenly, Ijrooding upon newly aroased anxieties. After a while, the Major stopt in his walk, and confronted me : " Dick, my boy, this is devilish unfortunate. You know my friendship for you, Dick, — my love for you, in fact, — for, in truth, I feel for you, next to my own boy, as if you were my own son. You rank next after him. I loved your father, — we were bosom friends, and stood beside each other in many a fight and frolic, even as you and Ned would, I am sure, stand up for each other. I would do a great deal for you, Dick, xuid should be glad to see you happy with the woman that you love ; but Dick, my heart is ^^ OUR AFFAIRS BECOME MUCH COMPLICATED. 63 set upon this marriage between Beatrice and Ned. I must do all I can to promote it. I can think of no other woman for him, and, in fact, have committed myself to her mother. But, Dick, it shall be fair ]>lay between us. All shall bo open and above board. You will say nothing to Ned of my present objects, as I can now not hope that you will say any thing in their favour ; but I give you notice, my boy, that I shall now go to work in earnest. What you have so frankly told me compels me to anticipate as much as pos- sible, and to urge, as rapidly as I can, an affair about which I had meant to be deliberate. You, meanwhile, will do your best, and if you can v^-in the girl, in spite of all that I can do for Ned, then it will prove that she is the proper person for you ; and your success shall be as satisfactory to me as to yourself. Nay, further, Dick, if money can help you to a start in the world with Beatrice, you shall have it. I can spare to you, without making bare myself, and Ned, I'm sure, will do his part. Do your devoir, therefore, my boy, with all your skill and spirit, as I am in honour bound to do mine, and, as the old judges cried out in the courts of chivalry, ' God defend the rijjht !' What's the old Norman French of it ? But, d — n the French of it I The English is good enough for my purpose ! Go ahead bravely, — there shall be no want of money, Dick, for your progress, and we shall both equally acknowledge that vital maxim to which our English ancestors owe, perhaps, nine-tenths of their successes — ' fair play !' " The old man seized my hand, and shook it with a sternly sincere emphasis. I answered the grasp with like fervour, but I could say nothing. I was very deeply touched wth his nobleness and generosity. Certainly, with all his prejudices, the Major is one of the most noble specimens of modem manhood. " And now, Dick," said he, " to bed. Finish your punch, and we'll be off. We must rise by daylight for the hunt to-morrow, * This day a deer must die ? " And he went off humming the ballad. 6* '•■'*•■ -'J- 54 THB OOLBBK CHRISTMAS CHAPTER VII. " Bucks have at ye a\\."^Old Song. At dawn the horns were sounding, and the beagles yelling all around the premises. Major Bulmer had a noble pack of hounds, thirty in number. This was one of his weakness^ — he was ambi- tious of keef»ing up the old practice of his grandfather, — to say nothing of his English authorities, — although circumstances had quite changed. Ours are no longer the vast forests that they were prior to '76. The swamps are no longer inaccessible, and the population, greatly increased, give the deer no respite. According- j ly, they are terribly thinned off, and it is quite an event when an i overseer or driver can say to the planter, " there's an old buck j about," — or, " there's tracks of deor in the peaiield." AMiat a | blowing of horns follows such an annunciation ! What a chorus t of dogs ! What a mustering of Mantons and full-bloods. There | is no slumbering thence, for the household, till we have " got the | meat 1" "This day ^ deer must die !" cried Ned Bulmer, booming I into my room before the sun had fairly rubbed his eyes for a rising, ;;! echoing the burthen which had sounded la«t in my eai-s, when I "^ lay down to sleep. I was upon my feet in the twinkling of mi eye, for, though a bookworm of late, and a c'lty lawyer, I had been once a famous fellow ibr the cluise, was a free rider, a good shot, and altogether a good deal cf a hunter. It had been a pjtsito direction. I concluded he had got it, but could not afford a second glance, as I caught sight of a couj>le of does following steadily his course, though a little nearer to me than he had been when I first shot, and almost in the same line. I had another barrel, and bestowed it successfully. Down dropt one of the brown beauties, and I sounded. The d >gs, meanwhile, began to glimmer, on full foot, through the leaves. My hoi-se was hitched twenty feet behind me. It took but a nnnute to unhitch and cross him, and I pushed for my victims. In a few momenta the M'^.jor came dashing up, hke a fiery boy of eighteen, shouting out — *' Well, Dick, what's the sport. I fancy you've wasted lead, for I gave it to the old buck that passed you, and I never miss. But you emptied both barrels." " Here's one of my birds," I answered, pointing to the doe, from which we drove off the dogs, setting them on the track of the old buck, who had shed a gill of the purple fluid within fifteen steps of the place where the dead doe lay, ♦ BUCKS, HAVE AT TE ALL." 67 " Do you see that, Major," I said, pointing to the crimson drop- lets still warm upon the yellow leaves of autumn. " Yes," said he, " a mortal hit ! frothy ; from the lungs ! Push on, Benbow, or the dogs will tear the meat. But I am sure that he carries my lead also. I never missed him, Dick ; couldn't do such a thing at my time of life." "Well, sir, we'll see.- I can tell you, when the buck was near- ing me, he didn't show signs of hurt ! There may have been two." " No ! only one ! I've surely hit him. I'll stake a cool hun- dred on it." And we rode forward, Ned joining us meanwhile. The deer had left him entirely to the right. He had seen nothing of either. "We soon found the old buck, just dead. The shot that killed him was mine, given directly behind the right fore-quarter, as he pushed obliquely from me. But the exulting Major discovered other button holes in the jacket of the beast, to which ho laid confident claim. It was not a matter which could be proved, so, according- ly, it was not exactly the matter to be discussed. We all readily recognized the claim of the old man to have certainly made his mark, if he had not exactly made his meat. It was admitted, however, to be quite a feather in my cap, that, fresh from the dingy chambers of the law, and the ponderous volumes of the frosty wigs, I should still have had my nerves and senses in such good training for the sports of the field. " The law has not spoiled you for a gentleman and a hunter yet," quoth the Major encouragingly. " And that is saying something ; for many's the pretty fellow whom I've known it ruin for all pro- per purposes." Our hunt was over by two o'clock, and our game bagged. When we reached " the Barony," we found it full of guests. Se- veral fine spirited fellows were there, the Porchers, Ravenels, Cordes, and others, as guests to dinner ; and they were all full- ■>*,..; ■ ' ' * 58 THE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. --^^.•^> . '^^^Z ' ■ mouthed in their reproaches that they had not been summoned to the hunt. We made up a party for another day, and adjourned to dinner. Night found us still at the table, for the Major's wines had a proverbial smack of ancient magic. They were such as Me- phistophiles himself could scarcely have mjvde to spout out from the best timber in" the Black Forest. Whist that night, and whis- key punch in the hbrary, kept us busy till twelve, when, by com- mon consent, we called in Morpheus to hght us to our chambers. CHAPTER VIII. INTRIGUE AND LOVE SHUFFLING THE CARDS. Days and nights pass with singular rapidity at a southern plan- tation. Visitor succeeds to \isitor, dinner to dinner, and every day is employed, during the winter holidays at least in preparing for the recreation of its successor. What, with old acquaintances to be seen, and the promotion of Ned's affair^ I was incessantly em- ployed. Besides, the Major's circle was perpetually full ; and I was fi-equently detained at "the Barony" engaged in seeing visi- tors, when both Ned and myself desired to be abroad. The day after the hunt, after mjiking a circuit and two or three calls, we found ourselves, at one o'clock, once more at the Girardin estate, where I left my friend, to make another s\Ai to the stately Ma- dame Agnes-Theresa. Ned, meanwhile, wandered off to the grove between the two places, an anxious waiter upon that friend- ly Providence which is supposed generally to take the affairs of love in hand. Talk of true love's course not running smoothly 1 The fact is, that, after certain consideration and a certain experi- ence, I am assured that few true lovers ever have much reason to complain. Love has an instinct in discovering its proper mate, ** iNXniOUE AND LOVfi — SHUFFLINO THE CARDS. 69 and suppose there are obstacles ? These really heighten the charm of pursuit, and increase the luxuries of conquest. Stolen fniit is proverbially the sweetest, and stolen kisses are such as the lips never quite lose the taste of. The first kiss lingers in memo- ry, softening the heart to fondness, even after the time has passed ■when any kiss affords a pleasure ; and, to man or woman, I sus- pect, ho or she who has first taught us the subtle and delicious joy of that first kiss, is remembered ^vith a sense of gratitude, even when there is no warmer emotion inspired by the same person. To Ned and the lovely Paula, I am pei-suaded that the stolen in- torN-iews which I succeeded in procuring them, will be among their dearest recollections in after days. Not that dear little Paula ever crept away to that grove without fear and misgiving. She wa<*n't sure that it was right to do so; but that did not lessen the pleasure of the thing. Again and again they met, and the child murmured, and sighed, and wept, and was made happy through all her fears and tears. And Ned was happy too, though he al- ways came back growling from the inter\iew. It was always so phort. Paula was always in such a hurry to break away 1 Cer- tainly, make them as happy as you plea'^e, you cannot easily make young lovers contented. He who steals the fruit, is always sorr}' to leave the tree behind him. Enough, that on this, as on the preceding evening, I was quite successful in beguiling the grandmother with long discourse, thus affording Paula an oppor* tunity to steal away and meet her lover. Do not be angry with her, ye prudes who have survived these sympathies of seventeen. You have done likewise, every one of you, in turn, or, if you have not, the merit of forbearance was none of yours. You would have done so, loving with the innocent fondness of Paula, and with such a manly and noble swain as Ned Bulmer to pei"suade you to the groves. Well, they met, and mingled sighs and pro- mises of fidelity ; but in vain did Ned entreat his beauty to a clandestine marriage. Believing that he should never conquer 60 TBB OOLt>IN ORRtSTMAS* the prejudices of bis father, or subdue the stubborn pride of Mv dame Bonneau, Ned was thus desperate in his projects. But sweet little Paula was firm on this subject " I will never love any but you, Edward — never marry any but you — but cannot consent to a secret marriage." " But they will always oppose us, Paula 1" said the lover, vehe- mently. " Then I must die !'* murmured the maiden, with her head drooping on his bosom. And then he protested that she should not die ; that he would sooner die himself ; nay, kill a great many other people, not omitting the obstinate grandmother, and the cruel father, and many other desperate things ; all of which dear little Paula begged him not to do, " for her sake," — and for her sake only, he magnanimously consented to forbear these bloody performances. But why linger on the child prattle of young lovers — so sweet but so simple ; so ridiculous, to our thoughts, as we grow older ; yet so precious and full of meaning when we took part in it, and in wliich the heart never becomes quite too old to partake, when ever the opportunity and the object are af- forded it. At last they separated, with the sweet kiss, and the as- suring promise of fidelity ; botli believing implicitly as if specially guaranteed by heaven. Paula reappeared, and relieved me of my friendly drudgeries with grandmamma, suffering the same re- buke, as before, for her disappearance. The next day, the Major, Ned and myself, rode over to Mrs. Mazyck's, about four miles dis- tant, to make our obeisance. Our readers know what are the objects of the * Baron.' Ned, already, I fancy, suspected the de- signs of the father, from the j)ains he took to discour^ige them. But, supposing me ignorant of these designs, and knowing my passion for Beatrice, he was scrupulously careful to avoid the sub- ject. His deportment, when we met the ladies, gave me no occa- sion for jealousy. We spent an hour with them, and the Major, devoting himself to the mother, left the field to us wholly, so far LOVE AND INTRIGUE — SHUFFLING THE CARDS. 61 a«? the young lady was concerned. Ned, in a degree following his father's example, now left the field to me, and strolled off from the parlour into the Hbrary, giving me sufficient opportimity to play what card I pleased in the game. When the Major and Mrs. Mazyck returned from the garden, whither they had gone to trace the progress of certain rare seedlings in the hot-house, they found Beatrice and myself alone together. The mother looked grave, and the Major impatiently asked afkr his son. Of course, neither of us knew where he was. — When he was hunted up, we found him stretched, at length, on the sofa in the library, enveloped in the most downy em- braces of sleep. The Major roased him Avith a fierce shako of the shoulder, and looked at him with the scowl of a thunder- storm. Ned took the whole affair very quietly ; and we mounted our horses a few moirients after. When fairly off, and out of the gates, the old man blazed out with his volcanic matter. " A d — d pretty puppy you are, sir, to go to sleep when visit- ing a lady I Do you Dot know, sir, how much I respect Mrs. Mazyck, sir ?" " Well, sir, so do I, but you took her off yourself. You did'nt leave me to entertain her. I had reason to bo jealous, sir, of your attentions." " Jealous I The d — ^1 ! But I left you and Dick to entertain the young lady, sir." "And I assure you, father, that Dick, is perfectly adequate to the task alone. I felt that I should be de trop^ " De — what I why the devil will you abuse my ears with that atrocious lingo ? Leave it ofi^ sir, if you please ; in my hearing, at least I repeat, sir, you treated Miss Beatrice with marked dis- respect" " You are quite mistaken, sir. I treated her with marked con- sideration. Ask the question of herself, and she will tell you that she greatly appreciates the attentions which I paid her. Be 6 '* » <■ 62 THE GOLDEN OQRlSTMAS. ■'> .. # . assured, she has no sort of cause for, or feeling of, disappoint* ment" ''' ** Blockhead I you know not the mischief you do by this con- duct." " Indeed^ sir ! Pray how ? Anything serious ?" " Puppy r* exclaimed the complimentary sire, looking at me with a glance, as if to say — " what a beautiful game of mine does the fellow strive to spoil," — but he forbore his speech, and only used his spurs ; driving them into his horse's flanks, and setting off at a canter that soon left us far behind him. " Let him go, Dick, while we quietly jog on, and do the civil thing to one another. Dad is by no means in a complimentary mood to-day. The truth is^ he is for making up a match between Beatrice Mazyck and myself^ but that match won't bum, mon ami. I see what he's after, and must prepare for the explosion. It will blow out, and blow over, before many days." When we got to " the Barony," the Major was no where to be seen. He had retired to his chamber to soothe his anger by a temporary resort to solitude. " But," says Ned, " solitude was never a favourite passion with him ; and we shall have liim down upon us directly. Meanwliile, let us have some wine." We had just filled our glasses v/hen the old man, sure enough, made his appearance. He was cloudy, but no longer savage. He treated me with rather marked civilities, which I did not exactly hke ; but for Ned he had very few words. Dinner brought him soothing ; and that night, when Ned left us together, as he thought it his policy to do, the ^*ajor recovered his wonted kindness and frankness, over a hot glass of whiskey toddy. " Thai boy put me out to-day, Dick, as he gave you all the chances. Of course you made the best use of them. I confess it makes me &ngry. His reluctance spoils a favourite plan. I don't despair of him yet, and the game will need to be played LOVE AND INTRIGUE SHUFFUNO THE CARDS. 63 frequently, before it finishes. You have made a point in it ; and I could almost say that I am glad, for your sake, that you have. Certainly, Dick, though you may see me ruffled with that cub of mine, in this matter, don't suppose that I shall ever feel any un- kindness towards you. Go ahead, as I said before. There shall be * fair play' between us." Such was the purport of our chat that night, the Major get- ting over his moody humour before he had entirely got through his toddy. And so, day and night went by in rapid succession ; society daily ; the hunt, the dinner, the visitor, and, I confess, the nightly potation, sometimes with larger Hberties than are usually accorded by the just Temperance standards. Another morning call upon Madame Girardin, which she received only as my own proper tribute to herself — proof of my good taste and good sense, and her acknowledged rights — and then came a formal invitation to the widow Mazyck's on a certain evening, by which we knew that a grand party was intended. Ned smiled, as the billets were handed in by the waiter. " Miching malico !" quoth he. " The fight thickens, Dick. — It will soon become highly interesting. Well ; wo shall go of course. I have a faith in parties, and some taste for them. I love dancing, and I shall find Paula there, who is an angel on the wing on such occa<*ions. I mean to be quite attentive this time, 80 that Dad shall have no reason to complain. Whether I shall altogether please him by the sort of person I shall choose, on "whom to bestow my attentions, is a qiiestion which he may re- solve for my benefit, or his own, hereafter." When, an hour after, in the library with the Major, he showed me his invitation, and said — " Well, Dick, here are the chances for both of us. I shall have a talk with Ned, and try to spirit him on to his duty. He can't al- together neglect the lady ; and when he sees Beatrice in contrast with his .little Frenchified puppet^ I am in hopes that he will see *0« 64 THE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. her somewhat with your eyes. At all events, Dick, if we are to be beaten by you in the game, it will be some consolation to me that you are the successful player. But I shall do my best to thwart you, my boy, if I can, so long as it is possible to do any thing for Ned. But all in love, Dick, be assured ; nothing in mahce !" And with a warm and friendly gripe of the hand, we separated for the night CHAPTER IX. '• Let me help you to a wife, sir.** " Help yourself, •ir.*' — Old Play. Let us suppose the time to have elapsed, and the night to have arrived for the party at Mrs. Mazyck's. "We set out an hour by sun for her place, the Major and Ned taking the buggy of the latter, while I accompanied Miss Bulmer, the maiden sister of the former. The Major contrived this arrangement the better to in- form his companion, along the way, touching his wishes, and the particular deportment which he expected of the latter, when he had reached the scene of action. He had, during the day, been sho^ving me, in part, what ho meant to say to Ned; painting Beatrice Mazyck to me in the most glowing colours, and evidently memorizing, for future use, certain wonderfully flowery phrases, which he had recalled from his early reading of such poets as had been popular in his day. He was as impatient for the hour of starting as myself, and we set off, all of us, under some excite- ment ; Ned anticipating all that he should hear ; the Major anx- ious to be delivered of his eloquence ; Miss Bulmer thinking of large revenues of parish chit chat ; and I, shall I confess it, eager "let MB faELP YOU TO A WIFE, em," 66 for the meeting with one whom I yet approached with fear and trembhng, no less than love ! Ned and his father followed us, the latter having delayed his movements purposely to suffer the carriage to go ahead. To my friend, subsequently, J owed a full account of the conversation. * The Governor,' said he, 'began vvith a long exordium, intend- ing to show me that he had lived solely for my happiness and not for his own. To hear him, one would suppose, that, but for the well-beloved son, he would have been better pleased to lie down in the grave in peace. Yet no man loves a good dinner more sincerely, or smacks his lips after a glass of madeira vvith a more infinite sense of prevailing thirst. To see me happy and successful — to see me well married, in brief^ before ho died — was to him the only remaining desire of his life. He asked me almost sternly, if I did not believe the marriage state, the natural and proper state of man ? I told him — as I really thought — ' and ot woman too.' 'No jests, Ned,' said he, 'the subject is a very serious one.' ' Even gloomy I should say, sir, judging from your visage and tones at this moment. Really, sir, if you look so wretched on the subject, I shall l>e frightened forever from its con- sideration.' ' Pshaw ! you are a fool,' said he, ' it is so far serious as the subject of human happiness is the serious question of hu- man life.' ' Don't agree with you I', said I. ' I don't see that we've any need to bother our brains with such a subject. The business of mortal life is not happiness, if it be true thiit our busi- ness is the establishing of a right to happiness hereafter. I sup- pose it is the proper question for mule, horse, cow or dog, which have nothing but the present to take care of; but is clearly not the one for us.' * And what is the question for us, Mr. Philoso- pher ?' * Clearly duty P * Precisely,' quoth the Governor, ' and is it not your duty, at a certain time in life, to get yourself a wife V ' Tol- erable rhyme enough,' said I, * no matter what may be the value of the philoeophy.* * Don't vex me, Ned,* said he, *but speak seriously. 6* ^^^ -'«,.' 60 THX OOLOXK OHltieTMA0. "^ .^ Don't you conceive it to be your duty, now tbat you are twenty- one, or near it, to be looking about you for a help-meet V * Or a help-eat meat — ^which I take to be the more appropriate phra&e usually.' * You are enough, sir, to vex Saint Francis ? Can't you answer a straight question V ' How can that be a straight ques- tion which concerns a Wo T * A\Tiat a vile attempt at wit ! A punster is always a puppy !' * And if so a physician !' * Why, sir?' *He deals in hark P *Phhaw, Ned! Have done with that, and answer me like a man of sense. I tell you that I am very serious. I contend that you ought to be thinking of a wife.' /Well, sir, I have given you to understand that I Aavebeen think- ing of one.' ' WHiat ! that little Bonneau ! But that's out of the question, I tell you. I will never consent to any such folly. Let me choose a >vife for you ?' * Really, sir, that's almost as reasona- ble a demand as if I had claimed the right before I was born to have chosen my own mother. I protest, sir, I hold it abominable that, not content with choosing for yourself, you should also assert the privilege of selecting for me the mother of my children. Don't you think, sir, that you might just as reasonably make it a requi- sition in your will, that your grand-children, male or female, shall only marry persons of a certain figure — measured proportions, de- fined temperaments, colour of hair, and skin, form of chin and mouth — all accurately described V 'And it would bo a devilish sight better for the race, could the thing be done. We should then have fewer puppies and dolls to destroy the breed in noble families. But to the point. I tell you, sir, you must think no more of this little Frenchwoman.' ' Frenchwoman, sir ! \Miy Paula Bonneau is as much an American and a South Carohnian as yourself.' ' The Americans are not a race, sir. As for the South Carolinian^, sir, I doubt if, just at this moment, we ought to speak of them at all. I am not satisfied that the subject afifords us any cause of satisfaction. We are not in a condition for boasting, sir, any longer. All of our great men have gone ; and 'let me help tou to a wife, sir." 67 the labours of our little men, to put on the strut of greatness, is that froggish emulation of oxlike devolopement which the old fable finds for our benefit. Indeed, the condition of our country is one of the reasons why I am so anxious that you should marry wisely. There is nothing so important as that you should get a woman, sir, a real woman, and not a child — not a chit — as the mother of my grand-children. I want the name of Bulmcr, sir, transmitted through a race fearless in spirit, generous in impulse, active in thought, and noble in figure. Sir, it is impossible that such nopes can be reahzed in wiving with such an insignificant little thing — ' ' Stop, sir,' said I, ' go no farther. I will listen to you reverently enough so long as you forbear what is offensive to Paula Bon- neau !' The old man muttered something savagely between his closed teeth ; then, impatiently — ' Well,- sir, I will endeavour not to tread upon your corns, since you are so monstrous sensitive about them. I will say nothing in disparagement of the one, while urging the claims of the other lady. Ned, my son, you do not doubt that I love you ; that I think for you, strive for you, and that my chief solicitude in life is that you may be settled in such a way, before I leave it, as will be most likely to ensure your happiness.' The Governor was evidently disposed to try the pa- thetic on me. ' But, sir, you are hardly likely to do this, if you deny me the right of thinking for myself. On a matter of this sort, sir, a young man is more apt to be tenacious of his rights, than upon any other subject. I am perfectly persuaded that you should choose a horse for me, sir. I know you have an excellent eye to horses, can trace blood and determine pedigree to a fraction, and know the good points of draught or saddle horses at the glance of an eye. I am. not unwilling to believe, sir, that your judgment is equally infalUblo in hounds and pointers. I've ob- Fened that^ sir, a hundred times. In the matter of dogs and horses, sir, I would leave everything to your judgment ; but real- ly, sir, regarding a woman, or a wife, by standards whoUy differ- K K ' • .-. •♦ 68 THB OOLDSN OHRISTMAB. ent, I confess, if a wife is to be chosen, I should prefer pleasing my own eye to pleasing yours. I assure you, sir, that if it were your present purpose to choose one for yourself, I should not in- terfere with your judgment in the slightest degree.' * You are enough to irritate a Saint, Ned Bulraer, and I have half a mind to take you at your word, marry again, and cut you oflf without a shilling. But I know you for a teazing puppy, and you shan't ruffle me. If I did not know that you conceal a good heart and a noble nature under this garment of levity — did I not know that you have a proper veneration for me as your father, sir, I should tumble you headlong out of the buggy. You shall hear me nev- ertheless. I want you to marry. I have said so. You wish to marry.- * I have said it.' * But not the right woman. Now, I have chosen the right woman for you ; I have opened a negocia- tion with Mrs. Mazyck for her daughter, Beatrice, for you !' ' What, sir, have you two wcked old people devoted us as a burnt offer- ing, two innocent lambs to the sacrifice, without so much as say- ing a word to either of us on the subject.' ' I am saying it to you now.' 'But after you have managed every thing. And here you would drag us away, with flowers perhaps about our brows, and chain as, a pair of consecrated victims at the altar of your pride and avarice. Shame on you, papa, and shame on you, mamma, for these cruel doings.' The mock heroic was too much for the old Major's philasoi)hy. But liis rage strove with the lu- dicrous in his fancy. lie swore and laughed in the same breatli. 'Papa,' I continued, 'you're going to make mo behave cruelly. Whenever you say or do a foolish, or wicked, or cruel thing, I'll whip the hoi-se. You'll see ! I can't lay the whip on you, but I'll show my sense of what you deserve, by scoring the flanks of White Kaven ! I will ! 1 owe him more than twenty cuts al- ready.' And, saying these words, I popped the lash over the quarter of the hoi-se twice or thrice, before he couU arrest my hand. ' Why, are you mad V said he, seizing the whip, or making *\ LET ME HELP YOU TO A WIFE, SIR." 69 n an effort to do so. *No, sir, not mad, but highly indignant. Somebody wants a sound whipping, and I must bestow it on something.' * Well,' said he, with more composure than I expect- ed, 'I fancy your next proceeding will bo to try your whip on my shoulders.' ' Oh ! no, sir I never ; though, if you were seriously to ask me the question, I should say, that if grand-papa were still hving, I should bo apt to request him to subject you to some of the ancient forms of mortification and flagellation.' 'Ned,' ^aid he, * my dear son, let me entreat you to give me your serious attention. Beheve me, I was never more serious in my life. I wish you to look upon Beatrice Mazyck with the eyes of a lover, and pay all proper court to her in that capacity. I liave spoken with her mother. She favours the match, and I am therefore really and earnestly committed to her. Now, my son, do not forget what you owe to the ^^^shes of your father. It is probable tliat Mrs. Mazyck has spoken with Beatrice, even as I have spoken T\ith you, and, in all probability, the young lady will expect your attentions, as I know her mother ^\^ll. Do not trifle Avith her feelings, my son, and I pray you respect mine.' He said a great deal more, when, becoming seriously vexed, I kept still while lie exhausted himself. Finding I still kept silence, he asked — ' Well, Ned, what do you say ?' * What can I say, sir ? It seems to me that I am the person for whom a ^vife is wanted. I choose one woman, and you another. I don't see, sir, how we are to re- concile our diflferences in taste.' * But, Ned, the woman of whom you speak is by no means suitable.' * That, sir, seems a question proper only to myself to determine, llie whole question resolves itself to this. Either I am under a despotism, or I am not. You would not undertake, sir, to force me to eat cabbage at your table whether I wanted it or not Yet, sir, it would be quite an innocent t}Tanny to force me to eat cabbage against my will, compared to that of compelling me to take a wife against my will I' * Do you mean to compare Beatrice Mazyck to a cabbage V * Heaven for- A^ »■ ., . - -- • 70 THB QOLDBN OnRIBTMAB. bid, sir, that I should do any thing so irreverent or ungallant — But I do not take to Beatrice, nor I suspect, she to me.* * But try her, at least. * Why, sir, when I don't want her, and when, in all probability, she is as little desirous of me ?' * For my sake, Ned, do the courteous thing, and wo know not but you will come to relish one another.' * I will do anything in reason for your sake, father, but this is not reasonable ; and your intriguing nego- ciations with the mother of the one lady may do equal wrong to her and to myself, and lead to confusion, if not misery, all round.' * It's too late now, Ned ; I am commit^d — think of that ! I am committed ! My honour is committed. Your father's honour.' *You have no doubt erred, sir, but your committal is one for which reason, common sense, human nature, will all furnish you in a moment, a reasonable apology to any reasoning and intelli- gent mother. But, that you are committted, does not seem to me to involve any necessity why you should commit me also. This philosophy is that of the old fox, who went once too often to the rat-trap, and then discoursed to his brethren of the indecency of wearing tails. You have never found me a wilful or disobedient son, my father ; why force me now, by a tyranny which society no longer tolerates-^ — which has become wholly traditional with the tales of Blue Beard and other Barons — not of CaroUna — to show that insubordination which I never exhibited before.' * Ty- ranny I You call me a tyrant, Ned V * According to my no- tions, if you urge this matter, you will bo. People think differ- ently about tyranny and tyrants. One man, doing & merciless act, will fancy no cruelty in the performance if he smile upon the victim, and use the gentlest language, while he goads him to ex- tremity. Youi Jack Ketch is a notorious humanitarian — a fellow of most benevolent stomach, who will beg your forgiveness and your prayers, while adjusting the knot in ' gingerly fiishion' un- der your left lug. I've no doubi you'd carry me to the altar, — which, unless I am suffered to choose my own wife, I'd as Uef HOW WK DANCED, AND 8tn»PED, AND BO — rORTH I 7 1 f^hould be the halter — with the most parental tenderness. You'd try to reconcile me to the rope by giving mo a glorious wedding- supper, and the next morning, I should receive deeds conveying to me your best plant^ition and a hundred negroes/ * Well, sir V ' Well, sir, I say, rather than marry the wife of another man's choosing, I'd fling deed, and estate, and negroes into the fire, and plough my own road to fortune in the worst sand lands of the country. You have not the fortune, sir, even if you gave me all that you have and could bestow, that can reconcile me to the bitter physic you require me to take as the condition by which it is obtained.' With that I scored the horse, sajnng as I did so— I ' But here we are, sir, at Bonneau Place ; I suppose it will be pro- ] per only to say no more, just now, on the subject.' He put his hand on my arm — * My dear Ned, for my sake, do the civil thing by Miss Mazj'ck. Pay her everj^ attention, dance with her, see her to supper, and — ' * Enough, my dear father, enough ! I shall certainly not do anything to forfeit the character of a gentleman. But, be sure, I shall not do any thing which shall lead her to sup- pose that I am ambitious of the attitude of a lover.' The old man threw himself back in the buggy in a desponding attitude, muttering something which I did not make out, and in the next I moment we dashed into the court among a dozen other vehicles. 1 . CHAPTER X. HOW WI DANCED, AND SUPPED, AND BO FORTH 1 The Mazyck establishment was on an extensive scale. It was its ancient baronial features that had insensibly impressed the imagination of Major Bulmer. The house was a vast one for our country — a massive mansion of brick, opening upon a grand pas- 72 TBS GOLDXK OBRIBTMAft. sage way, or hall in the centre, from which you diverged into double rooms on either hand. These were of larger size than usual in our country seate. These also had wings, consisting each of a single room over the basement, and lower by one story than the main building. One of these, devoted to the Hbrary, was thrown open on the present occasion. The other was a sort of state chamber, meant for guests of distinction, special favourites, or for newly married couples. The floors were magnificently car- peted, and the rooms elegantly furnished. Tliey were already beginning to fill on our arrival ; the custom of the country differ- ing from that of the city in requiring the guests to come early, however late they may be pei-suaded to stay. Very soon the bus- tle of first ai-rivals was at an end ; only now and then, an occa- sional annunciation betokened some visitor who still held to the city rule of late arrivals, or who, most probably, was ambitious of an innovation upon country habits. A vulgar self-esteem always comes late to church or into society, if only with the view of mak- ing a sensation. At eight o'clock tea was served, with the usual accompaniments of cake and cracker. Quito a creditable display of silver plate was justified by this service, and the green bever- age sent up such savoury odours of the Land of Flowers, as would have stirred even the obtuse olfactories of Sam Johnson. Sup- pose the compaay all arranged, rather formally around the par- lour, with glimpses of groups of young persons especially in the Hbrary, all busy in the kindred occupations of tea and ttilk, fifty * cups smoking and as many tongues making music, and we may now look round the circle, and take in its several aspects. Tall, stately, the form and features of my antique friend, Madame Ag- , nes-Theresa, rise, supreme over all presences, in erect dignity, starched cap and handkerchief, scant locks of pepper and salt, and -» . sharp eyes that suffer no evasion or escape. I approach, I bend -^ ' before her, I crave to bo blessed with her smiles, and she accords them. But where is pretty Paula? In the library vnth the sow WE DANCED, AND BtTPPED, ANf) SO — FORTH I 73 young people. Ah ! and Ned Bulmer is already hovering about her, as the moth about the flame. The Major sees him not as yet, being exceedingly earnest in his attentions to Mi-s. Mazyck. The veteran is displaying the graces of manner which constituted the ton thirty-five or forty years ago. Then it -was all elaborate courtesies — a bow was a thine: of ceremonial — the riirht toe had its given route prescribed in one direction, the left in another — off at right angles ; the arms were spread abroad in a waving coui-se, the hands inclining to the knees — which, as the back was bent like a bow at the stretch, enabled them almost to clasp them. — The head slightly thrown back, the chin peering out, an ineffable smilo upon the lips, and a profound admiration expressed in the eyes, and you have the attitude, air and manner of the ancient beau ready to do battle and die in your behalf. That careless, effortless, informal manner, which marked the insouciant character of our day, was, with the excellent Major, only a dreadful proof of the degeneracy of the race. " A fellow now-a-days," quoth he, " enters a room, as if ho sees nobody or cares for nobody ; as if he owned pretty much all that he sees ; he slides, or rather saunters in with the listless air of a man picking his teeth after dinner— anon, he catches a glance of somebody whom he condescends to know; and it is — 'Ah, Miss Eveline, or Isabella, or Maria, or Teresa, how d'ye — glad to see you looking so— ah ! — w€ll ! and how's your excellent mam- ma ? Hope the dear old lady keeps her own. Good for fifty years yet ; and how long have you been from town ? Very dull here ; don't ye think so ? — ah-h-h !' yawning as if he had toiled all day and caught no fish. Talk of such fello'vvs, indeed. They secna to be made out of nothing but wire an'd whale-bone, with a pair of butterfly wings which they can't fly with, and such a voice, like that of an infant frog with rather a bad cold for such a juve- nile. Sad degeneracy I Very different, Mrs. Mazyck, from the men of our day.* 7 *^ » ♦♦• 74 TBS OOLDSK 0BRI8TMAS* Talking with Beatrice Mazyck, three removes from him, I con- trived to hear every syllable, and whispered her at the moment. He turned just then, and detected the movement. He joined us in a second, and with a profound bow to the lady, and a smile of kindness to me, he said — " I see you heard me, my dear Miss Beatrice, by the laughing smile upon your countenance. I do not know whether you agree with me, or can agree with me, since you have no opportunity of knowing the manners of a day long before your own." " Unless," quickly and archly answered the lady, " unless from the excellent occasional example which has been preserved to the present time, and fi*om which we are compelled to feel that there is more truth in your report, than we are willing to acknowledge. What say you, Mr. Cooper ?" " Nay, do not ask him," said the Major, " for, of a truth, to do him justice, he is one of the few exceptions which the present day offers to the uniform degeneracy of its young men. Dick Cooper is a favourite of mine, and particularly so from his freedom from all affectations. lie does'ut a3ect ease, by a most laborious suppression of dign'ay and manhood — to say nothing of grace." This was very handsome of the Major, and I felt that I ought to blush if I did not, but I replied without seeming to notice the compliment. " I am inclined to think. Major, that the two periods simply oc- cupied extremes, neither significant of sincerity. In fact, conven- tional life seems of its own nature to forbid sincerity, inasmuch as it denies earnestness. Now, the school which you so admirably represent. Major, appears to me to have sought for finish at every sacrifice ; and to have aimed at the application of court manners on reception days to the business of ordinary social life. I confess, for my own part, though I try to be as profound in ray courtesies as possible, I can not well persuade myself to emulate or imi- tate, even if that were possible, the elaborate bow with which you HOW WE DANCED, AND SUPPED, AND 80 FORTH I 76 bent before Mrs. Mazyck, or even that still more elaborate, if les3 courteous obeisance which you made when passing Mrs. Bonneau. There is no doubt that the contrast which you speak of is indica- tive of moral changes of a serious character in the race. As the court usher of Louis XV. detected the approaching revolution in the ribands in the shoes of the courtier noble, in place of the golden buckle, so does the substitution of the jaunty, indifferent manner of the modern gentleman betray the dislike to form, re- straint, and all authority — in a word, that utter decline of rever- ence — which promises to be the great virtue in the eyes of ultra- democracy, the maxim of which is — ' The world's mine oyster.* The eye of our times takes in all things that it sees, and at once acquires a right therein; and even the smiles of beauty, are things of course, which to behold is necessarily to command. — • Whether we do not lose by this confidence in ourselves, — for this is the true signification of it all, — is a question which I do not propose to argue. I am of the opinion, my dear Major, that a compromise might well be made between the manners of your day and ours — when ease of manner might be regulated and re- strained by a courtly grace, and a gentle sohcitude, and when dig- nity might be held back from the embraces of formality." " Ah I Dick, that would be quite a clever essay, and full of Buggestiveness, but for that atrocious word ' compromise.' Tho compromises of modern democracy are the death of our securi- ties, and democracy is but that ' universal wolf^' as described by Shakspeare, *" • " Which makes perforce an universal prey, And last, cats up itself." You remember tlie passage ; and that which follows is the clue to the whole evil — " This chaos when Dfgtet is suffocate, Follows the choking." The Major had got upon a favourith text, and was not soon V6 THE GOLDEN CHRISTMAB. suffocate himself. It is not possible for me to follow him, nor is it desirable that I should. He gave ine at the close a sly look, saying-— " I must go seo after Ned. Ah ! Dick, if he only had the good taste which you have, and knew as well how to lead out trumps in a game like ours." This was all said in a whisper. He disappeared leaving me etill to play the cards in my possession. What need I speak of the game ? Suffice it that I played, not presumptuously, and yet I trust manfully. At all events, I secured the hand of Beatrice Mazyck — for the first cotillion. Tea disappeared, an inteiTCgnum followed, in which the buz was universal, and mostly unintelligible except to a few who con- trived, like myself, to monopolize a corner and a companion. Soon, there was a slight bustle, and a fair-haired and fair-cheeked girl, a Miss Starke, from one of the middle districts, was conducted to the piano, which she approached with hesitating ste])s ; but the hesitancy ceased when her fingers began to commerce with the keys. She executed the Moses in Egypt of Bossini, with a nice appreciation, and secured u very tolerable hearing from the audi- ence ; a song followed from a Miss Walter, of some one of the parishes ; and then a lively overture from the violin in the pjis- sage-way silenced the j)iano for the rest of the night, signalizing a general and very animating bustle. There were two violins, one of them, as usual upon large plantations in the South, being a negro — a fellow of infinite excellence in drawing the bow. The other was an amiable young gentleman of the neighbourhood, whose good nature and real merits as a musician, led him fre- quently to perform at the friendly reunions in the Parish. Be- tween the two we had really first rate fiddling ; and the carpets soon disappeared from the hall and the opposite apartment to the parlour, atl'ording ample room and verge enough for our pur- poses ; and to it we went with a merry bound, and a perfect ex- %^ HOW WE DANCED, AND 8UPPED, AND SO — FORTH I 77 hilaration of the soul, wheeling about in all the subdued graces of tlio quadrille, and forgetting phlegm and philosophy in a moment. The dancers were surrounded by the spectitors, and, with Beatrice Mazyck as my partner, I confess to being as little dis))osed for grave thoughts and sober fancies, as any of my neighbours. Your country ball is quite a different sort of thing from that of the fashionable city. It is more distinguished by abandon. There is a less feelinjx of restraint in the one situation than the other. Nobody is critical, there are few or no strangei"s, not sufficient to check mirth or irritate self-esteem, and the heels fairly take entire possession of the head. I had not been in such a glow for months. I had not conjectured the extent of my own agility, and Beatrice swam through the circle, proudly and gracefully, as the Queen of Sheba, over the mirrored avenues (according to the Rabbinical tradition) of Solomon. " You are a lucky dog, Dick," whispered the Major in my ears. " Your partner is worthy to be an Empress. That scamp of a son of mine, he has possessed himself of that little French devil, in spite of all I could say. Just look at her, what a little, insig- nificant thing she is — yet she can dance — but that is French, of course. See how she whirls — egad I she can dance — she goes through the circle like a bird. . But to dance well, Dick, don't make the fine woman ! No ! no ! Deuce take the fellow that has no eyes for a proper object." I was whirled away at this moment, but when I got back to my place, he was there still, continuing his running commentary. " Look at Mrs. Methuselah, there — the stiff embodiment of Gallic dignity in the days of Louis lo Grand — I mean, Madame Agnes-Theresa. Oh! she's a beauty. See how she smiles and simpers, as if she thought so herself. I suppose, however, it's only her pride that's delighted at the fine evolutions of her little French apology tor a woman. And see, Ned, the rascal — he seea 7* ^8 TBB GOLDEN OBBXtTlCAS. nobody but her. He does not dream that I am watcbing bim all tbo while. I fancy, by the way, he does not greatly care I But ril astonish him yet, Dick, you shall see ! If he vexes me, Til marry again, by all that's beautiful !" Well might the soul of Ned 13ulmor be ravished out of hit eyes. Paula Bonneau is certainly the most exquisite little fairy on the wing in a ball-room, tliat ever eye-sight strove in vain to follow. Never sylph wandered or floated along the sands under tie hallowing moon-light and the breathing spells of the sweet south, with a more witchlike or bewitching motion. She was the observed of all observei-s ; and it was a perfect study itself, ap- pealing to the gentle and amiable heart, to behold the rapt de- light in her stiff old grand dame's eyes, as she followed her little figure every whore through the mazes of the dance. At that mo- ment, the old lady's heart was in good humour with all the world. She even smiled on Major Buhner tw ho approached, though, the instant after, meeting with a profound and stately bow from him, she drew herself up to her full height, lifted her fan slowly, with moa-^ured evolutions before lior face, and seemed to bo counting the number of luntres in the chandelier. I " What a conceited, consequential old fool 1" muttered the Ma- jor, as he passed onward. " Strange I that poor old French wo- man actually persuades herself that she is a human being, and of really the fairest sort of material." Had he heard the unspoken comment of Madame Girardin at the same moment upon himself I "It is certainly very singular that you can never make a gentle- man of an Englishman. Physically, they are certainly well made people, next to the French. Mentally, they are capable in sundry departments. They are undoubtedly brave, and, if the French Were extinct, niiglit bo aeck>untr. HOW WE DANCED, AND 8UPPED, AND 80 FORTH I Y9 which there can bo no grace or refinement. They have the man* ners of oxen, — Bulls, — hence the name of John Bull, the propriety of which they themselves acknowledge. You cannot make them gentlemen by any process." But these mutual snarlcrs and satirists did not disturb the pro- gress of the ball. My next partner was Paula Bonneau. I looked to see with whom Ned Bulmer had united his dancing destinies, curious to ascertain how {wx ho was disposed to comply with the wishes of his father ; but he was no where that I could see, while Beatrice might be beheld floating away like a swan with my friend, Gourdin. The Major came up to me in one of the j^auses of the drama. " That cub of mine," says he, " has let the game escape him again. I could wring his neck for him. Tie is now hopping it with Monimia Porcher, — dancing with every body but the person with whom I wish him to dance. What does he not deserve !" And so the time passed till the short hours wore towards ; and then between 12 and 1, the supper signal was given, when we all marched into the basement. 1 had secured the arm of Beatrice Mazyck in the procession ; and when 1 entered the supper saloon, conspicuous near the head of the table was Ned Bulmer, supplying the plate of Paula Bonneau. The Major saw him at the same mo- ment, and was evidently no longer able to control his chagrin. He looked all sorts of terrors. Mars never wore fiercer visage on a frosty night. His fury lost him his supper, but he drank like a Turk in secret Beaker after beaker of rosy champagne was filled' and emptied, and when I returned up stairs with my fair compan- ion, 1 left him with the young men still busy below at the bottle. When he came above, which was some half an hour after, he abruptly strode across the parlour to the spot where Ned was still in attendance upon Paula. "Come, sir," said he, "if you mean to drive me home to-night y» 69 h TRI OOlDEir OHRItTMAS. ■^, I am ready — and your buggy is ready, sir, — I have already or- dered it." Ned was disquieted at the summons, but he quickly saw that thooldnmu'w nMrv<)% wcru dlHordornd by tho.wlno, and the flUal duty of the son became instantly active, prompting him to take him off, lest other eyes should see his condition as clearly as hia own. Ho said cheerfully — •* I am also ready, sir, and will only make my bow to Mrs. Mazyck." "Bow bo ;!" muttered the Major. "You've been bowing it all night with a vengeance." This was scarccjly heard by more than the son and myself. Ilia sister, Miss Buhner, upon whom I was in attendance, now came up. "Brother,'' naiil hIui, "hiulii't you Ijuttor take a Heat with uh in the ciirriago, and lot Ned drive home with Tony only." "And why, pray," he responded sharply, "should I change any of my plans i Am I so old as to need back supporters and cush- ions ? or do you fear that I shall catch rheumatism ? lihoumatism never ran in my family. No ! no ! I drive home lis I came — in the buggy." Thoro was no mor9 to bo said. The Major, giving himself a fair start, crossed the room to Mi*s. Mazyck and Beatrice, and to each severally, in the deliberate style of King Charles's courtiers, made his elaborate bow, the ngli? loot thrown back and toe turned out, as the base of the operation, a- A the left foot drawn with a sweep, so as to lodge its heel almost within the inner curve of the right: arms describing the well known half circle, and body bent forward, so as to enable the hands, if they so wished it, to rest upon the knees. And the operation was over, and Ned and sire passed out of sight, leaving Miss Buhner in my charge. We did not linger long after. I had a few more sweet words to exchange with Beatrice — who treated me, evidently, with a greater degree of kindness than her good mother was prepared to smile upon — and WHAT TURNS UP ON A DRIVE, AND WHO TURNS OVER. 81 ■ r to roll forfh sundry sentences of rotund compliment to ^fadamo Agnes-Theresa, upon the performances o^ I\iuh\, whos*? bright eyes returned their acknowledgments for a verj- difierent soil of ser- vice. They took their departure before us, and. I saw them to tho carriage. It appears that Mrs. Mazyck had some private words with Miss Bulmer, and detained her after the departure of most of the guests. Of course, I did not scniple to enjoy a corresponding ttte-a-ttle with Beatrice, and had no complaints to make of the delay. This was much shorter than I could have wished, and, all too soon, I found myself in the carriage with Miss Bulmer, and hurrying off for *' The Barony." Before we reached that place, however, other adventures were destined to occur, and those of a sort to require a chapter to themselves. CHAPTER XI. WHAT TURNS UP ON A DRIVE, AND WHO. TURNS OVER. To drive by night, two or four in hand, through our dim but picturesque avenues of pine, faintly lighted only by moon or stars, is an operation that is apt to trj^ the nerves and skill of the city bred Jehu, accustomed only to broad streets, under the full blazo of gas lamps every fifty yards. But to the country gentleman, the thing is as familiar as one's garter, and without a thought of acci-^ dents, he will start for home at midnight, the darkest night, or drive to a frolic five or ten miles off, and never give the mere com- passing of that distance a moment's consideration. .\lPersons bred in the country see farther and better than citizens. So do sailors. Neither of these classes, accustomed to broad and spacious land and water scopes, is ever troubled with the infirmity of neareightedness. This belongs wholly to city life, where the eye, from the earliest •^ 82 THE OOLDSN 0HRI6T1CAB, i" period, is made familiar to certain bounds, high-walled streets and contracted chambera. A faculty grows from its use and exercise, and is more or less enfeebled by non-user. The eye, tasked only within certain limits, loses the capacity to extend its range of vision when the occasion requires it. The muscles contract, and the shape of the eye itself undergoes a change corresponding imme-- diately with the sort of use which is given it. But, I digress. Exercised in the woods, night and day, the country gentleman never hesitates about the darkness, and starts for home, at all hours. Nobody, therefore, leaving the party at Mrs. Mazyck's, between one and two in the morning, ever regarded the lateness of the hour as a reason for not departing. Some few old ladies re- mained at Mazyck Place all night. The rest, in backwoods parlance, ^put outy as soon as supper was fairly over. Some had a mile or two only to go, and otliei's found quarters among the neighbours, as is the custom of the country everywhere in the South. Others pushed on for home, and some few went proba- bly eight or ten miles. We had barely five to go, and counted it as nothing. The night was clear but dark. The stars gave but a faint light, sprinkling their pale beams upon us through crowding tree tops. The young moon had gone down early ; but the horses knew the way as 'svell as the driver, or better, and were bound homewaids. Ours was a negro driver, and one of that class, with owl faculty and visage, which sees rather better in the night than the day. It was this faculty, rather than his personal beauty, which secured for Jehu — that was really his name — the honour- ablo place of coachman to Miss Bulmer. Off we went spinningly, whirling out of the court and into the open road at a keen pace, which promised to bear us home in short order. Miss B., well wrapped up, occupied the back seat of the carriage. I took my place with Jehu, preferring a mouthful of the cool, bracing air of morning. Merrily danced the pines beside us, — oaks nodded to us, doffing their green turbans as we sped ; now we rolled through WHAT TtTRNS XTP ON A DRIVE, AND WHO TtTRNS OVER. 83 a little sand hill, now we dn^^hed the waters up from the bottom of a sandy brooklet. The faint light of the stars gives a strange, wild beauty to such a scene and drive, and I was lost in mixed meditations, in which groves were found pleasantly convenient, and through which I caught glimpses of a damsel, well veiled, coming to meet me, when I was disturbed in my reveries by Jehu suddenly pulling up the horses, and coming to a dead halt. "What's the matter, Jehu ?"" " There's a break down here, sir," quoth he, calling to the boy to descend, who rode behind the carriage, — " Go look, boy, see what's happen." I could now distinguish a carriage ahead, and a confused group beyond it. A lantern was borne in the hands of some person who seemed moving with it across tlie road. Of course, I leapt down in a moment, and, begging Miss Bulmer to keep quiet, and bid- ding Jehu keep back, I went forward to see into the extent of the misfortune, and ascertain who were the sufferers by it. This waa quickly kno^^^l ; — but, perhaj^s, I had better go back in my history, and report the progress of those whom the matter most concerned. I give particulars, now, which I gathered subsequently from certain of the parties. It appears that, from the moment of starting with his son, Major Bulmer began reproaching him with his conduct during the eve- ning, and his neglect of Miss Mazyck. He barely suffered the buggy to get out of the court yard and into the main road, when his indignation broke forth into angry words. " Well, sir; and how do you propose to excuse your conduct this evening." '. . " My conduct, sir ? I don't understand you. I really flattered myself that I had been doing the handsome thing all the evening, making myself very agreeable all round, and certainly jfinding a great deal that was greatly agreeable to myselfl" '■l> ..., ■-*,. " 4 i- w ffiB OOLDeN OHR!eT]IAB< \ 84 " You are a puppy, sir, and a fool, with your aclf-complaisanoe< I can tell you that, sir." « ^ " Choice epithets, certainly, and very comphmentary.*' ** Well, sir, you deserve them. Why do you provoke me f* '^ " You provoke yourself, father. Speaking reasonably, sir, I see nothing of which you can properly complain in my conduct." "Indeed, sir; and who, pray, taught you to sj^eak reasonably. No man, sir, speaks reasonably, unless he thinks rationally." " A logical conclusion, truly." " So it is, — and no man who acts hke a fool, can be held a rea* Boning animal." " True, again, logically." " I say, sir^ you are a dolt, a mere driveller, committing suicide morally, and striving against those who would help you out of deep water." " Who would drown me rather — deny me the privilege to swim in the places which I most prefer." " Hear me, Ned Bulmer, — why do you not hsten to what Fm Baying ?" *' I have been listeiiing, sir, very patiently. Go ahead !" *' Go ahead! Why will you, sir, knowing your family and breeding, indulge in those vile samples of Western slang ? Speak like a gentleman, sir, even if you do not understand how to behave hke one !', Ned said nothing, gave the horse the goad, and waited for the next volley. *' Well, sir ; after what I siiid to you on our way to Mrs. Ma- zyckV, — after a full showing to you of what I desired — what did you mean, sir, by so entirely slighting my wishes ?" " Your wishes were not mine, sir," answered Ned very coolly, " and even if they were, sir, a ball room, though a very good place for a flirtation, is not exactly the ticene for a boiia fide courtship." " I may grant you that, sir, but I did not ask that you would WHAT TtTRNS UP ON A DRIVE, AND WitO TURNS OVER. 86 X^'ould make it the pcene of a courtship, I only nsked that you would ofibr such civilities and attentions to Miss Mazyck, — " " As she, her mother, and everybody else might construe to mean courts^hip." . " You will oblige me not to finish my sentences for me, sir. I say, Edward Bulmor, that you were not even decently civil to Mrs. Mazyck and daughter." " There I must deny you, sir. The matter is one of opinion. ^ I contend that I was as civil, considerate and respectful in my at- tentions to both the ladies, as the elder had a right to require,,and the younger desired to receive." " And how know you, sir, what the younger desired to receive ?" " By infidlible instincts. The fact is, father, it is of no use to trouble me or yourself in regard to Beatrice Mazyck. I assure you, sir, that every body sees, if you do not, that another man has won her heart." " You mean Dick Cooper.". " I do." " Well, sir, I have Dick's assurance, from his own lips, that there have been no love passages between them ; that they are en- tirely uncommitted to each other." " And no doubt what Dick told you, sir, is perfectly true ; but things have changed since your day, sir. People have become more refined and less formal. It don't need, now-a-days, to make a declaration in words in order to be understood. In your day, when all gentlemen were moulded upon one model, and all affec- tions spoke through one medium, and after a particular form — when, in fact, the affections were not recognized at all — and when father or mother could swap off their children as the condition by which alone they could unite certain acres of swamp and uplands, — Buch an intercourse as that of Beatrice Mazzyck and Dick Cooper would pass for nothing. MaiSy nous avons change tout cela P^ " Ah 1 d — n that gibberish. Speak in English if you will speak. 8 * ■ *r -;a ^^ % 86 THE OOLDEK OmilSTMAfl. Though, by the way, speaking such consummato nonsense and stuff as you do, perhaps French is the proper dialect Well, sir, ■what more ; — use what Ungo you please." *-. " Oh ! sir, any thing to please you. I have few more words to say ; and I do say, that, though no words ma}' have been exchanged between Beatrice Mazyck and Dick Cooper on the subject, yet their hearts, sir, are as irrevocably engaged, as if the Reverend Mr. Hymen, of the old Greek Church, had been called in to officiate. Hearts, sir, have a language in our day, which waa denied them in yours. Perhaps this is one of the redeeming features of ultra democracy I" " You have talked a long farrago of nonsense, Edward Bulmer, in which, as far as I can perceive, you have aimed at nothing more than to accumulate together all those topics which, in their nature, might offend me. I will meditate this hereafter. To make my complaints of your conduct more specific, why, sir, did you attach i^. yourself the whole evening to the Bonneau faction, neglecting wholly Mi-s. Mazyck and her daughter." " Your charge is not more specific now than before. It is quite as easily answered. I join issue with you on the fact, sir," " What, do you question my word ?" " No, sir, by no means, — only the correctness of your opinion." " Sir, it is a matter of mere testimony. I beheld it with my own eyes." " Your eyes deceived you, father." " How, sir ? Did you not dance repeatedly with Miss Bonneau ?" " I did, sir." " Did you ever dance once with Miss Mazyck ?" " I did not, sir." " Well, sir ; — yet you persist that you were attentive to the latter lady." " I do, sir, as far as it was possible. I proposed to dance with WHAT TURNS UP ON A DRIVE, AND WHO TURNS OVER. 87 her, and she was engaged. This sir, on two occasions — quite often enough, I think, to try a lady's mood towards you." " Edward Bulmer, is it possible that you resort to evasion! Sir, I know too well what is the practice with young men, where they wish to escape a duty. In my day, sir, and I confess I was guilty of this conduct myself, it was not unfrequently the trick — irickj I I say, sir, (rick/ — to ask a lady after she was known to be engaged for the coming set. Now, sir, answer me honestly, was not this your trick, sir, on this occasion." " A practice deemed honourable in your day, cannot surely be regarded as discreditable ; and I have now only to plead your own example, sir, if I desired to escape your anger. But, in truth, sir, I did not, on any occasion, knoiv that Miss Mazyck was engaged to another partner when I asked." " But you conjectured it, sir, — you kept of! untill the last mo- ment, sir. You well know that Beatrice Mazyck is not likely to hang as a wall-flower, and you gave everybody the desired oppor- tunity, sir. Edward Bulmer, it was a mere mockery of Miss Ma- zyck, to solicit her hand when you did." " She, I fancy, was very well pleased with that sort of mockery.'' " Sir, did you every on any one occasion, oflfer yourself to her - for the second or third dance, when she pleaded previous engage- ment. That, sir, is a common custom with young gentlemen — is it not." " Yes, sir, — and one more honoured in the breach than the ob- servance. I don't approve of it myself^ and don't encourage it in others." " You don't, eh ! Well, sir, I made you a special request that you would see Miss Mazyck to the supper-table. Why did you not?" " Dick Cooper was before me, sir." " Dick Cooper before you ! Yes, indeed, he will go. before yon all your life; That man will be somebody yet. Not a mere Jehu <**'"V 88 ,1» THE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. \^^f^ or Jockey, sir. He will not waste his life^ among the pumpkins. I would to God he could drive into your empty noddle some of that good sense and proper veneration which distinguish himself." " Well, sir, you will admit that if Vm unworthy of Miss Mazyck, he is not." " Who says you are unworthy, sir I" " My humility, sir." " D n your humility. I wish you knew how to exercise it in the right place. You are a puppy and a scrub, and fit only for such a petty little French popinjay as that — " " Stop now, father, or I'll be sure to upset you ! If you speak disrespectfully of Paula Bonncau, you will certainly so outrage my nervous sensibility, that I shall turn the buggy over into the first bramble bush that J see ; and then, sir, you'll be in the condition of the man who lost both his eyes in a similar situation. You re- member the patlietic ditty — " And when ho saw hi8 eyes were out, Wiih all his might and main. He jump'd into another bush, And scratch'd *em in again." But that feat's not to be pei-formed every day. You might try from bush to bush between hero and home, and fail to scratch back your pupils." " Pshaw — you blockhead ! But where the deuce are you driv- ing, sir ? You are out of the road." " No, sir, — I am in the road far enough. I confess I'm on the look-out for the briai patch ; and should I see one, " " Zounds, man, you are out of the road. I see the track to the left." " No, sir, it runs to the right. I see it well enough. Don't touch the reins, sir, — you'll do mischief." ." Do mischief ! You would teach your grandmother how to eat her eggs, would you ? Teach me to drive I You would pro- ^ I WHAT TURNS UP ON A DUIVK, AND WHO TURNS OVER. 89 voice a saint, Ned Bulmer ! Give me the reins, or you will have us in the woods." " Fear nothing, sir ; I see exactly where I am going. I see the road perfectly, every step of it 1" " You see nothing, sir, I tell you, but your own perverse dispo- sition to foil me in every thing. If I did not know, sir, that you are a temperate man, I should suspect you of taking quite too much champagne to-night" Ned Bulmer could not resist the disposition to chuckle. " What do you mean by that laugh, sir ? There, again, — you will have us in the woods. It is either your hands that are un- steady, or it is your hoi-se that shies ?" " Isn't it barely possible, sir, that it is the stars that shy ?" was the response of Ned, conveying thus what was designed to be a very sly insinuation. But the Major's faculties had not been so much bedevilled as his eye sight. He caught the equivocal im- port of the suggestion in a moment. " Really, sir, this is most insolent. You are drunk, sir, posi- tively drunk, and will break both our necks, in this atrocious bug^-y. Give me the reins, I tell you." " Hold off, father," cried the son earnestly ; " we are going right. There is no danger, but the road here is narrow and the fence on the left is pretty close." " Fence on the left ! Where the d—1 do you see any fence on the left? Where do you think we are, sir ?" This was the first time that Ned suspected that his father's sight was becominfr bad. He knew not whether to ascribe it to his own age, or that of the wine. " At Gervais's corner." " Pshaw ! we have passed it long ago. You are in no condition to drive. That's plain enough." With the words he grasped one of the reins furiously, whirled the tender-mouthed grey round before Ned could guard against the 8* i^ i- ' » ^. 6*i^^ 90 ^ THE OOtDXK OtmiSTMAS. proceeding, and in a moment, striking the comer of the rail fenc^^ the buggy was turned over, and the horse off with it. The Major made a sudden evolution in the air and came down heavily against the fence. Ned was pitched in among the pines, on the opposite side of the road, and both lay for a time insensible. CHAPTER XII. ▲ GROUP ON THE HIGHWAY. A NEW STUDY FOR THE PAINTER. I It is not yet known how long the father and son lay in this con- dition before they received assistance. They were first discovered by the coachman of Madame Agnes-Therese Girardin, as he drove tliat lady and her grund-daughtcr wlovyly home from the ball. " Wha' dis yer ?" quoth Antony, the coachman. " I see some- thing in de road." " What do you see, Antony ?" demanded the lady. " I yer somebody da grunt," quoth Tony. " He's a piisson — (person) — he's a mar for certain." " A man in the road, groaning!" said the old lady, " Peter ! Peter!" — to tho boy riding behind. Antony drew up his horses at a full stop. Peter jumped down and came forward. ' Take one o^ the lumps, Peter, and see who is lying in the road." The urchin moved promptly, and, hurrying forward, stooped over one of the victims, holding tho light cIohu to his face. lie came back instantly. " Its Mjuis Ned liullhnor, mlsHis." "Mr. Exlward Bulmer !" said the ancient lady, and she hemmed thrice and began violently to agitate — her fan. " Edward 1 — Edward Bulmer !" cried the young lady, almost A OROtTP ON THE ItlOlIWAT. 91 with a scream, beginning violently to agitate — herself. " Oh I mam,' ma, let lis get out and see. He is hurt. He is killed." " No, Miss Paula, he aint dead yet, — he da gnmt." This was meant to be consolatory. " Be quiet, Paula, my child ; do not excite yourself — we will see — we will inquire. But — " , " Open the door, Peter !" cried Paula, with an energy and resolu- tion which she did not ordinarily exhibit^ and of which the old lady did not altogether approve, though the occasion was one which did not allow of any deliberation. Peter, meanwhile, opened the door of the carriage, and the young lady darted out. " Stay, Paula, stay, till I get my cologne, and — " But the damsel was off, and a bound brought her to the side of her lover, stretched out partly upon the road, his shoulder resting against a pine sapling. She knelt beside him, called to him with the tenderest accents, and was answered by a groan. These groans were signs of returning consciousness, at once to suffering and life. Meanwhile, the good grandmother had hobbled out, and approached the scene of action ; a bottle of cologne water in one hand and her vinaigrette in the other. " Rub his head, my daughter, and sprinkle him with cologne ; hold this vinaigrette to his nostrils, and tell him to snuff." Another groan, and then the maiden heard him in faint ac- cents say — " My father — see — my father." " His father ! Oh 1 Major Bulmer," quoth the old lady. " Yes, they went away together.'* " In de buggy, missis," interposed the knowing Peter. He him- self had opened the gate for the buggy, and had received a shil- ling for his attentions. " Look for him, Peter," said the old lady — and she muttered to herself^ as if to justify her humanity, " He is one of God's crea- tures, at least ; it is our Christian duty only." And with these words she followed Peter in his search. -a 02 THE OQLDEN OHBISTMAB. .. '"*V* The Major was found in the fence corner, lying partly acroM one of the ataken, whicli hin weight had broken, his head etriking against a rail. The old lady was quite terrified when she beheld him. His head had been cut, an ugly gash, ranging from the upper part of one ear to the temples. He was still bleeding freely. Antony was immediately sumnjonod to bring the other lamp of the curringo, v.hilo Peter wjw made to mount one of the horses, in order to ride back for Dr. Porcher, who was at the party, and who, it was hoped, might be still found there. Madame Agnes- Therese, in the meanwhile, to her credit be it said, forgetting old prejudices and anti]>athies, forgetting all forms and rcHtraints, and stitViioMHos and formalition, kneeling beside the insenftible Major, proceeded to staunch the blood aiid close the wound. She had lived a long time in tlie world, and had acquired much of that household practical knowledge and dexterity which enables one to be useful in almost any emergency. And she pursued her pre- sent labour with a good deal of skill and success. The vinaigrette and the cologne were passed from jjatient to patient, as they mo- verally seemed most to need it. Antony W2is despatched to the branchy or brooklet, which they had passed only a few moments before, to bring his carnage bucket full of water. Tlie faces of the two were sprinkled with water, cologne poured into their moutliM, and both soenjed to revive about the samo time. The lirst words of tlio father were hignilicant of qviito a dill'erent feeling from that which he exhibited duiing the unlucky drive. " Ned, my dear boy ; Ned, are you hurt T' The old lady, holding the lamp up to Iiis face, endeavoured to prcHH him down, in order to kcej* him quiet. "Do not H[)eak; do not agitate yourwelf. Major Pulmer; your son is doing well. He is not much hurt — not much, 1 assure you — I, Mrs. Girardin." "lIch!~you— Mrs. Gi ." Ho resolutely sate np, in spite of all her efforts, and stared hor A GROUP ON THE HIOnWAT. 03 in the face with a countenance in which surprise was so extremo as almost to seem horror. Fancy the spectacle. Madame Girardin holdini]^ the carriage lamp with one hand, kneeling on one knee, and with the other hand stnving to press the old gentleman back- wards. He, now sitting, his arms supporting him in the posi- tion, with his hands resting on the ground; and staring with such a face into her own. He had almost recovered his senses quite, and astonishment had partly overcome his pain. It was at this moment, and while the expression was still upon his visage, that our carriage drew up to the scene of the accident. We necessa- rily halted also, soon got out, and almost as soon learned all the particulars. In a moment after. Dr. Porcher arrived, fortunately having met Peter on the route, and proceeded to examine into the condition of the sufferers. The evil was not so serious as we had at first reason to appre- hend. The real sufterer was Ned Bulmer, whose left arm was broken, and who was otherwise considerably bruized about the body. The Major had an acre of bruizes, according to his own phrase, over back and shoulders and ffides. But, excepting tho ugly ga«ih over his temple, there was nothing to disquiet him for more than a week. But ho had a naiTow escape. The skull was uninjured, but a httle more obliquity in his fall would have crush- ed it. As it was, the wound was really only skin deep ; but it left an ugly scar forever after, which, as a fine-looking man, who had always been particularly well satisfied with his visage, occasioned the proprietor many and frequent regrets. But we mast take our groups out of the highway. The arm of Ned Bulmer was temporarily bandaged, and we hfted him into tho carriage with as much tenderness as possible. This carriage was Madame Girardin's. The moment she discovered that each of the wounded men would require two seats, she graciously ac- corded the use of her vehicle. Of the two, she perhaps preferred the son to the Cathcr as an inmate ; but dear httle Paula, clinging 94 THE 'OOLDSN CHRISTMAS. to her lover tenaciouslj, disposed of the matter without leaving any thing to the option of the grandmother ; and, at her requisi- tion, as soon as Ned was fully restored to consciousness, the Doctor, myself and Antony, lifted him in, not a little helped by Paula. The same service rendered to the Major, and the Doctor led the way in his own vehicle. We drove slowly, and day was dawning as we entered the court. The patients were carefully taken out, put to bed, and more methodically and scientifically attended to. But before Madame Giraidin departed, and as she was preparing to do so, the Major begged to see her in his chamber. ** Mrs. Girai'din, I am too feeble aud sore to rise, but you will believe me, as feeling very deeply and warmly your kindness and the succour which yovi rendered to my son and. myself." To which the old lady replied : — " Major Bulmer, you will please believe, that I am grateful to God in permitting me to be of any help to any of his creatures." When she had departed, the Major said : — " Well, I owe the old lady my gratitude.^ She has good stuff in her, though she is of French stock." The old lady had her comment also, muttered to Paula as she rode :-r- " If Major Bulmer did not sometimes make himself so offensive by his pride, — his Bull family pride, — he might yet be made a gentleman." I must not omit to mention that, while the grandmother visited the father, the grand-daughter visited the son ; but what was said between the two latter, has never, that I know of, been reported to any third person.' THK PROOTIESS OF DOMESTIC REVOLUTtON. 95 CHAPTER XIII. THE PROGRESS OF DOMESTIC REVOLtJTION, The misadventure, happening so near to Christmas — that sea son when we require to have all our limbs in perfection, our bodies free from bruises, and our spirits buoyant over all restraints, — was the great subject of annoyance with the Major. Christmas was as- signed by him for a great festival — a something more than was customary in the country, in which every body that was any body, was to be at tlie Barony. The accident happened on the 1 3th of Doccml>er. But twelve days, accordingly, were allowed to the suflTcrcrs to get well. With respect to the Mojor himself, this, per- haps, bating the scar upon the forehead, was not a matter of much doubt or difficulty. But the case was otherwise with poor Ned, whose arm, the Doctor affirmed, could not be suflfercd to go free of splint and sling under a goodly month. What a month of vexation. So, at least, it seemed. But the good grows out of 4 the evil, even as the cauliflower out of the dunghill. Evil, accord- i ing to the ordinance, is the moral manure for good. The Major ; lost something of his imperious will in the feelings of self-reproach ^ which seized upon him. He now beheld, what he did not then, i that it was the champagne which ho had imbibed, and not that which he had imputed to his son, that had tumbled the pair into the pathway. He also began to suspect, what Ned would never I have hinted to him, that age was giving certain premonitions in the I shape of a failing eye-sight Strange that he had never seen that fence. Was it thfe wine or the years ? Both, perhap. Tliis con- clusion humbled the old man. He sought the chamber of his son. " My dear boy," he said, " I won't ask you to forgive me, for such a request will give you more pain, I know, than any thing besides ; but I feel that it is not easy to forgive myselfl I had drank .A ^ tHE OOLDSN OftlUSTUAd* ♦ too much champagne, that is certain. But I was angry with you, Ned, — and you know what one of our modern poets says : — •* And to bo wroth witli those wo love, Duth work like madness in the brain." I am not sure that I quote literally, but I am pretty near it. I could not eat, and drank freely on an empty stomach. This made me wilful ; and Ned, my boy, you provoked me. You were a ht- tle too cool, — too cavalier. Had you drank freely too — had you been angry or quarrelsome — all would have gone right. But, no matter now. It docs not help to go over the same ground again.** " No," quoth Ned, between a writhe and a smile, a grin and a contortion, not able to resist the temptation — " More likely to hurt — perhaps the other eye, the other a>"Wi." "Well," good humoredly responded the Major, "you are doing well, so long as you can perpetrate a pun." " Of old, you held that to be doing ill:' "What! another! Dick," — to me — "is he not incorrigible ! But, Ned, my boy, you must hurry your proceedings. It won't do to have you laid up at Christmas. Get well as fast as you can, and, as an inducement, 1 have sent to town already, to Reynolds, ordering a new buggy. Your hoi"se is badly hurt in the flanks. I must take him oil' your hands. You shall have two hundred dol- lars for him, or the pick of any draught horse in my stable — they are all/rfc." " ril take the money, papa. I have suffered too much from your free draughts:' " What a propensity. But I forgive you, considering your arm." " Strange, too, that I should owe my safety to that which I can no longer count upon.''' " A pun again ! I give 3 ou up. But look at'my phiz. Am I in a condition to call upon Madame Agnes-Theresa this morning T* Ned looked up with some curiosity — anxiety perhaps — in his «« ttiE PROGHESS OF DOMESTIC REVOLUTIOK. 07 glance. We both agreed that the scar had an honourable appear- ance. " Ah !^' quoth the Major, I should not have been ashamed of it had it been won in battle — driving an enemy instead of driving a horse." " At the head of the Fencihlcs^ instead of the foot of the/ence," murmured Ned largiiidly.. " You did serve in the war of 1815, Major," was my remark. " Yes, after a fashion, along the sea coast; but we never had any encounter with the enemy. Their shipping lay in sight of the coast, and their boats sometimes put into the creeks and rivers, but they fouglit shy of us." " Knowing, perhaps, that they would have to deal with shy fighters," quoth Ned. "No, indeed. We were brave enough, under the circumstances. Once we thought we had a chance. It was after night, but star- light ; the tide was coming in, and one of our sentinels discovered a boat making straight for shore. We crouched among the sands, flat on our faces, making ready. When ^vithin gun shot, wo poured in a territic fire and rushed up to finish the work with the bayonets. We found the lx)at riddled admirably with our balls, but nothing in her but a junk bottle and a jacket, and both empty. She had drifted from the Lacedemonian man-of-war. Iler capture was thought no small evidence of our prowess, showing how we could have fought. The Charleston papers were particularly elo- quent in our praise, and I'm not sure but salutes were fired from Castle Pinckney in our honour. It was no fault of ours that the British feared us too greatly to venture any soldiers in the skiff. That was our only achievement, unless I mention a somewhat inef- fectual fire at a barge, about seven miles off. It is barely possible that the enemy saw the smoke of our muskets. They could not have heard the report. But, you think I will do to see Madame Girardin?" '*^!i^ ,M68 **. TttB GOtDEl? OttRlSTMAS. t ^■ ** Aa well as any gallant of us all," was my reply* ** Very good. HI ride over this morning.'' " Eyes right, father, and look out for fences on the left*^ " Get out, you dog. Trust me, never again to take champagne or any other liquor on an empty stomach." " And, beware of the black dog, father." " The tiger is becoming paci6ed, Nod," was my remark afler the departure of the Major. " He has had a bad scare. He will come round by degrees. All the symptoms are favourable." " He will give up some favourite projects then. His heart has been more earnestly set on this marriage than I had suspected. I am now convinced he has been planning it for months, and 1 have reason to believe that he opened the subject to Mrs. Mazyck be- fore she went to travel last summer. He is tenacious -of such matters." " No doubt ; and without some extraordinary event he would have continued so. This accident has been a great good fortune. The Major has too uniformly escaped successfully from those evils to which flesh is heir. Uninterrupted good fortune is quite too apt to harden the hearts of the very best men. They finally be- lieve themselves to bo entitled to impunity. It requires a disas- ter to rebuke arrogance ; and one should pray for an occasional mischance, knowing our tendency to self-reliance. . We must every now and then receive a lesson which teaches us that God is still the Ruler of the Univei*se, and that the richest, the strongest, the bravest, iho wisest, a;o but feathers and straw before his breath. Your father has just had one of these excellent lessons. He has been taught the exceeding shortness of the step between an imperial will, a haughty temper, a glorious future, and suffering, agony, the grave, the loss of the thing most precious, the over- throw of the most cherished pride and vanity. You are the only son, '.nd the very will which threatened to wreck your hopes, was based upon the desn-e to subserve your success and prosperity* t-.v THE PROGRESS OF DOMESTIC REVOLUTION. 99 Strange as it may seem, parents are thus constantly employed, at once for the good and the mortification of their cliildrcn. Keep up your spirits. Do not vex him. Say nothing of your hurts. He will see them, and suppose them, fast enough ; and your very forbearance to complain will, in his mind, exaggerate the amount of your suffering. There will bo a degree of remorse at work within his bosom, which shall impel his moods hereafter in «n en- tirely o])posite direction." " But, you do not augur any thing from this N-isit to Madame Girardin V " By no means. As a gentleman, he could do no less. He had to go. There is no merit in the act. He owts the old lady and the young one the visit, and something more. But, there is some- thing favourable in the fact that he does it willingly, cheerfully, and with a grace, showing that the duty is now by no means an irksome one. A week ago, and to be required to visit the Bonneau plantation would have been like taking a pill of myrrh and aloes." Let us follow the Baron, and see the issue of his visit. AVhen it was announced to Madame Girardin that Major Bul- mer was in the parlour, she was quite in a fidget. " Bonita," her own maid, a mulatto of Cuban origin, and " Marie," the waiting maid of Paula, were both summoned. " Boniti, what ha.s become of my mantua cap ? Marie, I told you to put away my Valenciennes. Dear me, Paula, I can find nothing, and these servants are positively in the way of each other. They are certainly the most awkward and useless creatui-es in the world. Paula, child, do look into your drawers for the Valenci- ennes tippet. Ah ! there it is. Paula, child, do fix me, — pin the I f cap for me, and put on that bunch of crimson ribbons. Crimson always suited my hair best, and complexion. Do get away, Bo- nita — you only disorder me. You are getting quite too fat and clumsy for any useful purpose about house. I'll have to send you i«|IOO t.>^ THB GOLDEN 0HRIBTMA8. — _— _—— — ..-^-^^_ * , into the field. Heavens, what ^vill Major Bulmer say to being kept so long ? Why, Paula, where are you, child ?" Paula was already down stairs. Madame Agnes-Theresa was still a long time fixing. For years she had never taken such pains to caparison herself for any encounter with the other gender. Strange ! that she should bo so solicitous alx)ut her personal ap- pearance, when she was to meet with one whom she had always regarded with prejudice and the bitterest hostility. Yet, not strange ! Oh ! woman, after all, claim whal you please for your- self; assert what rights you plea<^e ; estimato your charms at the highest; pride youi-self as you may upon your intrinsic worth; sup- pose yourself, if you please, of the purest and most precious porce- lain clay that ever aflforded materials for celestial manufacture ; — then, put what rough estimate you may on man — suppose him all that is rude, and wild, and rough, and tough, — all dough and mortality if you think proper, — a mere savage in beaver and breeches, — a mere beast of burden, A\'ith only half the usual al- lowance of legs and ears — still, my dear creature, all your pains- taking are for him, even when he is of the rudest, and you the softest — all these careful ciiparisonings before the mirror, — all this assiduous training of the tresses — all this nice adjustment of the features, — the very disposition of that scarf and tippet, the careful twofold concealment and display of that white neck and bosom, that adroit placing of the jewel just where it is best calculated to inform him how much more precious is the jewel that hides be- neath, — that confining zone, — that flowing drapery, — that bracelet spauning the snowy arm, — all, all, — the grace, the tiuste, the toil, the care, the smile, the motion, — all, all arc denigned to win his smile, to charm his fancy, provoke his admiration, compel his love. Talk of yourjights I Confess the truth, for once, now, at this holi- day season, and admit that the most precious of your rights, even in your own estimation, is that of winning his aflection, wild colt, fierce tiger, beast of prey and burden as ho is I THE PROGRESS OF DOMESTIC REVOLXmON. 101 ^^ Dear, good, antique, frigid, stately, stiff, " and bigoted ^Madame Girardin, was not superior to her sex ; and this, by the way, my \dear, is the one most precious jewel of her humanity. She was a good half hour in fixing, even after Paula Bonneau had descended to the parlour. The latter has gone down to meet the Major after the fashion of Nora Creina : " Oh ! my Nora's gown for me, That floats as wild as mountain breezes. Leaving every beauty free, To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. Ye?, my Nora Creina, dear, ' My simple, graceful Nora Creina ; Nature's dress, Is lovolinc??, The dress you wear, my Nora Creina." Never sticking a pin in her dress, never adjusting tippet or ribbon, the artless child bounded down to the meeting with Ned's father with a joyous, cheerful sentiment of delight and expectation. She knew that he would come, — that he was bound to come to make his acknowledgments, — but, somehow, there was a vague, undefin- able feeling in her little heart, that his coming augured something more grateful, — something more positive than a mere formality. She fancied that the snows of winter were about to thaw, and, like a glad bird, she bounded forth with song to welcome in the first I Eunshino and the infant promise of tlie spring. And the old Major, bigoted and prejudiced, and feeling, as he did, that she stood in the way of one of his most cherished schemes in behalf of his son, he could not resist the child-like confidence, the unaf- fected and pure innocence of soul and spirit which displayed itself to his eye on her approach — so frank, so free, so joyous, the union of child and angel, so sweetly mingled in look and manner! She came towards him with extended hands, but he caught her in his arms, and kissed her, I fancy quite as aflectionately as ho would 0* v>102 * THE GOLDEN 0HIU8TMA8. have done Beatrice Mazyck ; then he put her from him at arm*i length, and looked kindly into her large, bright, dewy eyes. " Oh ! I'm so glad to see you, and to see you well again, Major.** " My dear child, I owe it, perhaps, to you and to your good grandmother, that I am well again — or nearly so." Paula did not disclaim the service, as many foolish people would do. She acted more wisely — said not a word about it ; but look- ing at the scar, cried out, with child-like freedom : — " But you have got a mark for life, Major. That was a terrible cut." " Ah ! my dear, but not half so severe as th^t which you would have made upon my heart, were I thirty years younger. As it is, I don't know how much love I do not owe you, old as I am.** And he took her again into his arms, and seated her upon his knees, and began to thirk that, after all, it was really not so strange that Ned Buhner should take a fancy to the little damsel, though she "was of that pernicious French stock. And the old man and tlie young girl prattled together like two children that have chased butterflies together, until the moment when that gem fi-om the an- tique, Madame Girardin, strode into the apartment, looking very much like a crane on a visit of special ceremonial feeding, at the Court of the Froccs. " Mrs. Gimrdin," quoth the Major, rising and making his famous bow, though at the cost of a few severe twitches of the back and arms, — " I come, my dear Madam, to return you my best thanks for your kindness and singular attention to myself and son, at a moment of very great pain and imminent danger to both. You acted the part, my dear Madam, of the good Samaritan, and when T think of the coldness of the night, your exposure on the damp earth, your fatigue, at an hour when repose was alwolutely necessary, — the judicious eflbrta you employed, and the prompt intelligence which made you provide for immediate help, — I feel utterly at a loss for words to say how deeply I am penetrated by THE PROGRESS OP DOMESTIO REVOLUTION. 103 your kindness and benevolent consideration. I trust, mj dear Mrs. Girardin, that you will receive my a«^surances in the sj)irit in which they are tendered, and that, hereafter, we shall become more to each other than mere passing acquaintances of the same parish." The Major hai evidently meditated this speech with a great deal of care. It betrayed cogitation, and this was its fL\ult. His object was to express his feelings distinctly, and to declare his con- viction of the friendly and useful assistance of the lady; yet with- out falling into formality. But, that he meditated at all, what ho had to say, necessarily led him into fonnality. This is always the eiTor with impulsive meu, who forgot that when impulse lias be- come habitual, it has also become equally polished, proper and ex- pressive. I am sj^eaking now of educated people, of course. A man so impulsive as Major I5ulnier, it is to be cxpectod, must oc- casionally err in speech ; but a man who is so free and froc^uent a Bix-aker, is never apt to err very greatly, if he will leave himself alone, and wait for tho promptings of the occasion. Had he, by accident^ encountered Mrs. Girardin the morning after the accident, he would have thanked her in a single sentence and a look ; and his gratitude would have seemed more decidedly warm from the heart, than it now declared itself. But I am tiot so sure, remembcnng the sort of frigid person with whom he had to deal, that his present mode of address was not tho most appropriate. It sounded dignified, — it appealed to her dignity. He made it an aflfair of state, and her state was ac- cordingly lifted by it. It showed him deliberate in his approaches, even when his object was to give thanks, and this displayed his high sense of the service, and of the importance of the pei-son ad- dressed. All of which was rather grateful than otherwise to a person who still longed for Uio return of hoops and high head dresses. She answered him in similar fashion, — ' She had done her duty only. We must give help to one another in the hour of :1f- ^«^,104 .^ THE GOLDBir 0BRI6TMAB, distress and afSiction. Major Bulmer^s rank in society justified her departure from some of its strictnesses, in tlie efibrt to assist him. She was conscious of tlie impropriety, ordinarily, of stooping beside a gentleman, particularly on the high road ; but she begged him to believe that, before she did so, she agcertiiined that he was actually insensible. She herself saw the blood sti'eaming from his brows. She heard his groans. Otherwise, he was quite speech- less. Under the circumstances, she had a Christian chaiity to ful- fil. She thanked God she was a Christian, — true, a most unwor- thy one, — but she prayed niglitly for Heavenly Grace to make her better. She was happy to believe that her prayers .had been somewhat heard ; assuming the very casualty of w;hich the Major had been so nearly the victim, to bo designed as affording her a special opportunity of serving one whom she had not been taught to recognize as a friend." " Cool indeed," thought the Major. " Certainly very cool. I am to be upset by Providence, my own and son's neck perilled, only to afford her an oj)portunity to play the good Samaritan. Very cool, indeed !' thought the Major, though he suppressed the very natural comment. The self-complacency of the old lady now be- gan to please him as a sort of study of character. But ho spoke flgaiu. She had referred to his bloody appearance, to liis groans unconsciously uttered. It was in something of the spirit of a cer- tain Frenchman, of famous memory, that he said, — " Keally, Mrs. Giiardin, when I wa.s in that condition, I must greatly have disquieted you l)y my groans and shocking appear- ance. I am afraid I made some horrible wry faces. Believe me, my dear Madame, it was i)urely miinteutional. Had I been con- scious of your presence, I certainly would have constiained myself. I trust you did not construe my wry faces into any feeling of dis- approbation at your presence, or the kindly succour you were giving me." " No, sir ; I thank God, who kept mo from putting any such un- THE PROGRESS C>F DOMESTIC REVOLUTION. 105 ^ chnritable construction on your conduct. Suffering as you did, in euch a situation, — or liad it been any body else, — I should have beg^ged you to pay no attention to my presence, but to bo as much at case as possible 1" " At case !" thought the Major. " What an idea ! — what a strange woman." His spoken words wore of another sort. " I thank you, Mrs. Girardin, — from the bottorh of my heart I thank you, — for myself and son. He, too, sends his thanks, though too great a sufferer to offer them in person. He will present him- self as soon as Jio is able. To you, and this sweet angel of a daughter, we owe more than we can ever acknowledge." To this, the good lady had a set speech, deprecating all acknow- ledgments. The delight of doing good was sufficient for her. To this the iSIajor had his response ; to which the lady had hers ; the former replied again ; and Madam Agnes-Theresa answered him. By and by, the Major began to speak more at his ease, and, after a little while, making a prodigious leap from one point to another, he exclaimed abruptly : — " The fact is, my dear Mrs. Girardin, we have been all our lives a couple of old fools — " " Sir !" " I beg pardon, — a thousand pardons. I meant to say that / have been a couple of old fools — not merely one fool — that would II not answer to express my sense of my stupidity for so many years I of my life. No, Madam, I have been a pair of fools ; for living I beside you in the parish so long, knowing your worth, and the honourable family to which you belong, yet never once seeking to show my estimation of it. It is thus, my dear Mrs. Girardin, that one will hunt for years aflcr a treasure which is actually lying all the while in hi-y path — that one will sigh and yearn afler posses- sions for which he has only to open his eyes and stretch forth his hands, — and that we hourly lament the growing weakness, wick- edness, and ignorance of the world around as, without being at 108 tliB GOLDEN CHRIBTMA04 eminent wisdom. Half the world are fools in this very particular* They put in an oar, just when the boat is making the best head- way, with tide, wind and current in favour, They stop the cur- rents, they head the winds, and, in the eftbrt -to help progress, mar the enterprise forever. Keep your tongues, fools ; hold off your hands, donkies, and let " Go ahead " and " Do well," work their own passages, without clapping unnecessary sttam to their tails* " Well," quoth the old lady to Paula, after the Major had de- parted, — " well, my child, who would have thought it ! Who ever expected to see Major Buhner in my house. Who ever list- ened to hear mo welcome him ! There's some great change at hand, my child, when such things happen." " The great change has happened, inamma.^^ " Yes ; but it • always betokens other changes yet. The Major has had a narrow escape. But he is old, and he may have suf- fered some secret injury, of which he never dreams. When peo- ple tlius siiddenly change in tlieir dispositions, look for a singular change in tlieir fortunes. Well, God be thanked for making hira sensible, in his old age, and before it became too late, of what he owed to society and his neighboui-s. It is late, but not too late, and I pray that no evil consequences may follow the present change for the better in his disposition." " How can it, mamma T' " Oh ! I don't know ; but change is an awful thing always, even when it happens for the better, and there is always some evil fol- lowing in the footsteps of what is good. We must only hope and pray, and leave it all to heaven." WmCH AUOUR8 AN AFFAIR OF BOARS. 109 CHAPTER XIV. WHICH AUGURS AN AFFAIR OF BOARS ! It is the tendency of alj re\;olution9. when they once fairly begin, to precipitate themselves with fearful rapidity. The impetus once given, and the car rolls onward, with a growing head of steam. The development is as eager as light in its progress, from the mo- ment when the germinating principles begin to be active. It will be admitted that the transitive steps were soon overcome, in the overthrow of the ancient prejudices between the Bulmer and Bon- neau famihes. Major Bulmer was a man of locomotive tempera- ment, who could not well arrest himself in his own movement, having once begun it. Scarcely had he returned home, and re- ported what he had done, when he hurried to the library, in order to prepare billets of invitation for Madam Agnes-Theresa, and the fair Paula, to his proposed Golden Festival at Christmas. These performances were not so easy. Every precaution had to be taken by which to avoid offending the amour propre of the old lady and re-awakening her ancient prejudices. Twenty notes were begun, and were dismissetl, because of some unlucky word or phrase. I was finally called in to the consultation, and required to ])repare an epistle, possessing all the accuracy of a law paper, with all the blandness of a billet doux. Some hours were spent in devices, and doubtSj'and arguments, and objections, and quiddi- ties, and quoddities, in order that we might not chafe rabidities and oddities. The work was done at length, but there was still a shaking of the head, on the part of the Major and Miss Bulmer, \l as to certain words, and dots, and consonants ; and it was finally I * decreed that Ned should decide as to which, of half a dozen epistles, Jil should be sent The great, final consultation was held in his !| chamber, — and he decided, — and we may suppose with judgment, '■'■ 10 110 THB O0LDXI7 CBRI8T1IA8. ^ ooQcemiDg the result The billets were sent, for the old lady and her grand-daughter ; and before an answer could be received, Miss Bulmer, — a most benevolent and gentle soul as ever lived, — took the carriage and drove over to Madame Girardin,in order, if need be, to smooth over difficulties and overcome objections ; at all events, to add her eloquence to that of her brother, to persuade the paHies to acceptance. But, before her arrival, the discussion had taken place between the old lady and the grand-daughter. " Well, Paula," quoth she, " wonders will never cease. What do you think ? Here is an invitation to me, — to me, — to spend Christmas day and night at Bulmer Barony. And here is a note to yourself, I suppose, to the same effect." And the old lady refid her billet aloud, and then required the young one to re-read it^ and to read her own. " And now what do you say, my child. Don't you think it very surprising ?" " I don't see any thing to surprise us, mamma. I confess it's only what I expected, after the Major's visit yesterday." " Well ! theee sudden changes are very awful. No one can tell what is to happen. I declare they make me quit^ nervous. Major Bulmer has never been on friendly terms with our family, but I think him a very worthy man, and I should be very sorry if any thing evil was to occur. I knew once of a person who was a great sinner, a very wicked man, who swore Uke a trooper, and drank hke a dragoon horse; who was always quarrelling with somebody, and fighting and laNving with his neighbours ; who all at once be- came converted from his evil ways, renounced his bad habits, joined himself to the church, became really pious, and suddenly died of apoplexy only ii month after ho had becom \ religious." " That was surely better than if ho had died before becoming 80. I don't think the change for the better, in his character, pro- duced the change in his body for the worse ; or that the danger to his Ufo was the consequence of the improvement in his morals. WHICH AUGURS AN AFFAIR OF BOARS. Ill - i It may be that certain changes in his physical condition, of which he was better conscious than anybody eke, brought about the change of heart within him ; and, fortunately for him, brought it about soon enough for his spiritual safety. I don't see why you should infer anytliing unfavourable to Major Bulmer's health, in conse([uenco of the improved feeling whicli ho shows towards us." " I don't know, my child ; there's no telling. It's all a myste- ry ; but I have my fears. I'm dubious that he is not altogether so sound of body after that accident." "Why, mother, ho walks as erect as ever." " Oh I that's owing to his pride. These Bulmers were always 80. My poor brother used to say that if they were dying, they'd still carry their heads up, and would draw on their boots and put on their spurs as for a journey. But, what's to be done, my child, about these invitations ?" " Oh I we must accept them, mamma, as a matter of course." " I don't see that, Paula." " Surely, mamma, if Major Bulmer makes the first advances to reconciliation, you are not going to show a less Christian spirit than he." " There is something in that, my dear, but — '* " Let the but alone, mamma. It properly belongs to the Bull family." The old lady laughed. " So it does, my child, so it does ; that is very well said ; — but— '» " Again, mamma I Now let me give you a suflScient reason for acceptance. You would not have me go alone ; and I must be there, you know, as the whole neighbourhood will be present, and you would not have it appear that I was slighted, or that I had shown myself too little of a Christian to accept the overtures of a family between which and ours so long a feud has existed. You must accept the invitation, and go for my sake.'* 4' 112 THE GOLDEN OHRIBTHAS. "Well, my dear, for your sake !" replied the indulgent dame, concealing, under the expression of her desire to gratify the dam- sel's wishes, some hankering tastes and curiosity of her own. The great object had thus been, safely and easily attained when Miss Bulmer made her appearance, and by some ill-judged, though very benevolent attempts to argue Madame Agnes-Theresa into the consent alrepdy won, had nearly driven the vessel out to sea again; like certain politicians of our acquaintance, who mar the pleasant progress of their own objects, by the too gi-eat passion for listening to their own eloquence. Many a good measure has been defeated in legislative assemblies, by a pert speech and an amiable epistle : both possessing more wind than wisdom. Our lady politician was of this unlucky brood, and, but for certain looks, nods, winks, and other sly proceedings— to say nothing of an ab- solute nudge or two — administered by pretty Paula, the ragout of compliance, to use an oriental form of speech, would have certain- ly been spoiled in the cooking. But !Miss Bulmer was fortunately silenced at the most dangerous crisis of the affair, and was persua- ded to listen quite long enough to learn that grand-mamma had already consented, in i^egard to the especial wishes of the damsel, to attend the Golden Christmas at Bulmer Barony — the impor- tance of the event seeming to justify the concession — it being the hundredth year since Christmas was celebrated in the same fami- ly and household. You may see on the gables of the house, in huge iron figures 1-7-5-1 ! It was the Golden Year in the his- tory of the ancient fabric — ancient for the civilization of our coun- try — which promises to attain the decrepitude of age, without reali- zing any of the famous dust and dignity of the antique. Though not exactly a favourite with Madame Girardin, our excellent maid- en sister was not by any means the object of such dislike as had hitherto been felt for her brother by the former ; and the first bu- siness over, that of the invitation, the parties had a long domestic and parish chat together, which brought them still nearer in social WHICH AUGURS AN AFFAIR OF B0AR8. 118 respects. Of course, the two more ancient ladies looked together at the pigs and poultry, and — a matter of equal unctuousness in the sight of both — the best way of dressing and curing sausages, oc- cupied an interesting half-hour to itself. You will at length sup- pose the interview over, and the maiden sister departed. " Well, really," quoth Madame Girardin, " it shows that the good folks of the * Barony' are coming to their senses at last. I do not see, ray child, aft^r the soHcitude they have shown, how I could possibly escape this visit ; and then, my dear, it's on your account too, you must remember." " Certainly, mamma," returned the artful little puss, " you have always been good to me ! You know, mamma^ you have to yield to my wishes." And she vn-apt her fairy-like arms about the neck of the vener- able Hecate, and kissed her as fondly as you or I would have done the most rose-lipped virgin in the world. But kissing is not now our cue — " This is no world To play with mammels, and to tilt with lips." We have other and very different games on hand. I am signal- led for the Wallet and the Strawberry Clubs — both hunting Socie- ties — and both occurring the same week. Everybody knows, of course, that the clubs of the gentry exist in all our parishes, the hunt- ers assembhng weekly or semi-monthly, hunting the better part of the day, dining together at the Club House, or at some central point in the neighbourhood. The wallet club, by its name, shows the process for providing the dinner. Each hunter^carries his wal- let stored with creature comforts and a doomed bottle. The Ma- jor and myself were parties to both hunts, but neither of us suc- ceeded, on these occasions, in getting a shot. We spent a merry 1 1 day, however, with the good fellows of the parish. But we II had anoiher sport in reserve, of rather different character, t5 ?i 10* . h I'i 114 THE OOLDXH CHBZSTMJLIU which a large party was invited; the affair to come oflf two days before Christmas. You are aware that, in the larger swamp and forest ranges of our low country, where population is sparse, the hog runs absolutely wild. He is hunted up as the season approaches when it is necessary to fatten him for the sham- bles. Sometimes hogs will escape all notice for years. Turned into the range after being marked, they flourish, or famish, on the mast, just as the seasons decree. Sometimes they will show themselves sluggishly fat, lying on sunny days of the ¥rinter in heaps of half-rotted pine straw, enjo}'ing themselves in the fashion of Diogenes — asking nothing from man or fate but the small amount of sunshine which reaches their repose through the tops of two or three grouped pines or gums. The acorns are plenty. They have fed fat that season, and are gruntingly good natured, and gi'owlingly sedate. You may walk over them and into them, without irritating their self-esteem ; almost without disturbing their slumbers. But the case Is otherwise in seasons when the mast fails. Then they are gaunt and wolfish. Then they growl sav- agely, and you must not tread wantonly upon their sensibilities. They drowse no longer in the sunshine than they can help. The goad of necessity is ever at their flanks. They hear perpetually in their ears the voice of a beastly fate which cries, " Root pig or die !" and as they hear, each lank and angular porker thrusts his long snout into the earth, and stirs the tields, from which the planter has reaped, more thoroughly than the plough-share. The potato fields, the ground-nut pateh, are thus burrowed into, and the mea- gre supplies, thus gleaned after the progress of the farmer, suf- fice for a while, not to fatten the aninuil, but to keep him aUve.— • Even these fail, in season, and the farmer then, through rare be- nevolence, sends forth his grazier, who, with a daily sack of corn, apportions to each, a small allowance, ujx)n which he consents to live a Httle longer. In this condition, the neglected hogs, grown Urger, and given to wandering through extensive and almost im- WHICH AUGURS AN AFFAIR OF BOARS. 115 ! penetrable recesses of swamp and thicket, become very wild and savage. They turn readily upon the dogs, and it requires a very I vigorous cur, indeed, and a very bold one, to take them by the \ throat They will sometimes give fierce battle to the hunter ? even, on horseback, and have been known to inflict serious if not fatal wounds upon the horse ; while the rider, himself, must be wary enough in the encounter if he would escape from hurt. The long white tusks of an angry boar, which has never been honour- ed by the annual tribute of the barn, or mollified by the pickings of the farm-yard, are no trifling implements of battle, ra^^hing short and sudden, against the tliighs or ribs of the heedless hunt- ers. It was with no small pleasure that Major Bulmer was ad^^sed a week or so before Christmas, by his overseer, that he had found out the hiding place, in a neighbouring swamp, of a gang of " wild hogs" having his brand. Two of them were described as boars of the largest size and fiercest character. Tlie Major instantly conceived the idea of a lx)ar-hunt. It was his pride to emulate as much as possible, the character of the ancient English, and to practice those sports, the neglect of which, he insisted, were the first signs of the degeneracy of the age. Tlio introduction re- cently, into the parish, of the jousts and tiltings of the knight* of the middle ages, — as hath been well recorded by the antiqua- rian chronicler of the Charleston Courier, — served, perhaps, to suggest the present enterprise particularly to his mind. And the fact that the Boar's Head constituted, in old times, the pn'cminent dish at every feudal English table on Christmas day, made him resolve that this grim trophy should also adorn his own, on the '^ approaching anniversary. To some six or eight of the young knights who had distinguished themselves at the last tournament, j proper notice was given, and, at the time appointed, we had the ? pleasure of seeing them assemble, each armed with a boar spear ■ and couteau dt chaue. There were the Knights of St. John, and i t.i_ 116 > THK OOIDXir CHRISTMAS. of Santee ; Knights of the Rose and of the Dragon ; Knights of the Bleeding Heart, and of the Swan ; and others, whom I need not name. I confess to figuring as the Knight of Keawah, — the old Indian name of Ashley River, — while a young friend, from the city also, came up in season to enact the part of the Knight of Etiwan — or of Cooper River. It was a proper day which we took for the sport, — dry, and a mellow sunshine in the heavens and upon the earth. We rode under the guidance of the overseer, and un- der the lead of the Knight of the Dragon,— the Major being still a Httle too sore and stiff to head the paity, though nothing short of a broken limb could have kept him from partaking of the ad- venture. We took with us but five dogs, but these were of known blood and courage. These were Clench, Gripe, Wolf, Bull, and Belcher. It happened, though wo did not know it when we set out, that wo were followed by another, — a stranger,— which no- body knew, — a gaunt, gray boagle, of very long body, and a mo- dest, rather sneaking deportment. He had not waited for enlist- ment, received no bounty, and, seeking only the bonom- of the thing, went as an obsciu*e volunteer. We never ncticed his ap- pearance until we were in the thick of the fight. The dogs knew very well what we were after. One of them, following the overseer, had tracked the prey before. We had, however, some trouble and a long ride to find them, as they had changed their hiding places repeatedly since the day of their dis- coveiy. The dog's scattered in the search. They had penetrated a great mucky bog, at several points, while the hunters skirted it, waiting for the signal. An occasional yelp, or bark, would at times excite us, but, for a while, we were disappointed. At length, one of the dogs gave tongue, shortly and quickly, and with evident anger in his tone. Tlie hunter is apt to know his dogs by their voices. The Major said, — " That's Belcher, — a sure dog, — better to report truly than to fight fiercely. Let's put in." WHICH AUGURS AN AFFAIR OF BOARS. 117 '^ With the words, we spurred forward in the direction of the sounds, making but slow headway tlirough the thick matted copse and underbrush which covered the entrance. But we got through at Inst, and found ourselves in a wood, where the trees were of considerable size, standing sufficiently open, — gum, water-oak, and pine, — with occasional patches of gall bushes, and dense masses, here and there, of cane, bramble and shrubs, with thin flats of 4 water lying between, and leaving little tussocky beds, high and dry, on which we found frequent but abandoned beds of the beasts we were in search of. We rode forward now at a trot. Belcher, the dog giving tongue more rapidly, and, being now joined by another dog, whose bark was less frequent, but very fierce ; and one which the Major did not recognize ; — a fact which somewhat worried him. Soon, we saw the overseer, with two other dogs, approaching from a point on our right ; and, as wo were joining, the form of the ab- sent dog. Gripe, came rushing by us from the rear, and making for the scene of clamour, which appeared to rise from a recess in the wood still beyond us. This we could attain only by passing through another dense skirt of undergrowth, vines, shrubs, canes and gall bushes. Four dogs we had just marked as they passed, yet we had heard two tonfnies within the covert. W^e had no time to speculate upon the surplus * tongue '; the clamour was momently increasing. The enemy was c\idently brought to bay. Poising our boar spears aloft, we forced our way through the copse, at the expcTLse of some scratched faces, torn skirts,, and caps lost for the moment. Breaking into the opening, the whole scene was appa- rent at a glance, and in one of those very spots where, our object being to see and to engage in the mele^^ wc should have chosen it to occur. There was a spectacle indeed. There were three hogs of immense size, of the breed, called, I think, the ' Irish Grazier.' They were long bodied animals, with long legs, grisly and angu- lar in aspect and outline, and all with ominous tusks. There was a huge BOW, very thin, with some eight or ten pigs. There were 118 THE golds:;* chhistmas. besides, two or three good sized shoats. A single boar, and he, the Inrgent, soemod to bo in good condition, lie was evidently one of those fierce, insolent and powerful boants, wlio are known to plant their shoulders against a wonn fence, and by main force to shove it over. These were all grouped together, the pigs within the circle, so as to present a front on every hand, when we came in sight, llie dogs had surrounded them, but kept at a decent distance, Tluy became more adventurous tlm moment we ap- peared, and dashed gallantly in among the herd. But it was a word and a blow only ; tlie sharp bark was followed by a sharper cry, and we could see the blood-stains instantly upon the should- ers of one hmping beast, and the gash along the ribs of another, who howled hiniHelf out of the fight, only to sink down, seemingly fainting in the water. " Bull hus got his quietus, I'm afraid," quoth the Major, poising his spear, and preparing for a charge. " Stop, Major," quoth the Knight of the Dragon ; " let's have fair play. It will not bo easy to have a chance, or to work suc- cessfully, while they keep herded in that hollow square. We must try and Hcpi-ntUi tlium. If you will sutler nu«, 1 will but prick one or more of the beastsj with my spear, and allow the dogs to break in*o their ranks. At all events, sutler me to try it." The Major held up somewhat unwillingly, and the young Knight darted forward g/illantly, brought up his nt^'cd, which was equally fiery and shy, with u sharp thruMt, into Ijoth llankw, of a Spanish rowell, and, rising in his stin'ups, dexterously passed the broad iron spear along the shoulder and sides of one of the largest boars. The savage beast in a moment snapped at the asHailing instrument, but fortunately took hold of the })art only where it was sheathed with iron. I Jo shook hiniHolf free from it a monu'nt after, and as it was withdrawn instantly, he wheeled about in the direction of his assailant, who had now ridden past. This changed his at- titude, exposing his broad flank to the Major, whom nothing now WHICH AUOtJRS AN AFFAIR OF BOARS. 119 could keep from the charge. He made it with commendable spirit, and drove his spear clean through the neck of the boar. Tlie wounded beast, with an angry crj', turned suddenly before the shaft could be withdrawn, and the iron head was broken off in the wound. The suffering must have been extreme, for he wildly dashed at the steed of his assailant, which backed suddenly against a c\i)ress, reared, plunged and dashed forwards, almost into the circle where the other hogs were still collected ; and, but that the Major was a famous horseman, he would have been unseated. Tlie wounded boar was not, however, permitted to carry the affair after his own fashion. The Knight of Santee came to the Major's res- cue, and adroitly drove his iron in between the gnashing teeth of the brute, piercing obliquely through the neck again, and compel- ling another cry, between a gi*tmt and a roar. The blood gushed freely from the wounds, and the scent of it had the usual stimulat- ing effect upon the dogs. The first in was the gaunt gray, of whom nobody knew anything, — the volunteer in the expedition. He had the boar by the nose in a moment. A single toss and twist threw the moaster down, and, leaping from his horse, the Knight of the Dragon passed his keen couteau de chasse over his weasand. The other parties, hogs, dogs, and knights, were by no means idle during this progress. The operations of the Major, by which one of the grimmest of tlie boars had been withdrawn from the circle, left it penetrable. The dogs da<«hed in once more. The pigs squealed, the sow gave battle fiercely, but was taken by the snout, by the dog Gripe, and turned over in a jiffy ; the overseer, jumping down and tjring her with certain buckskin thongs, with which he had come properly provided. The capture of the pigs continued to employ him during the rest of the affair. For this, we had a fair field ; and, by the way, the noblest quarry. The Knight of the Dragon, hke a courteous gentleman, kept aloof, leaving the sport to those who had taken no hand in the killing of •* 180 TBI OOLDXN OHRISTMAI. | V 1 } X the first boar. Major Bulmer was disarmed, by the breakiiig of his spear, and looked on with rare impatience, while the oonilict continued. It was not allowed, be it remembered, to use any other weapons than spear and knife. There had been little sport, and none of the clasMical, in the ati'uir, but for tliis rfntrictiun. The two remaining boars confronted ub, with tlieir little, round, sharp, ma- hgnant eyes, telling us, as well as words could do, what we might i^ expect from their monstrouM whito iuhUs, which stuck out throe goodly inches or more from either jaw. To seporate these two, to divide our forces ugaiuHt them, and to begin tlio atUick, were all matters of very brief arrangement. To the Knights of St. John, • the Bleeding Heart, and myself, were assigned the conquest of the largest of the grim graziers. The second named dashed forward valiantly, and delivered his spear, well addressed, fairly at the throat of the brute ; but, turning suddenly, at the moment — not disposed ,, to wait for th« awnault — he made at tlio hoi-so of tho attacking ^ knight, who barely recovered himself in season to wheel about and escape the glaring tusks that almost caught the courser's sides. Following up his onslaught, I put in, successfully taking the fierce brute just behind the ear and below ihe junetion of tho head and neek. Tho hpear j)aKH('(l in, — a w<'vere t!»ii»h(, — whieh was only arrested by the skull. 1 was fortunate in drawing forth the wea- pon before he could turn about, and seize upon it, Jis ho strove to do. At this moment, no aspect could bo more full of rage and fury than that whieh tho boar })resent«Ml. His baek was aljsolutely curved likt^ a bow, tho bristles were rained, ercet, and standing out in points like tliose of the ix)rcupine ; his eyes seemed to fljish a grey, malignant light, like so much white heat, while the biist- ling brows, long and wiry, stood out straight. The teeth and tusks were bare ; and, standing, regarding us with a sidelong watchful- ness, there was a mixture of rjigo and subtlety in the look of tho boar, that showed him no merciful customer, could he ever make himself fairly felt. That he had the fullest purpose to do so, every raised and corded muscle of his body seemed to declare. WHICH AUGtJRS AN ATtAlR O^ BOARS. 15J1 I It was a point of honour to give the ICnight of St. John a ^ chance, so I held my spear upHfted, and sufiered him to ride up to I the charge. To say that the Cavaher in question is one of the ? best riders in the country, one of the best exercised in the lance, and can ride at a ring -with a grace to charm the most fastidious of the damsels of the parish, would be mere surplusage. To see him, ■with his beaver up, — by which I mean his fur cap, with patent leather peak, — his enormous ma^s of sable whiskers, and elabo- rately twirled mustache, — to behold him rising in the stirrup and I levelling tlic spear, — then, as he drives the spur into the sides of I the courser, to sec him lance the direct shaft into the throat of the I beast, a seemingly mortal thrust — would have given a grim delight I to any ancient Nimrod of the Gcmian forest*;. One would have ^ supposed such a thrust^ so well deliverer), with so much equal ad- J dress and force, quite enough to liave settled the accounts in full of the N-ictim ; but not so ! It seemed to act only as a new spur to his fury. He da<;hed headlong at the horse of his assailant — • which curved with a sweep handsomely out of his way — then, ^v^th a strange caprice, dashed on the opposite side, just as the Knight of the Bleeding Heart was slowly approaching, lance uplifted, and never dreaming of his enjoying another chance at the grim enemy. • He was taken completely by surprise, and, before he could antici- pate the danger, or wheel out of the way, the sharp, white, feloni- ous tusk of the boar rashed against the foreshoulder of his be«ast, swift, and deep, so that you could hear the griding of the keen in- strument against the bone. With a terrible snort of fear, his mane rising and ears backing, the horse dashed wildly off, at an acute angle, turning as if upon a well oiled pivot, working under electricity ; and, in the twinkling of a musquito's wing, the hand- some young Knight of the Bleeding Heart, might be seen describ- ing a short evolution in the air, vulgarly called the summerset — I supposed to be only a vulgar contraction for " some upset," or i ** some overset," — and falling incontinently into the midst of the i 11 4i. •^^^ ■«• 131 THB OOLDJBN OBRIflTMlfl. conflict going on just then, between the remaining boar and the 4^ J' Knightu of Etiwan, the Hose, and the Swan. Out of one peril '^ into another, the Knight of J^lie Bleeding Ucart seemed in danger f , of literally verifying hii* claim to tlio title. Of a certainty, that of the Broken Head, seemed absolutely unavoidable. Nor was this the only danger; for, at the precise moment when he fell into the midst of the striving jmrtics, the sj^>cars of the Knights of Etiwan nnd the Rose, had actually crossed in the throat of the boar, and k ' he was gnashing, and rashing, and dashing, on both sides alter- nately, keeping up a sort of see-saw motion, the crossed spears maintaining for him the balance admirably, and the two knights, ('uring his phrensied movements, finding it difficult to withdraw their weapons from his tough side. You have heard of the little Canadian hunter, who was pitched by his horse among a herd of galloping buffaloes, and straddled the great bull, and was horsed from him to the back of the great cow, then precipitated among and over and between and through and above, a forest of little calves 1 Such, on a minor scale, was the sort of progress made by our Knight of the Bleeding Heart — fii-st over the groat boar, then flirted off upon the sow — who lay prostrate and tied — then rolling from her embrace among the swarm of little piggies, who were grouped around her, ten in number, each with nose to the ground, and tail curling in the air. He was thus tossed about, ■with a most feathery facility, for a moment, settling down finally like a stone, in very close proximity to the sow. Their groans were BO mingled, that ' it was not easy to distinguish between them; and, confounding them together for a moment, we almost appre- hended that the Knight of the Bleeding Heart would soon be in ■want of an epitaph. Several of us -dismounted and rushed to his assistance, Major Bulmer, in the meanwhile, eagerly rushing in to slit the jugular of the boar, who had succumbed to the Knight of - Santee and myself; and the Knights of the Dragon and Swan do- ing the same good service for the third boar, with which he and the Knights of the Rose and Etiwan had been doing battle. We A FLARE UP BETWEEN MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 128 .V3 picked up the champion of the Bleeding Heart, and found him with bleeding nostrils. This was his worst injury. IIo was stun- ned and considerably scratched, but, alighting just upon the boar's back, tilted next upon the sow's, and, rolling over finally among the pigs, the shock of his fj\ll was measurably broken. It might have been otherwise a fatal one ; for he was slung from the saddle, *" headlong, hke a stone. It was surprising, too, that he should have been thus unhorsed, for he ranked as a first rate rider. But he was taken by surprise, and the lack of ^^gilance is usually the wreck of skill. The worst of his misfortune is to come. Tliat he should have suffered so little was the evil feature in his case. ITad lefj, or arm, or neck, been broken, the mishap would have risen into tragic dignity. As it resulted, it was simply ludicrous, and the Knight of the Bleeding Heart was every where laughed at as the Knight of the Bloody Nose! CHAPTER XV. A FLARE UP BErVVEEN MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. We bagged om* prey as well as wo could. The overseer had pro\-idcntly ordered a cart to follow the pirty, and our spoils filled $ it: — the dead hogs being at the bottom, while the maternal porker, still unhurt, with her numerous progeny, grunted all the way home, from a spacious but bloody couch in the centre of her slain associates. I forbear numerous small detorately made ; — and lier black velvet, flowing and abundant, is as smooth as the daily goings on of her household. Her tiring woman has dressed her hair with more than her wonted nicety; and the few curls which nature has left tp her, or which, — making a certain feminine sacrifice to worldly notions, — she has allott^^d to herself, are admirably balanced on each side of her high forehead. Her movements are quite too measured to suffer her to decompose them throughout the whole day. There they will keep their place till folded out of sight for the night, either beneath her night-cap, or in the nice little antique rose-wood cabinet of her boudoir. She belongs to an old school, in which state and form are habitual, and where, if any thing fails, it is nature only, and that art which is its proper shadow, — which is modestly content and happy when suffered to bo its handmaid. The good lady meditates bolt upright A work table is beside i her, on which rests a gold-edged, pink-hued billet, the contents partly legible to her eye where it lies. She takes it up, scans it over, lays it down, and uphfts her eyebrows. Her lips, you see, are closely compressed. The effect is not a pleasant one on an antique \Tsage, particularly where the lips are thin. She again takes up the billet, but as she hears a voice and a footstep, she •.«• * llfS THE OOLDSK CHRISTMAS. again lays it upon the table, this time with a iHjtle hurry in her manner. She evidently do^ not desire to bo seen meditating ite contents. jBeatrice entei-s, calm, sweet, asi if all her passions were subdued to angels. Beatrice possesses real dignity,- — a quality that is free from any ostentatious consciousness of its possession. She has no affectations of any kind. No temper could be more serene, — no sunshine more agreeable in its warmth, or less broken by the in- terposing shadows of vanity, or arrogance, or pretence, or pre- eumptiou. But I will let Beatrice, — my Beatrice, — reveal herself. I will not undertake to describe her, for 1 should never know where to begin, or where to stop. Beatrice quietly approaches her mother, and takes up the billet " Sould this not be answered to-day, mother ?'* , " What is it, my child ?" was the answer of mamma, profoundly ignorant of the nature of the note. " The invitation of Major Buhner for Christmas 1" " Oh ! — ah ! — and what answer do you propose to send, Bea- trice?" ■, "What answer, mother? AVe accept, of course I** " I don't see why 6f course. ' • The damsel looked her surprise. The mother proceeded. " I am not sure that I shall accept." "Indeed! Why not?" " You are at liberty to do as you please. You are young, and will like to be among the young people ; but, as it is quite as much on your account as my own, that I shall decline going to Major Buhner, you, too, perhaps, may see tlie propriety of following my example." " On my account." "Yes, my child, on your account partly, and partly on my own." "Why, mother, this is very strange." " You may think so. Young jwople are very unobservant, and the young people of the present generation, I must say, are quito ■J 1 I li I A FLARE UP BETWEEN MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 129 too indifferent to tlic sort of treatment they receive. They love society too much ; they are ever ready to take it on any terms. Now, for my part, / have always been taught to receive it as a due, and not as a favour, and to welcome it as a right? rather than a benevolence." Beatrice had witnessed quite too many instances of this sort of crotchettiness on the part of her excellent mamma, not to see, at once, that her soup had been temporarily under- seasoned. She had acquired some skill in the business of soothing the irritated appetite, and supplying the ingredients necessary, — to use an orientalism, — for the conserve of a delicious temper. But she was really taken by surprise at this deinonstration in the present quarter. She had seen the Major and her mamma exceedingly in- timate only a week or two before. Nay, she had seen sufficient proofs, by which she had been greatly disquieted, of the secret object which the two parties had equally meditated of bringing Ned Bulmer and herself together. What had brought about the present alteration in the state of affairs ? Wliat had cooled off the parties ? Beatrice was not unwilling, I may say in this place, that there should be an end to the conspiracy against her happi- ness and that of Ned. But she had no desire that there should be a cloud and a wall between the two families. She was worried accordingly. Mammas, she well knew, having single, — ought I not rather to say only, — daughters, are apt to be fussy and fidgetty ; just as you see an old hen, whom the hawk has robbed of every chicken but one, — making more clack and clutter, and showing more pride and pother, than all the poultry yard beside ; — and the dear giri had long since resolved, that she, at least, would not contribute in any way to make herself the chicken so ridiculously conspicuous. There was no more unpresuming, unpretending damsel, for one of her pretensions, in the world. Now, as the last sentence of her mamma was tingling in her ears, she fancied she could catch the clues of her difficulty ; but her guess did not per- suade her to spare the excellent old lady any portion of the necea- ^ 180 THS GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. « . ■ ■ * Mty ot* speaking out, in proper tenns, the subject of li^r embar- rassment. .*' " Really, mamma, you speak in oracles. I can*t conceive why you should speak of society accorded to you as a benevolence rather than as a due, — and that, too, on the part of the Buhner family. They seem to me to have always distinguished you with the most becoming attentions. Miss Janet is one of the most do- % cile and humble creatures in the world, and she has been solicit- • ously heedful of us both ; the old Major, himself, has been so at- tentive, particularly of late, that, really, mamma, I had begun to A entertain some apprehensions that the Fates were about to punish «' me vdth a step-father, in order to make me atone for some of my ofiences." , "Beatrice, — Miss Mazyck," — with a most freezing aspect of re- buke, — the old lady drawing up her knees and laying her hands solemnly in her lap, — " You know not what you are saying." "Olil.yes, mamma, I know very well. How else could I ac- count for the long letter you received from the Major last sum- mer, and the long letter you wrote to him in return, neither of which did you suffer mo to see, though you do me the honour usually to make me your amanuensis with all your other corres- pondents." " There were reasons for the exception, Miss Mazyck." "Precisely, mamma; that's what I'm saying, — there was a spe- cial reason for that exception " " I said reasonSy not a special reason. Miss Mazyck." " Well, mamma, and I thought it only reasonable to conclude your reasons to be resolvable into a special reason. When, after our return, the Major was the first to call upon you, and when you took him out, under the pretext of visiting the loom-house, I' and the smoke-house, and the poultry-yard, and heaven knows I what else ; and when you were gone together almost an hour, — ' how could I suppose any thing else, than the particular danger to myself, if not to you, that I have mentioned ?" I A tlkRK UP BETWEEN MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 131 " You are disrespectful, Beatrice." " Surely not, mamma." " You know not what you are saying. You know not the busi- ' ncss on which Major Bulraer wrote me that letter and paid md that visit." "Certainly not, mamma, I only conjectured, and I give yoU my conjecture. As you never condescended to let me into the secret, I naturally thought that it more particularly concerned yourself." " You are a ver)'^ foolish child, Beatrice. The letters concerned you, rather than me. The visit was paid on your account. K I went out with Major Bulmer, yow were left here with his son" " No, mamma, you mistake ; I was left with Mr. Cooper." " Yes, Miss Mazyck, and that reminds me of the first show of disrespect, to our family, on the part of Major Bulmer's. Mr. Ed- ward Bulmer treated you with so little consideration, that ho left you as soon as our backs were turned, and, when found, was * stretched off and sleeping in the librar}% Was that proper treat- ment of my daughter ?" "Really, mamma, I never missed him." 3 The old lady gave her daughter a severe and suspicious glance, I but did not answer the remark. She proceeded thus : ■^ " Whether you missed him or not, does not alter the fact with I regard to his conduct on that occasion. It was highly improper, and very disrespectful. But his disrespect did not end here. On the night of the party, he did not dance with you once." "In that, if there be any thing to blame, I am the offender. I He applied to me twice or three times for the privilege of dancing with me, and each time I was engaged." " Yes, but could he hot have engaged you for the dance after- wards 1" - " I am not sure but lie sougbt to do so. It is certain^ that, through- out the evening, I was engaged, most usually, one or more dances ahead." " If there had been a will for it, Be^itrioe, there had been a way." : 182 TttK O0U)EK CttWBTkAS. "** " That is, if both our willa agreed. There, I conceive, the diffi- culty to have lain. I confess, I see nothing in Mr. Bulmer's con- duct, on that occasion, which could be construed into slight or dis- respect." " You do not want to see, Beatrice." , ' ** You are right, maroma. I am not anxious, at any time, to pick ( out and seek for the flaws and infirmities in my neighbour." ? " That may be a very pious principle of conduct, my daughter, which, in every day matters, I cannot disapprove of; but there are cases where a proper pride re^juires the exercise of proper resent- ment. The conduct of Major Buhner and his son, has not satisfied j| me since the night of the ball. They have neither of them dark- f ened these doors since." " Why, mother, how -could they ? You surely could not expect l them, sulTorinj^, its they did, from such an accident that night. Mr. Edward 15uhner luw been laid up with a broken arm, and the old Major wtw covered with bruiso.n." " But he could find his limbs and body sound enough to visit Mrs. Giriirdin." "Surely, and he was bound to do so; the friendly care, the chariUiblc kiiuhioss, the magnanimity of the old lady, that night, in jjfiving her UHHiHtaiKc, mo promptly, and with ho much real bene- volence and kindness to the suti'erers, called for the earliest and most grateful acknowledgment. As a gentleman, merely, if not as a Christian and human being, Major Buhner ould do no less than pay her a visit, of thanks and gratitude, as sx>n as ho was able." " Yes, and Minn Bulmer could go too. Both could pay their respects in that quarter, and neither in ours." " Ah ! mamma ! so you find cause of complaint in poor Misi Janet, too, one of the best of human creatures." " Y«R, indeed ; if tliey could viMit ono houHo, they might well vinit unothor; and thoro wore roiwoUH why tlu-y should liavo been here, if only to explain." X FLARtt \iP BET^EEIf lAOTflER AND DAUGHTER. 138 1 " Explain 1" " Yes, explain I You can't, at present, understand ; but I mean it when I say explain 1 There's another thinjr, Beatrice. Mrs. Girardin and Paula Bonileau have both been invited to the Christ^ ma? party at Major Bulmer's. I have it from Sally, the cook. Her husband, Ben, belonging to Paula, told Sally of the invitation, and of the very day when it was given." " "What more natural. The Major and Miss Bulmer could not «*urely have omitted them." " What! after the long quarrel between the families?" " For that very reason, mother. A quarrel is not to be kept up for ever in a Christian country ; and what better occasion for re- conciliation than when one of the parties assists the other in a case of extremity ; and what better season than this, when God himself despatches his only Son on a mission of Love, Forgiveness, and final reconciliation between himself and his offending people! Really, mamma, if you were to say to others what you have said to me, people would begin to suspect you of Paganism." " Better call me a Pagan, at once, Miss Mazyck !" growled mamma, gathering herself up in the attitude of one about to spring. " But, it is not that Mrs. Girardin and her grand-daughter have been invited, that I complain. But when I know that the invita- tion was sent to tkcm^ a whole day and night before any was sent to us, that, Miss Mazyck " " That, mamma, is one of those offences that cannot but be com- mitted, and which there is no helping. It is done every day. All cannot be served at the same moment. While one's soup is scalding him, another, at the extremity of the table, finds his a httle cooler than soup ought to be. Somebody must always be last," " But I am not pleased to be that somebody, Miss Mazyck." " And, in this case, mamma, I am very sure you are not. I would wager something that if Mrs% Girardin received the first, you had the second invitation*" 12 '^• 184 THS GOLDBH 0BRI8TUA8. ** Perhaps ; but that does not altogether satisfy me, considering the terms on wiiich Major Bulmer and myself stood together." "Ah! those terms, mamma," said Beatrice archly and with a smile. The mother did not attend to the remark, but proceeded as if she had not heard it : " But, I see the whole secret. The fact is, that Mrs. Oirardin has a good deal of foresight and a grand-daughter, and Major Bul- mer has a handsome fortune and a son ; and charity by the way- side, may bring its benefits into the parlour ; and they do say that Mi8« Paula is not insonsiblc to the wealth and person of Mr. Ed- ward Buhner, and so " " Mother, mother l" cried Beutrlco rei>roaehfully ; " do not sufler yourself to speak such things. Mrs. Girardin, I am sure, would have done for the blind Wggar, by the highway, all that she did for Miijor Buhner " "Wluitl with hor j^rido?" "Hit prido Ih ridituloui* iiiuugli, I grunt you, but i^o fiir m I have ever seen, it has never been indulged at the expense of her humanity. I am sure, at least, that her pride would have been enough to keep her from any calculations in respect to the Buhner family, its son and wealth. She Is certiiinly too proud for any scheming to obUiiu any thing from that or any otlu?r family. As for Paula Bonneau, I know no woman who better deserves the best favour of fortune in a husband ; but she is to bo sought, mother, and she will not hei-self bo found on the search for a lover. Let me so far correct your opinion as to tell you what the world reports in respect to Paula B'»nnouu. It nuyi* that luUvard l^ulinor htw long been her devoted, if not her accepted lover, and that she is truly attached to him, in spite of the hostility of her grandmother, so tliat most of your suspicions are wrong, if those of the world bo right." " It is impossible, Bcjitrice, — it is impossible 1" said the mother, ptishing away the »tool l>etn'ath hor foot, and rising with an air of outraged dignity. "The terms Ixjtween Major Bulmer and my- self " A FLARE UP BETWEEN MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 135 "Ah ! those terms again, mother. Pray, what is the mystorioua nature of tliis affair between you and Major Bulmer? Really, un- less you t<^ll me plainly the stat<^ Of the case, I shall have to fall back upon my old suspicions. My powers of divination yield me no other conjectures." The mother quickened her movements across the room, then wheeling about, confronted the daughter with a somewhat imperi- ous manner, as she said, — " Well, if 3-ou must know, — and, under present appearances, I see no reason to maintain a useless secrecy, — you must know that Major Bulmer has proposed for you, and that I consented " " ^fajor Bulmer, for me, — why, mamma, he is old enough for my grandfather 1" cried the girl in unaffected astonishment. " Pshaw, Beatrice, you surely know what I mean. He pro- posed far you on bclialf of his son." " And you consented V " Yes, — I consented. I thought the match a very eligible one." " But how could you consent, mother, to any thing of the sort ? Did you mean that I was to have no voice in the ir after ?" " No, by no means ; but I took it for granted, iny daughter, that you would see the thing in its proper hght, — see the advantages of such a match — and I consented that the Major should open the matter to his son " " Heavens ! mother ! what have you done !" exclaimed Beatrice, the rich red suffusing cheeks and neck, while a singular brightness flashed freely out from her dilating eyes. It was her turn to rise and pace the apartment " What have you done ! How have you shamed me ! So, Edward Bulmer is to be persuaded, under an arrangement with my own mother, to behold in me the proper handmaid u{)on whom it is only necessary that he should bestow his smiles, in order to obtain submission. I am to be made happy by the bounty of his love. Oh 1 mother 1 mother 1 how could you do this thing ?" "But, my dear, you see it in a very peculiar and improper hght. I — " 186 '^ THB OOLDSN OHBIBTIIAS. . -" **1 see it in the only light It appears by your own showing, — and, indeed, I know the fact, — that Mr. Bulraer has had no part in this beautiful arrangement. He must be argued into it ; and his father must provide him 'svith the proper spectacles — his or your*8, mother, — looking through which, he is to discover what he never of himself oould see, that I am the proper young woman whom he should espouse. You have doue wTong, mother, — you have been guilty of a great cruelty. You have shamed me in my own eyes." ** How!— how!" " Who will suppose, — Major Bulmcr or his son, think you ? — that you would venture to pledge the aflections of your daughter, to one whoso affections have yet to be persuaded." " Oh ! no ! by no means. I told the Major that you knew noth- ing— r" " Of course ! and had I known every thing, it still would have been an amiable maternal error — quite venial and rather pretty, perhaps — to have made exactly the same assurance. The Major believes just as much of it as he pleases, — the son as little ; — and I — and I — I am to appear as the humble N-irgin, dutiful at the threshold, as another Ruth, entreating to be taken into the house- hold of the wealthy Boaz. Oh ! what have you done, mother ! Wliat have you done |" And a passion of teai^ followed the drawing of the humiliating picture. The mother was astounded, and began to fear that, in her previous consideration of the subject, she had excluded from view some of the proper lights for judging it. She began to falter, and to make assurances. But the daughter had risen in strength and dignity, just in degree as the mother had declined. Her tears had oe^ised to flow, but her soul was up in arms, and the fires now flowed from the eyes that lately wept. Her form, always lofty and noble, now rose into a sort of queenly majesty, that filled the old lady with admiration. " As for Edward Buhner," said Beatrice, " he is not for me, nor T for him. I have long known that he loved Paula Bonneau ; CHRISTMAS EVE. 137 .^ I; and I have good reason to believe that his love is requited. But even had he been willing, mother, his father willing, and you wil- ling, / should not have willed the connexion." "But, Beatrice, my daughter," interposed the mother, now thoroughly alarmed, " you do not tell me you will marry against my consent." *' No mother ; but I mean to tell you that 1 will never marry until I have my own consent !" A carriage at this moment rolled into the court below. The mother looked through the blinds. " It is Major 13ulmer's, and Miss Janet is getting out." " One word then, mother, — we both must accept this invitation, and it must be frankly and unreservedly — unless wo wish the wholo parish to suspect that, in the union of the houses of Buhner and Bonneau, Beatrice Mazyck has sufiered a mortification, — Beatrice Mazyck has been rejected by him to whom her mother has oflfered her in sacrifice." " Oh ! my child ! How can you say so ?" The dialogue was interrupted by the entrance of the ancient but amiable maiden, whom Beatrice received \vith an aflfcctionato kiss, and her mother with a laborious smile. It need not scarcely be said, that Beatrice had her own way, and that the invitation was accepted. CHAPTER XVI. OHRISTMAS EVE. Time, meanwhile, had been hobbling forward, after the usual fashion, and with his wonted rapidity. He brings us at length to Christmas eve. But the old Egyptian don't find us unprepared. He does not catch us napping, though he may at the * nappy! 12* ♦ 188 - THE OOU>Sir CHRISTMAS. We have taken him by the forelock. We have been getting steam upon him for a goodly month or more. Major Bulmer has failed in none of his supplies ; and aunt Janet has been doing the cruity^ in spite of her proverbial sweetness of temper, — and because of it — in the pantry and bake-house, for a week of eleven days. What a wilderness of miuce-pies have issued from her framing hands ; what a forest of patties and petties, cocoanut and cran- berry ; — what deserts of island and trifle ; what seas of jelly ; what mountains of blano mange. Eggs have grown miraculously scarce. There is a hubbub now going on between the fair spinster and her lordly brother. " But, Janet, by Jove, this will never do ! . You mu8tn*t stint us in Egg-nog. Better give up a bushel of your pudding stutf^ than that we should have less than several bushels of eggs." " But, brother, there will still be enough. You know the ladies seldom take egg-nog, now a days." " I know no such thing, and don't beheve it. We must provide enough, at all events. Send out Tom and Jerry ; let them scour the countiy and pick up all they can. These women with their parties !" " Was ever such a man as brother !" cried Miss Janet to me, with bare arms, uplift, and well sprinkled with flour. She had been kneading that her pubhc should not need, which is certainly patriotism, if not Christian charity. But I have no time to listen to her, or to speculate upon her virtues. The Major summoned me forth to look at the hogs. Thirty were slaughtered last night. There they hang, the long-bodied, white porkers, thoroughly clean- ed, like so many convicts, decently dressed for the first time in their lives, when about to pay the j>enalty of their offences. " Not a rogue among them," quoth the ^Injor, " that weighs less than 250 nett." Yesterday, there was a boef shot. We must go and look at him, see him quartered, and estimate his weight and im- portance also. Huge tubs and wooden platters of sausage meat entreat our attention, and I assist Miss Janet in measuring out «♦■ CnniBTMAS EVE. 139 pepper, black and red, and sage and thyme, and salt and saltpetre, that the sausage meat may be as grateful to the taste as it is fully great to the eye. The Major and his sister are the busiest people in the world. Ned Bulmer is abroad and busy also, as much so as he can be, his arm in a sling. He is anxious about certain oys- ters ordered from the city, and is pacified by the response from the gentlemanly body servant, — " The oystei-a have arrive, Mr. Ed- ward, in good order." Boxes are to he unpacked, in which I help. Miss Janet is feverish about the fate of several baiTcls of crockery. I assist in relieving her. Tlie Major needs my help in opening and unfolding certain cases of fire-works, and in preparing sockets for rockets, and reels for wheels, posts, and platforms, &c., for a display by night. Our Baron, like other Princes, is fond of, and famous for, his ])yrotechny. He has invented a new torpedo, by the way, for blowing up the fleet of the Federal Government, when- ever they shall attempt to bombard the city ; and one of the pro- blems which now occupies his mind, is the preparation of a balloon for dropping hollow shot into the forts of the harbour. The Major is a fierce secessionist. At one time, he rather inclined to co-ope- ration ; and I fancy lie voted the co-operation ticket for the South- em Congress ; but, since the resolutions of the Committee at Co- lumbia, he denounces them as mere simulacra, — using the verna- cular for the learned word, — plainly saying, in brief, burly phrase, " Humbugs !" — and has very devoutly sent them all to the devil. From Cheve? and Clicsnut, Burt, Barnwell nnd Orr, To Preston and Presslcy, and tweniy-five more. With Petigru thrown in to make up the score ! But we must eschew politics, in a Christmas L^'gend, lest we take away some poor devil's appetite for dinner. Our cue is to be genial and gentle, tender and tolerant, not strategetical and tragical. The fire-works arranged and disposed of, we turned in upon a Christmas Tree, which was to be elevated within the great hall. This was a beautiful cedar, carefully selected, and brought in from the woods, the rootB well fitted into the half of a huge barrel, i-'< v"^ • ^-x- ^«i 140 ^ THE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. rammed with moss, the base being so draped with green cloth aa to conceal the rudeness of the fixture. This, planted and adjusted in its place, we enclosed tlie piazza, front and rear, with canvas, and hung the interior in both regions with little glass lamps of different colours. Half of the day, Christmas eve, was employed in these and a score of other performances. Nothing that we could think of was omitted. Then, there were boxes of toys for the children to be unpacked, and trunks of pretty presents to be examined, and the names written on them of the persons for whom they wore designed. They were, that night, after the guests had all retired, to be suspended to the branches of the Christmas Tree, which was, in the meanwhile, to be kept from sight by the drop- ping of a, curtain across the hall ! Ned Bulmer had his gifts pre- pared, as well as his fiither and aunt. I, too, had bought my petty contributions, calculating on the persons I should meet. Before noon, the company began to pour in. Several came to dinner that day. Afternoon brought sundry more, who wore to spend the night, and perhaps several nights. The mansion house was entirely surrendered to the ladies and mamed j>eople ; — the young men were entirely dispossessed and driven to sheds and out- houses, in which, fortunately, * the Barony * was not deticient Ned and myself lodged with the ovei-seer, and had a snug apartment to ourselves. At dinner, it was already necessary to spread two tables. Every body was becomingly amiable. Care was kicked under the table, and lay crouching there, silent and trembling, like a beaten hound, not daring to crunch even his own bones aloud. The ladies smiled graciously to our sentiments, and we had funny songs and stories when they had gone. After dinner, some of the guests rode or rambled for an hour, others retired to the library, — chess and backgammon ; othei*s to the cliambers ; — and the work of preparation still went on. The holly and the cedar, twined to- gether with bunches of the ' Druid Mistleto,' wreathed the doors and windows, the fire-place, the pictures. lied and blue berries glimmered prettily among the green leaves. A*- night, we had CHRISTMAS EVE. 141 the tea served sooner than usual, for the Major was impatient for the fire-works. The discharge of a cannon was the signal for crowding to the front piazza. There, as far as the eye could ex- tend, ranging along the green avenue, at equal distances, were piles of flaming lightwood, showing the way to the dwelling. They failed to show the spectators where the ^fajor was preparing for his rockets. Suddenly, these shot up amid the darkness ; a flight of a dozen, A\nth the rush of the scrapliim, flying, as it were, from the glooms and sorrows of the earth. Then came wheels, lioman candles, frogs, serpents, and transparencies — quite a dis- play, and doing great credit to the Major, besides singing his cheek and hair, and drawing an ounce of blood from his left nostril — the result of a premature and most indiscreet explosion of a tur- '< billon, or something of the sort. But this small annoyance was rather agreeable than otherwise, as tending somewhat to dignify the exploit. I The display over, and the spectators somewhat cooled by stand- i ing in the open air, we returned to the rooms and the violin began I to infuse it.s own spirit into the heels of the comjtany. Then fol- l lowed the dances ; quadrilles, cotillon, countiy dances, Virginny t reek, and regular shake-downs. We occupied two saloons at this I business till 12 o'clock, when the boys and girls, obeying the I signal of Miss Janet, descended to the rooms assigned to oflices \ purely domestic. Huge bowls might here be seen displayed, and I mammoth dishes. A great basket of eggs was lifted in sight, and I upon a table. Knives and forks, sticks and goose feathers, were I put in requisition. Eggs were poised aloft and adroitly cut in I twain ; the yolk falling into the bowl, the white into the dish — t seperating each, as it were, with a becoming sense of what was I expected of it. Then the clatter that followed, — the rubbing and |- the rounding, — the twitching and the clashing ! How fair arms flashed, even to the elbow, and strong arms wearied, even to the shoulder blade, to the mer^raent and mockery of the damsels. . With some, the unskilful, it wouldrCt come ; — in Western par- r'-'^ 142 THE GOLDEN 0HRI6TMAB. lance, * (hey couldnU come it */ — and the dish bad to be transferred to more scientific bands. At length, the huge tray being upUfted, turned upside down, and the white mass chnging still sohdly to the China, it was pronounced the proper moment for reuniting the parties so recently seperated. Then rose the golden liquid, a ^rosted soa of strength and sweetness and serenity, that never whispered a syllable of the subtlety that lurked, hidden in the compound, born of the glowing embraces of lordly Jamaica and gallant Cognac. Lo ! now the strong-armed youth, as tliey bear the glorious beverage on silver salvei*s to the favourite ladies. They quaff, they sip, they smile, they laugh ; the bnghtness gathers in their eyes ; they sparkle ; the orbs dance hke young stai*s on a frosty night, as if to warm themselves ; — when suddenly, Miss Janet rises, stands for a moment silent, looks significantly around her, and is understood ! A gay buzz follows ; and, with smiles and bows, and meiTy laughter, and pleasant promises, the gay group disappears, leaving the tougher gender to finish the discus- sion of that bright, potent beverage, in which the innocent egg is made to apologize fur a more fiery spirit than ever entered into the imagination of pullet to conceive ! Merry were the clamours that followed ; — gay songs were sung ; — some of the youngsters, just from college, took the floor in a stig dance ; — while half a dozen more sallied forth at one o'clock, called up the dogs, mounted their steeds, and dashed through the woods on a fox hunt. But the fox they hunted that night wiis one of that sort which Sampson ' let loose among the Philistines — a burning brand under his brush — not suffering him to know where he ran 1 CHRISTMAS — 'HOW GOLDEN* HB CHAPTER XVn. CHRISTMAS — HOW GOLDEN". Christmas Dawn ! The day opened with bursting of bomber to chamber. Why eggs at Christmas as well as Easter ? There is a significance in their use, at these periods, which we leave to the thcelogical antiquarian. They are doubtless typical. Enough that, in the Bulmer Barony, the old custom was religiously kept up. Everj' guest was required to ta'^te, at all events. The ladies mostly, the dear, delicate young things iii particular, were each content with a wine-glass. Some of the matrons could relish a full cup or tumbler, and there were some of these who would occasionally find their way into the contents of a second, and — without getting ia their cups ! We are to graduate the beverage, be it remembered, according to the capacity o^ the individual ; and he alone is the intemperate — wo may add the fool also — who takes a power into the citadel which he cannot keep in due subjection. The bell rings for brc^J^fast. The hour is late. All are assem- bled. There is joy in all eyes ; merriment in all voices ; what a singular conventionalism, established by habits so prolonged, for so many hundred years, by which, whatever the secret care, it is overmastered on this occasion, and the sufferer asserts his freedom for a brief day in the progress of the oppressive time I Breakfast at the * Barony ', is, of course, a breakfast for a Pnnce. Take that for granted, gentle reader, and spare us the necessity to describe. The event over, wo group together and dispci*se. Thejborses are saddled below. The young gallant lifts his fair one to the saddle. The carriages are ready ; and there are parties preparing for a drive. Some of the young men have gone to the woods, pistol and rifle shooting. Others are in the library, companioned by the other sex, at chess and backgammon. We are among these, Ned Bulmer and myself. We have duties at home. We know not what moment will bring to the door our respective favourites. And 146 TttB GOLDEN OtlRISTkAfl. SO, variously engaged and employed, all more or les8*gratefully, the hours pass until meridian. A little after, the rolling of wheels is heard below. We are at once at the entrance. Major Bulmer C is already there. The carriage brings Mrs. Mazyck and her fair *' daughter. The old lady is not exactly thawed, but the ice is of a thin crust only. The Major tenders her his arm ; mine is at the service of Beatrice. Scarcely have we ascended when other vehi- cles are heard below. It is now Ned's turn, and while the Major is bowing and Hupi>orting Madame Agnos-ThcroKa, Nod brings in the dear little witch, Pnuliv, hanging on his sound limb, and turn- ing an inquiring and tender glance of interest upon that which pleads for pity from the sling. The Major and his sister divide themselves between the matrons ; while Ned and myself share the damsfU between uh. Wo slip out, unolnorvod, for a walk, loaving the ancient quartette in full chase of parish antiquities, recalling old times and making the passing as pleasant by reflection as pos- sible. Shall I tell you how we strayed, whither we went, what we said together ? Not a word of it. .If you have heart, you may conceive for yourself; if fancy only, you may trust to conjec- ture. What is said by young por.'ionH, with hoarts in full agree- ment, will seldom bear reporting. It is so singularly the faculty of the heart, under such circumstance?, to endow the simplest j^i. matters with a rare significance, that ordinary reason becomes ut- terly unnecessary, and the affectioas lind a speech and a philoso- *" phy of far more valuo, more grateful to the ear, and more profound to the sense, than any that belongs t«j simple intclli'ct. Wo wore gone fully two hours from the house, yet, so well had the Major and aunt Janet done their parts, we had not been missed by mamma and grandmamma, and neither frowns nor reproaches waited our return. It was evi«lontly ii\si proving itself a Ciolden Chrihtnias. The goldon jK-riod had come round again iw no long promised. The lion and the lamb were about to lie down to- gether. That is, — Major Bulmer, seated in the centre of the sofa, with Madame Agnes -Theresa on one hand, and Mrs. Mazyck on CHRISTMAS HOW GOLDEN. 147 the other, had them both in hand as a dextrous driver two fiery and intractable steeds, whom he has subdued ; and the free smile playing upon all three countenances, as we entered, was conclusive of such a conjunction of the planets, as held forth the happiest auguries for the future, in respect to the " currents of true love !" Company continued to arrive. The groups which had ridden forth returned. The house was thronged. The respectable body- servant looked in at the library. The Major rose, went to the door, looked at his watch, came back, said a few words, by way of apology, to the ladies with whom he had been doing the amiable, and tl^en disap})eared. The dinner hour was approaching. It was soon signalled. The Major returned. His arm was tendered to Mrs. Mazyck ; Madame Agnes-Theresa was served with that of another ancient Major, quite as conspicuous in the parish as he of Bulmer; and then, each to his mates, we followed all in long pro- cession. Need I say, that, while Ned Bulmer, by singular good fortune, was enabled to escort Paula, by the merest accident, I happened to be nigh enough at the moment to yield my arm to Bea- trice. Really, the thing was thoroughly providential in both cases* Such a dinner ! The parish, famous for its dinners, had never seen one like it It is beyond description. Two enormous tables, oc- cupying the whole length of the spacious dining room, were loaded with every possible form and variety of edible. But the turkey was not allowed, as is usually the case in our country, to usurp the place of honour on this occasion. There was a couple of these birds to each table ; but they stood not before the master of the feast At our entrance, the space on the cloth was vacant at his end of the table. He stood, erect, knife in hand, evidently in expectation. He had one of his famoas old English cards to play. One of the turkies was at one of the tables where I was required to preside, the fair Beatrice on my right. The others were interspersed along the two boards. Presently, we heard solemn music without Then the door was rc?ODened. and the steward, nankin under chin, made 148 THE OOLDEK OHRISXMAS. f .*'■ ' " My friends," quoth the Major, in a speech that wa» evidently prepared, and' which we abridge to our dimensions, " I am about to restore a custom common in all the good old English establish- ments, even within the last hundred years. The turkey has been raised to quite unmerited honour among us. I am willing to as- sign him his place upon our table ; but I shall depose him from #tho first place hereafter. That projicrly belongs to the Boar*a IToi^d I 11n« lionr'n ITund wivm th<* futuoim diHli nt rhriwtmn*, in old England ; not the turkey. The turkoy is m\ innovation. lie is purely an American fowl, and was utterly unknown in Europe until after the Spaniards found this continent. He is a respecta- ble bird, particularly in size ; but in flavour, cannot rank with the dtU'k, f»r ovon a wo]l-dro»»od young goono. Thore is no reason why he should supersede the Boar's Head. I am willing to give him the first place on New Year's day, as representing a new era and a new country ; but on Christmas, as a good Christian, I am bound to stick to the text of the Fathers. Their creed I give you in their own language, as it was chaunted five hundred years ago. The steward who placed the Boar's Head on the table, brought it in with the sound of music, and chaunted, as he advanced, the following Christmas carol, which, by the way, I have, with the as- sistance of my young friend, Richard Cooper here, somewhat ven- tured Uy modornize to ,corro»-pond with the vernacular." The Major then proceeded to repeat, in the formal, Honoroui manner of a schoolljoy, whoso voice is in the transition state, a cross between squeak and croak, the following ditty : Caput opri deforo, RrddcnB Inudes Domino ! "Lo! the Bour'H Head, he that Bpoll'd Tho (jocMlly viriiM wluTe many toil'd,— Merrily masters, be assod'd, — 1 1 pray you all sing merrily, Qui estis m convivio. Tho hoar's liead, you must underutand, Is the chief service in tlib land— >.* CHRISTMAS — HOW GOLDEN. 149 And here it lie? at your command, Clad in bay and rosemary ; — . . Servile cum cantico. With song \ro bring the wild boar's head, Ho spoiled our vines — with mustard spread. The beast is good and gentle dead. Pray, masters, eat him heartily, — Reddens laudes Domino." But the Major was not allowed to finish his recitation. We had prepared a surprise for the strategist. Ned and inyfielf, liaving copies of the carol, had secretly adapted it to appropriate music, and, suffering the Major only to make a fair entrance upon the verse, we broke in with a loud chorus. At first, ho stopped and looked at us with a face of doubt. Was it an offence to be reseYited ? We had taken the words out of his mouth. We had converted the recitation into a chant, the chant into a song. Ought he to be angry ? A moment decided the question. Certainly, a carol ought to be sung. We had only carried out his ptirposo more ef- fectually than he was able to do it himself. We had surprised him, but it wa5 a tribute to his objects and tastes that we had prepared in this surprise. The cloud disappeared ; he laughed ; ho clapt his hands ; Ye joined with stentorian lungs in the chorus, and other voices chimed in. We obtained a magnificent triumph. Meanwhile, the Boar's Head, with a mammoth lemon in his huge jaws, and enveloped in bay leaves and rosemary, was set down in state before us. It was the head of one of the largest of the wild boars that we had slain in our hunt It was well dressed — it was delicious. Our old English fathers knew what was good ; but 1 am not sure that any of the ladies partook of the savage dish. *' Milk for babes, meat for men !" muttered the Major, in a tone between scorn and pity. Tlie feast procetlded, the Baron ex- patiating occasionally on Boar Heads and Boar Hunts, insisting that, as on every large plantation in the swamp country, wild hogs X3* 150 THE GOLDEN OHIUSTMAB. were numerous, the proper taste required that we should always have the dish for Christmas. I shall not report his several speeches on this and incidental topics. The champagne made its own fre-' quent reports about this time, and left it rather difficult to follow any orator. The Major now drank wth Madame Agnes-Theresa ; then with the widow Mazyck, and almost made the circuit of the table, in doing gi-ace with the matrons. Tlie younger part of the company were not slow to follow the example. What sweet and significant things were whispered to the several parties beside us— over the wiTie, but under the rose. The meats disappeared, the comfits took their place, and disappeared in turn. The best of pleasures find their finale at last Up rose the ladies, and, with a bumper, well drained in their honour, wo followed them to the par- lour and the library. A brief pause, and a new summons brought us into the hall. The curtiiin was raised ; the Christmas Tree was there in all its glory. The doore being closed and the dusk pre- vailing, the little coloured glass lamps had been lighted among the branches ; and, behind the tree, peering over it, raised upon a scaf- folding, stood a gigantic figure — a venerable man, fit to be emble- matic of the ancient Jupiter, Avith a fair, full iiice, large, mild blue eyes, features bold and expressive, yet gentle ; but, instead of hair, his head was covered with flowing gray moss, and, from his chin, streaming down upon his breast, the gray moss fell in voluminous j^ breadth and burden. He realized the picture of the Biitish Druid. "^ In one hand he bore a branch of the mistletoe, in the other a long black wand, with a silver crook at the extremity. The children ^ clapped their hands as soon as they saw the figure, and cried out, — " Oh ! look at Father Christmas ! Father Chiistraas ! Father . '^ Christmas !" And they were right. Our saint is an English, not a Dutch saint, bo it remembered ; and Father Christmas, or the " Lord of Chrystmasse," as he used to be styled, is a much more respectable person, in our imagination, than the dapper Uttle Man- . ;, hattan goblin whom they call Santa Claus. * With the clamours of the children, the good father was fully - ,* ^ CHRISTMAS HOW OOLDEN. I5l awakened to deeds of benevolence. His crook was in instant ex- ercise. The crook with a gift hanging to it, was immediately stretched out to one after the other — a sweet feinalo voice from the back-ground, naming the little favourite as he or she was required to come forward. When i\\6 juveniles were all endowed, they dis- appeared, to weigh and value their possessions ; and the interest began for the more mature. The former voice was silent, and that of a man was heard. He named a lady, then another, and another ; and as each was called and presented herself at the foot of the tree, the ancient Druid extended his crook towards her, bearing upon it a box, a bag, or bundle, carefully enveloping the gift, her name be- ing written upon it. Soon the voices from the back ground alter- nated. Now it was a male, now a female voice, each calling for one or other of the opposite sex, until all the tokens of love and friendship were distributed. " See," said Beatrice Mazyck to me, — "see what the Father has bestowed upon mo"; and she showed me a lovely pair of bracelets and a breast pin, in uniform style. She did not see, until I showed her, a plain gold ring at the bottom of the box. She looked at it dubiously, and at me dubiously, tried it on every finger but the one, then put it quietly back in the case, and had no more to say on the subjet t , But who played the venerable Father, and who played the sweet voices 1 What matter ? Better that the juveniles should suppose that there is anr unfamiliar Being, always walking beside them, in whoso hands are fairy gifts and favours, j^ well as birch and bit- terness I ^ m2 THX GOLDEN OHRIBTlfAS. ' '^ CHAPTER XVIII; DENOUEMENT. Old Father CLrystmasse, in the South, does not confiiie hia fa- vours to the palace. The wigwam aud the cabin, get a fair por- tion of his smiles. In other countries, poverty is allowed but a single privilege — that of labour. The right of one's neighbour to work, is that which no one questions any where. In all countries but those in which slavery exists, poverty is supposed to enjoy no other. But there is httle or no poverty Jn the South. Even the slave is rich. He is rich in certainty — security ; — he is insured against cold and hunger, — the two terrible po\vei"s, that, more than all others, affright the civilized world. Secure from and against these, the slave is absolutely free from care. Ho has to work, that is true, but work adapted to one's capacity, suited to one's nature, and not too heavy for one's strength, is perhaps the greatest of all human blessings, since it is the best security for good health and good morals. Cuftee and Sambo are thus secure and thus made happy. But Cuffee and Sambo, like other handsomer aud happy people, would never be content with these ; and the good-natured, benevolent, and accommodating Father Chrystmasse has a tree bearing good fruits also for them. When, accordingly, the guests of Major Bulmcr had each received his little tok^n of Christian sympathy and good will, the Christmas cedar was removed to the overseer's house, and that night the old Druid officiated behind its branches for the benefit of the negroes. How they crowded and scrambled about, one over the shoulders of the other, each in his best garments, for the favours of the kindly wizard ! There were, among the guests at " The Barony," a learned professor from one of the Northern Colleges, and a young English gentleman, the younger son of a noble house. They watched the scene with a staring cariosity. It enabled them quietly to revise a hundred DENOUEMENT. I53 ernng notions and stupid prejudices. When they belicld ten or a dozen suix?rannuatod negroes, from whose feeble and fail inn- hmbs, sometimes utterly palsied, no labour could bo obtained, and who were yet to be fed, and clad, and nursed, and physicked, until Death should close the scene, — negroes who had been in this situation for perhaps a dozen years ; — when they beheld fifty more little urchins, barely able to toddle about and be mischievous, who must be provided also with food, clothing and shelter, for which they could give no equivalent in labour for ten or a dozen years at least ; — they began to conceive something of that inevitable charity which characterizes the institution of Southern slavery. And when they saw that this charity did not confine itself to the mere necessa- ries of life, but bestowed its little precious luxunes also ; — leaving no pang to poverty, — leaving no poverty ; — the slave permitted play and pleasure, and showing at every bound and every breath, and every look and every word, that he lived in his impulses as well as in his limbs, — was permitted to gratify impulses and yearnings, and desires, which the poverty in other lands is only permitted to dream of ; — they began to shift and change the argument, and gravely to contend that this was another objection to the institu- tion; that it left the negro in a condition of too much content : in other words, the condition was so agi'eeable as to leave him satis- fied with it. But we will not discuss the matter with such bullet- headed boobies. Enough that Sambo, and Cuflfee, and Sibby and Dinah, Tom and Toney, are all making off with something under the arm, derived from the bounty of the benevolent Father Chryst- masse, whom they half believe to bo a real personage — a sort of half Deity, half mortal, coming once a year, to see that they are and deserve to bo happy. Leaving them in groups alx)ut the grounds, wo prepare for another display of fire-works, after which we adjourn to the mansion, obedient to the call of the violin. Supposing you, dearly beloved reader of either gender, the tender and the tough, to bo in some degree famihar with the laws of art, you will BOO that we have tliis night left only for our denouement. The 154 ^ THE QOLDBN CHRISTMAS. ^<&' ' . artist is a creator, and so — a Fate. He has established his premi- ses, and the results are inevitable ; they bind him just as rigidly as they do his Dramatis Personae. "What we do, accordingly, must be done quickly. The " Golden Christmas " ends with this night, and our parties must be disposed of. Who must be dis- posed of? How must they be disposed of? Who are the vic- tims ? What the processes ? You, perhaps, can all of you an- swer these questions — all except the last. And that is a question to which I can only help you to an answer, as I proceed, and in the natural progress of events. You must not be surprised at this. The artist does not make events ; they make themselves. They belong to the characterization. The author makes the character. If this be made to act consistently, — and this is the great necessity in all works of fiction, — events flow fi-om its action necessarily, and one naturally evolves another, till the whole action is complete. Here is the whole secret of the novelist. Now, all that I can tell you of a certainty is this, — that the action must be complete to- night ; and that the {)er6ons of the story may be expected to ex- hibit just the same sort of conduct which they have shown from the beginning. More I cannot report. You must judge for your- ielves of what you have to expect. You may ^ ask. Shall the scr quel be a happy one ? That, of course, or it would not be the " Golden Christmas." Will Ned Buhner be allowed to marry pretty Paula Bonn^au ? Do you supjx)se, with such characters as they have shown, they will be happy together ? And what of Dick Cooper and Beatrice Mazyck ? The question naturally oc- curs, in answer to this, — What will Tabitha say to it, the house- keeper of that bachelor? But, really, if you thus go on making these inquiries, we shall never make an end of it. Even now, Messrs. Walker, Richards & Co., are crying aloud for " copy,*' through the lungs of forty printing ofl^ce fiends. The readers, they cry, are becoming impatient. Nothing, but a marriage, or some other catastrophe, of equal magnitude, w ill satisfy them. If BO—revcnons a nous mouttoiisf Let us see \Nhat our folks are about DENOtJfiMENt. 153 The tea service over, the fire-works displayed, all preliminaries at an end, the violins in full tune, the dancers are preparinosed. DENOUEMENT. 161 " It is proper that I should speak now," said he. " Mrs. Girar- din, let me plead with you for these young people. I have not urged or countenanced this proceeding in any way ; in fact, I have hitherto opposed it ; not because of any objection or dislike to you or your family which, now, I honestly respect and honour, but because I had looked in another quarter for my son. But, since my choice, is not his, I owe it to him, and to your daughter, to do all I can to make them happy. Their young hearts refuse to follow the course which ours would prescribe for them ; and, per- haps, they are the wiser, and will bo the happier for it. We would have perpetuated prejudice and hatred between our families ; they will drive out these evil spirits with Love. Let us not oppose this better influence. Let me entreat you to forego your frowns. Give them your blessing, as here, at this blessed season; when all the influences of life are meant to be .auspicious to human happiness, I freely bestow upon them mine. My son has thwarted some of my most favourite -wishes ; but shall I not make my son happy if I can ? Will you be less merciful to your daughter ? Take her to your arms, my dear madam, and let our families, hitherto sepa- rated by evil influences, be now united by blessing ones." The voice of Mrs ISLazyck sounded immediately in my ears, for by this time I had joined the circle also» " Mr. CooiX!r, will you be pleased to order my carriage." Though her words were addressed to me, they were loud enough to be heard over the whole room. Major Bulmer started and approached her. She turned away at his approach. But he was not a man to be baffled. "Nay, nay, Mrs. Mazyck," he said gently, taking her hand — " this must not be. You must not be angry with me, my dear madam, because I failed to do what I wished, and had believed myself able to do. I have been disappointed — defeated in my purpose — and I honestly assure you that I greatly regret it. — Though compelled to yield now to an arrangement which seems U* \ 102 TRB GOLDEN OHRIBTMAS. inevitable, yet I do so wita real sorrow. I should greatly have preferred the arrangomont which would have given my ion to your daughter — " Another voice now arrested that of the Major. It was that of Beatrice Mazyck. The explosion in the library had brought her down from the stage where I had Icfl her, ua Miranda, and she had been a silent auditor and npt^otntor of the Hoonc, in which nhe now found it necessary to take part She touclied the Major on his ann, and said, in a whisper — " I thank you, Major Bulraor, for your good intentions ; but mother and yourself were gi*eatly mistaken in this matter. Let me say to you, now, and prevent further mistiikes, that the propo- sed arrangement was quite impossible. Ned Bulmer knew per- fectly well, lon^ ago, that we were not made for each other. We have been friends quite too long to suffer any misunderstanding between us on any such subject. So, 1 beg you to relieve your- self of all further disquiet in re^fard to it, and if you will suffer me to take mamma into the other room, I will soon satisfy her, that if there bo anybody to bliune in the business, I am the per- son. Mamma — " And she t(X)k the arm of the severe lady, but paused for a mo- ment, and said in uudortonos to mo—'* Don't order the carriage." The mother heard her. " But, why nc*> ? I am about to go." " You canU go, mamma. I will show you good reasons for it." And the two went into the 'tiring room together. They were gone full half hour, and when I mot them again, they were in the parlour, the mother apparently resigned to her fate. I saw at a moment that the revelation had been made. The maternal eyes rested on mo with a searching expression, full of meaning, — not ex- actly placid, I confess, but not severe. The way was opened for me, and I had to do the rest. Meanwhile, the progress in the librar}% with the other parties, had reached a similar conclusion. The feud between the rival / DENOUEMENT. 163 houses of Bulmer and Bonnonu, was ndjustod. An lio\ir later, in the parlour, standing before the fire, John Bull fashion, the Major rubbed and clapped his hands together, with a.s much gleo as if his projects had succeeded just as he had devised them. " This," said he, " is, indeed, a Golden Christmas. Two pair of hearts made happy to-night. Positively, ladies, I could be tempted to look about mo myself, for a consoler in the shape of a wife. I feel quite as young as at forty. I am not ice. There is fetill a warm current about my heart, that almost persuades me to be in love. Ah ! if I could find somebody to smile upon me I" And he looked, comically fond, now upon Mrs. Mazyck, and now upon Madame Agnes-Theresa. The former lifled a proud head, and the latter waved her fan delil>erately between her face and the Major's glances, as if dreading their ardency. The latter was too wary to continue the subject. He changed it rapidly, and, being in a free vein of speech, he gave us a most interesting his- tor}' of the settlement of " The Barony," by his great grandfather. This involved a full accoimt of the ancient feuds of the Bulmer and Bonneau families, showing how it was begun, and how con- tinued through successive generations. The episode, had we space, should be given here. It was full of animation and adven- ture, and gave an admirable picture of early life in the colony. — The subject was a fiivourite one with the Major, and he handled it with equal skill, spirit and discretion. AVc must resers'e it for a future Christmas Chronicle. The reader may look for it some day hereafter, God willing, under the title of " The Ancient Feud between the Houses of Bulmer and Bonneau." They shall form our York and Lancaster histories in time to come. Enough, that we succeeded in healing the feud after royal example — blending our roses, white and red, for the benefit of other hearts that do not know how to be happy — sho^ving them how to throw down the barriers of prejudice, hate, self-esteem and superstition, by letting the heart, under natural impulses, act according to its own nature, and under thoee benign laws which are privilege* rather than laws. 164*^ THB GOLDEN OBRISTMAB. Well ! — what need of further delay ? — Does it need that I should say we went to supper that night, after all our excitements ? — Say what we had for supper, and who ate, and who, with hearts too full already, had no appetite for meiuier food ? And that the old ladies went finally to bed ; that the young ones followed them ; that the lads would wind up the night with egg-nog, and that some did not go to bed at all ? We may dispense with all this. *• So may the fates, The future fasliion, that it shall not cheat Tho true fond hcarta which welcorae it." Early in January, at the entreaties of Major Bulmer himself, Ned led Puula Bonneau to tho altar. Wo had a famous wed- ding. Are you curious to know how fares that otbor couple with whoso affaird du caur I have somewhat employed your attention? Ask Tabitha, my present housekeeper. Nay, hear her, what she says to mo, at the moment I am writing. " Look yer, Mjiss Dick, wha' dis, I yor ?" "What, Tabitha?" " Old Sam Bonneau bin to do gate yesterday, and ho say you and Miss Be'trice Mazyck guino to get married in two mont' from now. You no bin toll me nothing 'bout 'em." " No, Tabitha ; but now that you have hoard it, I may as well confess the truth. God willing, tho thing will happen." " Spec' den, Mass Dick, you no want mo wid you in do house- keeping. Don't 'tink I kin 'greo wid young woman that lub see heap o' people — and keeps much comp'uy, and is always making fuss ob house cleaning, and brushing up, and confusions among sarbants." " Can't do without you, Tabby. You must try Miss Beatrice. I think you'll get on very well with her." " Bin git on berry well widout 'em," growled my domestic He- cate as she flung herself out of the breakfiist-room. DENOUEMENT. 165 Here ends o\ir story. * Storj-, quotha 1' The reader is half in- clined to blaze out at the presumption which dignifies, with the name of story, a narrative which has neither duel, nor robWry, nor murder — neither crime nor criminal. Yet, not too fast. It so happens that there was a criminal that Christmas, and a crime, at the * Barony.' and I may as well give the aftair, as it concerns two of the persons employed in our chronicle. You rememl^er Jehu, the coachman of Miss Bulmer? lie was the criminal. The crime committed was theft. The thing stolen was? a fine fat shoat, the property of Zacharias, the gentlemanly body servant of ^fa- jor Bulmer. Zacharias made his complaint the day after Christ- mas. Jehu was brought up for examination at the homo of tho overseer. Zack stated his cnsc in the most gentlemanly stylo -vnd language. He was the owner of seven hogs. The shoat stolen was one of the fattest. He had designed it for his New Year's dinner. He had invited certain friends to dine with him on that day — Messrs. Tom, Tony, Peter, Sam, Fergus, (fee, — gentlemen of colour, l>elonging to certain planters of the neighbourhood. His shoat disa]>peared two days before. Jehu gave a supper on Christmas night. On that occasion tho stolen shoat was served up to numerous guests. Hero Jehu, shifting his position so as to transfer the weight of his body from his right to his left leg, and throwing his head 8idowa}'s upon his left shoulder, put in snappishly — " Ax 'em, maussa, ef ho no eat some of de pig he se'f." The question was accordingly put^ Zacharias admitt 1 'Bfe -It M!¥l f^OAN DEF T LD 21A-38m-5,'68 (J401slO)476B General Library University of California Berkeley f«*ijt (^'^'JAwyA